A lust-starved lady ends her dry spell through the generosity of her former flames.

What I really needed was a clit-licking man. Or a stable of them, preferably. I had decided that after six months of no sex. The penetration, the fucking — all that I could live without. What I really missed — ached for, actually — was oral. I wanted someone who would lick my clit until I begged him to stop.

I ran through the list of men available to me for such a job. There were only a few. Just a few men I’d trust. I’d either flirted with or dated them briefly, but ultimately none of them had seemed suitable for a long-term relationship at the time. But they were nice enough, cute enough, and friendly enough for what I needed now. Besides, I was desperate and didn’t want to go looking for strangers.

I started with Dan. He had asked me to a 70s party a few months back. I’d actually gone because I’d been curious. Plus, it gave me a reason to go to the thrift store and look for terrible clothing. When he arrived for our date, I was decked out in huge bell bottoms with two-tone cuffs, a bohemian blouse, and wedged heels. My hair was twisted up and held back with a leather clip.

Dan had done a double take, and it was not lost on me that he grew a rather prominent erection rather fast. I ignored it, though, not sold on Dan-the-man for anything but a casual date at the time. We had fun — danced, drank, and laughed — but he never took his eyes off my pants. And that stuck in my mind.

I had a plan for Dan’s pants fetish because when I shut my eyes I could remember him licking his lips every time he glanced at my jeans.

I dialed him quickly, not wanting to risk a text. I proceeded to tell him I had a proposition and invited him over that night. I suggested we split a bottle of wine and maybe get a pizza.

Dan was clearly still single because his immediate response was a hasty yes. I went on with the rest of my day, trying not to worry too much about how I would actually broach the subject of my desires once I saw him. I decided I’d go with how I’d been raised — honesty is the best policy, and all that jazz.

“He shoved his fingers inside my cunt, and when I came, he trembled.”

When I got home from work, I opened the wine to let it breathe and took a quick shower. I made sure my pussy was shaved as smooth as glass and then found the jeans that had held Dan’s attention captive. I put them on, along with a short, sleeveless print top and some cork wedges. I let my hair dry naturally so it fell in waves. No makeup. Best to be all innocent and fresh.

When the doorbell rang I hurried to answer. I opened the door to a smiling Dan, but the smile went from pleasant to shocked and aroused in an instant. “Wow. You’re in — ”

“I am,” I said, waving my hand to let him in. “And I wanted to talk to you about that.”

I got right to it once we were sipping wine. “I’m not in a relationship. I’m not getting laid. And I don’t necessarily want to be, but, man… ” I touched his arm and let my thighs spread. “I miss oral.”

And there it was. Him licking his lips again. My pussy went wet just watching the sweep of his tongue, because after six months of nothing, I was wondering what that tongue could do to me. What that tongue would feel like sliding across my rigid clit, pushing into my cunt, tracing my outer lips.

The sight stole my air, but I wasn’t the only one having trouble breathing. Dan looked a little lightheaded himself. “And you want me to — ”

I nodded before he could finish. “Actually, I would. And I noticed you kind of like these… ” I ran my hands up and down the pale denim that covered my thighs so they made a whooshing sound.

“I do.” His voice trembled.

I slid my fingers into his dark brown hair and pulled him close. Right against his lips I said, “So let me cut the crotch out, and we can have the best of both worlds.”

He nodded and planted a kiss on me that had me reconsidering the whole no-fucking thing.

I hurried to the kitchen and found a good pair of small sewing shears. I took off the retro jeans and laid them out on the counter, carefully cutting the crotch without destroying the zipper. I turned to find him watching me, my bare ass pointed toward him as I worked. He was already jacking his cock, and his breathing was shallow.

I put the bell bottoms back on and said, “Well?”

Dan knelt before me and studied my crotch. His finger traced the cuts I’d made, and his breath was hot on my pussy. I found myself struggling to breathe because I’d been chaste for too terribly long and I didn’t think I could wait another second. But I managed by forming my hands into fists.

“I think you did a good job,” he said. And then his tongue was sweeping over my clit and my knees dipped. “Really well,” he said. This time he painted an indecipherable swirling pattern.

I put my hands behind me on the counter to steady myself and arched my body toward his mouth. Dan did not disappoint. He kept me off balance constantly. A steady sweeping up and down, up and down, suddenly turned into a chaotic side to side. When I’d settled into that, he sucked my clit so hard I saw stars, but then soothed it with a gentle tongue to the point that I wanted to weep. He shoved his fingers inside my cunt and curled them, and when I came, he trembled there on his knees.

His mouth kept going, though I tried to push him away when I became too sensitive. He kept eating me — gentle, rough, gentle, rough — all the while jerking his cock. I could hear the hurried sound of his fist working his dick as he rushed closer to orgasm.

I raised my hips, shoving my pussy against his willing mouth, feeling the bite of his teeth against my mons and relishing it. He grunted, and excitement leapt through me. I did it again, bucking toward his teeth, and when I came this time, he climaxed with me. His cream painted the wide cuffs of my jeans like modern art.

I leaned down and kissed him. “Thank you.”

He looked up and said, “Don’t get rid of those pants.”

I shook my head, laughing. “I won’t. I’ll wash them and save them for another day.”

After Dan left, I did put the jeans in the wash, and then scrolled through my phone for another candidate. I was still feeling the steady pounding of my heart in my cunt from Dan’s talented tongue as I considered my next partner. I’d had a taste, so to speak, and I wanted more. A different flavor perhaps.

I chose Jared. Jared was a pretty, thin, blond boy with ethereal blue eyes. We’d gone for coffee together, but given I like men who are a bit rougher in the sack, his gentle soul hadn’t sparked any urgent carnal needs in me. However, as far as kneeling at my feet and eating me, I thought he’d be spectacular.

I texted him because he’s an introvert with a capital “I.”

“Can we meet? I’d like to talk about something I think you’d be good at. Let me know. XO”

Jared’s reply came in under two minutes, making me smile: “Of course. When?”

I asked if he could meet me the following day after work, and when he agreed, I said good-night, rolled over, and promptly drifted off. I slept like the dead. It’s amazing what a few orgasms can do for your stress levels.

The next day I worked with vigor, trying to get as much done as I could before going home, so I wasn’t thinking about work that evening instead of Jared’s pale pink tongue and his feminine mouth.

I hurried home, showered, and put on some black leggings and a soft old, tunic. My feet were bare as I dug through the fridge to see what kind of microbrews I had. Dan’s a wine guy; Jared’s a brew dude. Easy enough to deal with.

As the bell rang, I found a wheat beer and a cold mug.

“Hey, there, handsome,” I said upon opening the door.

“I was surprised to hear from you,” he replied, looking very happy that he had.

I had him sit on the sofa, curled my feet under me, played with a lock of my hair, and laid the whole thing out for him. Part of the reason I’d called Jared was he was a fucking hell of a kisser. I wanted to know what else he could do with that tongue.

I leaned over, but before I could plant one on him, he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me in for a deep kiss. He startled the breath out of me. Note to self: Jared may not be as passive in the bedroom as you think. But that was a thought for another day.

“Lay down,” he said.

I obeyed, my heart pounding because I’d expected to be the one giving the orders.

“Hips up.”

My hips shot up like they were on a string that he’d jerked.

He peeled my leggings down and tossed them aside. Then he spread my thighs as wide as they would go. He put his hands on my inner thighs and held them down. My pussy let loose a rush of moisture at how commanding he was.

He lowered his head, his pale blond hair falling down over his eyes as he did so. His mouth came down on me like a hot, wet blanket, sealing over my clit and my labia. The moisture and the pressure were amazing. When I moved involuntarily at the sensation, his strong hands stopped me and kept me still.

That alone had me on the verge of coming.

He nudged my clit with the stiff tip of his tongue and I tried my best to meet him, but I was unable to move. He worked his tongue hard against my clit, and at first, the sensation seemed like it would be unbearable. Then he sucked my button three times, very gently, and returned to using a rigid tongue. That tiny break was what my body needed, and when he resumed the rougher pressure, I came so hard I made no sound.

I pushed my fingers in his hair and held him tight. Jared grunted, shoved his hands under my ass, and angled me upward. When I was positioned to his liking, he drove his tongue into my drenched slit and fucked me with it. I held his hair and pulled it as I gasped for air and moved up to meet his mouth. Then his tongue returned to my engorged clitoris, and he flicked it over and over again until I was coming.

He looked up at me with those big blue eyes and then got up to straddle my waist. He pulled his cock out and started to thrust into his own tight fist. I broke my own rule and reached down to cup his balls. I gave him just enough pressure and just enough strokes, and when I moaned because he was grinding himself lightly against my body, he reached his peak. His hot wet semen shot out in thick ropes, coating my belly and breasts.

Then he cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “I was really surprised to hear from you, but just so you know, you can call me any damn time.”

I laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I made myself take two days off. Partially because I didn’t want to burn out my poor pussy, and partly because I needed to exercise some kind of control. Or did I?

Come Friday, I was ready to come again, and I’d decided the only other guy I wanted to proposition for this was Michael. Michael was a sweet guy, about six-foot-five, and very touchy-feely. We’d only gone out a few times, but when we did he’d always had a hand on me, always touching me in some respect. Again, with him there had been nothing wrong, just no lightning bolt of intense attraction. He was good-looking, kind, and affectionate. A big fat win all the way around.

Rather than call, I showed up where he worked. He was a mechanic at the place that sometimes did my oil changes, and I would occasionally see him in the open bay when I drove past. I swung in at the end of the day, knowing he’d be getting off soon.

He saw my car and sauntered out to it, wiping his hands on a shop rag. “Hey, there.”

“Hey. I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said, leaning out the window to expose a bit more of my cleavage in my low-cut dress.

“Sure thing.”

“Meet me for a drink when you get off? Angelo’s?”

He nodded and looked at his phone. “That’d be in about an hour. Does that work for you?”

That gave me enough time to run home, take a quick shower, get dressed, and be at the bar. “Sure does.” I traced a finger down the hand he was leaning against my door. “Thanks, Michael.”

I drove off with a wave. Would he agree? The other two had been surprisingly into it. Something told me Michael would be, too.

I showered, braided my hair the way I remembered he liked, and put on a long, striped skirt and a blouse. Silver sandals completed my outfit. I swiped on the bare minimum of makeup because Michael had always commented that I was too pretty to need it.

I sat on the edge of the bed and shut my eyes. Remembering the first two. Remembering Dan’s relentlessness and how Jared’s attitude had surprised me. I thought about what it felt like to have a hot, willing mouth on my pussy again. How unique every man, every mouth, every tongue, every technique was. The differences were intoxicating.

“When I was positioned to his liking, he drove his tongue into my drenched slit.”

I opened my eyes and found that I’d pushed my hand beneath my skirt. I hadn’t put panties on since the skirt reached my ankles. My fingers found my clit easily, and I swirled my fingertips over it. I was already wet, just from remembering, thinking, and anticipating.

I pushed two fingers inside my cunt and raised my hips. I found my G-spot and brushed it; a rush of pleasure flooded me. I eyed the alarm clock. I had time to come. After all, wasn’t there always time to come?

I couldn’t help laughing at the sentiment even as I climaxed, my pussy rippling around my fingers — tight and wet and eager.

By the time I caught my breath, I was cutting it close. Our appointed time was near. I hurried to my SUV after washing my hands and brushing my teeth. I pulled into Angelo’s tiny parking lot right on time. I saw Michael’s big black pickup parked by the back of the lot and smiled.

Inside, I found Michael at one of the small bar tables. Angelo’s niece had taken over about six months before as manager. She’d decided the bar wasn’t classy enough and had ordered ridiculously long linens for the intimate table settings. When people started to get tangled in them, she ordered the staff to fringe the edges so they still hung almost to the floor but afforded more mobility for the patrons.

Michael waved at me from our table, and I saw he already had a Shiraz waiting for me. I slipped into my seat and gave him a peck on the cheek before taking two big swigs. “I wanted to ask you about something… ”

He watched me with big brown eyes the whole time I talked. There was heat in my cheeks, I could feel it, but I wasn’t really embarrassed. Just sort of excited. When his hand found my thigh beneath the table, that excitement blossomed into full-blown arousal. My breath caught, but I finished what I had to say.

“So, you’d like me to go down on you?”

I nodded.

“And no fucking?”

“Not at the moment. It’s possible that if we establish a relationship where things get more inten — ”

“It’s fine if it’s no. I was only clarifying.”

“No fucking. But I’m working on a short list of candidates for the future,” I said.

He gave me a nod, and then moved as if to stand. My heart sank. Oh well, two out of three wasn’t so bad.

Instead of standing, though, he dropped. He was tall, so even on his knees he was clearly visible head and shoulders above the tabletop — until he bent himself and disappeared beneath the bar table and its insanely lengthy tablecloth.

“He fell on me hungrily, his force and urgency surpassing the other two men.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth because the whole thing was so ludicrous and yet as hot as hell. I held in my laughter with a lot of effort — until he’d pushed my skirt up and forced my thighs apart beneath the table.

He fell on me hungrily, his force and urgency surpassing the other two men by miles. This time when I clapped a hand over my mouth, it wasn’t to stifle a laugh; it was to silence a moan. I tried to raise my hips, but he pushed his rough hands — working-man hands — down on the tops of my thighs to stop me. He held me there, locked in my seat, as he lapped at my pussy eagerly.

The waitress arrived with two plates of appetizers I hadn’t even known he’d ordered. I gave her a strangled “thanks” as Michael continued dining on me beneath the table. She gave me an odd look and a half smile but kept moving. There were customers to serve and people to please.

I pushed a knuckle into my mouth as I struggled to look normal. The heat in my cheeks had turned into a fire. Michael slid three fingers into my drenched cunt, stretching me. He fucked me with them as his tongue continued its slick attack. He licked my clit with a persistent determination that had my mind swirling. He kept his tempo steady until the moment I was right on the edge and my pussy would clench around his fingers. Then he’d alter it.

After a few minutes of that back and forth, I was clutching the edge of the table and trying not to cry out. Everyone around me was going about their business, but I felt very conspicuous with my short breath, hot cheeks, and seat-wiggling.

My legs were jerking of their own accord, moving with the intensity of my pleasure as I was suspended between ecstasy and release. He finally took pity on me and drove his fingers deep, curling them, and licking my clit in a rapid-fire rhythm that brought me down fast and hard.

I hung my head, stifling my cries of bliss with nothing more than sheer willpower and a napkin pressed to my face. My orgasm made bright yellow lights flash in the darkness behind my closed lids.

Michael kept his fingers in me until the spasms passed, and then the fringed edges of the linens rippled before a very tall, very amused man emerged. He sat back in his chair, pulled a plate of wings toward him, took a swig of beer, and smiled at me. “I’m starving. For food that is.”

A crazy little laugh escaped me, and I managed to pick up my wineglass without dropping it.

“I hope that puts me at the top of your short list,” he said, giving me a wink.

I let out a shuddery breath even as little echoes of my orgasm shook me below the waist. “I think it’s safe to say that you are at the very top of a very short list.”

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