So Many Facials - A Compilation

Hi there, and welcome to Alternatives to Porn.

This is a little project I started for people trying to stop watching mainstream porn, or anyone who wants something just as hot, but more ethical. The stories are inspired by the most-watched videos, but rewritten with care, full consent, and some feelings.

It's still new (this is the first story!), and I'm learning as I go.

If something worked for you, or didn't, I'd really appreciate a comment or review. And... if it gets you off before the end (which is the goal, after all), then I'd love some feedback too.

Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoy yourself.

Part 1: Her Face

She looked up at him with such wide eyes, almost too big for the rest of her face: wide, glistening things that shimmered like polished glass, catching every flicker of movement. Her lashes were long, impossibly so, curling up like brushstrokes meant to frame a kind of innocence he no longer believed in. But it was still there on her face, in the slight part of her lips, in the way her tongue barely pressed behind her teeth, waiting.

Her cheeks were pink, not just flushed, but practically glowing. The kind of blush that looked painted on, too soft, too even to be real. She had a tiny nose and a delicate chin that came to a perfect point, like her whole face had been sculpted with precision and care. And under him, with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her knees tucked beneath her, she looked smaller than ever. Breakable, beautiful.

He wrapped his hand tighter around his cock, thick fingers sliding over the wet, tense skin. It was already slick, already pulsing. But still he didn't let go. Not yet. He just watched her. Imagined how perfect she would look a few seconds from now, those big, wet eyes still looking up at him, but with streaks of white tracing her cheeks, clinging to her lashes. He imagined it dripping from the corner of her mouth, catching on that soft, pointed chin.

She didn't blink. She didn't flinch. She stared at him, expectant and utterly calm, her lips parting just a little more.

Yes, she knew what was coming.

And she wanted it.

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Part 2: The Release

He felt it in his thighs first: a sudden tightening, the wave rolling up through his spine. His cock gave a hard, hungry twitch in his hand, and erupted.

The first spurt was thick and heavy, flinging upward before falling in a perfect arc across her cheek. The second landed higher, just under her eye, white fluid catching in the thick fringe of her lashes. More followed, pumping out in warm, messy bursts, his cock throbbing violently in time with his heartbeat. Each pulse brought another stream, painting her face in glistening ribbons.

She didn't move. She just let it happen.

Some of it hit her lips, clung there like gloss. Some ran down over the blush of her cheeks, tracing curves as if to mark her. Her tongue flicked out to taste it, just a little, and he groaned, watching his cock give another spasm at the sight. Even spent, it twitched, a thick bead welling at the tip and trembling there.

She was covered. And still looking up at him, eyes wide, cheeks painted, her breath soft and steady like she'd been kissed instead of coated.

God, she looked perfect.

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Part 3: Above her Face

It loomed above her, thick, flushed, and impossibly hard. The head was swollen, the skin drawn tight, glistening with a gleam of slick that caught the light. A single vein ran bold and raised along the shaft, pulsing faintly each time he tightened his grip. His knuckles whitened. The whole length twitched in his hand, eager, impatient.

She waited beneath it again, eyes locked on the crown now. Her breath came soft through her nose. She didn't move, didn't flinch, just tilted her face up slightly so the head of his cock hovered perfectly above her mouth. Close enough that she could smell him. Close enough that a strand of pre-cum could stretch down and touch her skin if he let it.

The tip darkened as more pressure built behind it, a slow, steady pulse pushing blood into that heavy, blushed head. He watched it shift with every throb, watched the tiny slit part just a little more each time. It looked swollen enough to burst.

And she just kept staring at it. At him.

He could feel it now, the way it wanted to spill. Not just a spurt this time. A flood. And this time, he wasn't going to hold back.

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Part 4: Her Lips

He brought the tip down, slow and deliberate, until it rested on the center of her mouth.

She closed her lips obediently, sealing them soft and tight beneath the broad crown. He could feel her breath against him, warm and steady. Her tongue shifted slightly behind the barrier of her lips, but she didn't open. She just pressed upward: lips firm against the sensitive skin of his cockhead, waiting.

The first bead of cum welled up right at the center of his slit, fat and pearled. It trembled there for a moment before rolling forward, easing out with thick, molten weight. It smeared across her lips like balm. Another followed, then more, pouring now, thick and slow, bubbling out in warm ropes that spread over her mouth in slow motion. He watched every detail. Watched the way her skin shone under the mess. Watched the cum push out of him in steady pulses, the hole stretching slightly with each contraction of his shaft.

His cock throbbed again, harder. More poured out, some of it trailing down over her chin, some of it catching between her lips where she pressed tighter, trapping the heat.

Still she didn't open. Didn't wipe it away. She just let him feed her face. One pulse at a time.

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Part 5: Again

She tilted her head back farther this time, offering even more of herself, as if she wanted every part of her face to be claimed.

His cock hovered just above her smooth, waiting forehead. It throbbed violently in his hand, the shaft flexing with every stroke, glistening wet and flushed deep red at the head. He was already leaking again, thick strands stretching from his slit to the air, desperate for release.

And then he came.

The first shot hit her dead center at the top of her forehead with a wet, obscene splatter.

A thick rope, white and heavy, clung to her skin on impact before folding into itself, sticking like paint. He didn't stop: his hand kept working, slow and tight, pressing more at the base. Another pulse, and a second line followed the first, landing just above her brow.

She twitched, just barely. Not in protest. Just in breathless, shivery anticipation.

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Part 6: The Slow Descent

The cum began to move.

Gravity took it slow. The first drip broke off in silence and started crawling down between her brows, thick and glossy. Another slid from her temple, curving beside her eye. He watched it like time had slowed, watched it trail over the bridge of her nose, cling for a moment to the dip between her eyes, then split into two lazy paths.

She didn't blink. She just stared at him, eyes wide and shining, as the mess crept down her face.

A long strand reached her cheekbone and stretched there, refusing to fall. More joined it, each stroke of his cock bringing another pulse, another slow flood leaking from his slit. His cock was still twitching, still drooling, even after the biggest bursts had passed. The last few beads oozed thick and slow, dripping in globs from the tip and splashing across her face wherever they landed: her nose, her lips, her chin.

And still she looked perfect beneath it all. Covered. Glazed. Owned.

He kept stroking, more slowly now, watching every inch of it settle onto her skin like it belonged there.

And she looked back at him, steady, calm, so fucking eager. She was agreeing to this.

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Part 7: Mouth Open

She opened her mouth for him this time. No words, no sound, just a soft, obedient parting of her lips. Her jaw relaxed, her tongue resting low and still, as if she'd done this a hundred times before. Like her whole body knew what to do. Like this was exactly where his cum belonged.

He stood above her, cock in hand, aiming.

The head hovered inches from her mouth, dark and swollen, skin tight with pressure. His grip at the base was firm, slowing each stroke to keep the tension high. He could feel the pulse building behind the slit again, that heat rushing forward, demanding release.

And she just looked up at him. Lips parted wide. Eyes waiting.

She didn't even flinch as he brought the tip lower, close enough to feel her breath washing over it. Her tongue shifted slightly, ready to catch, but she kept her mouth still, offering, begging.

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Part 8: In Her Mouth

He grunted as the first spurt shot forward, thick and fast, splattering right onto her tongue.

She didn't move, she just let it land.

Another burst followed, heavier, striking between her lips and splashing upward. Some clung to the curve of her upper lip, some pooled just behind her teeth. Her mouth filled fast, and he kept stroking, pumping more out in warm, viscous pulses. His cockhead jerked with each release, and the cum came in steady streams now, pouring directly into her open mouth. She took all of it.

Some spilled over the edge of her lips, trailing down her chin in milky streaks. Some sat glossy and thick across her tongue, untouched, as if she was savoring the moment before she swallowed. He watched the last thick rope squeeze out slower, oozing, a single strand stretching from his slit down onto her bottom lip, where it stuck like syrup.

His cock twitched one more time, a final throb, and a smaller bead pushed free, lazily, before it too dripped into her waiting mouth.

She closed her lips slowly around the mess. Not to clean it, just to feel it there.

And when she looked up again, her mouth glossy, full, marked, he felt himself hardening all over again.

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Part 9: Feeding Her Lips

He didn't pull away.

Even after the last drop had spilled into her mouth, even with her lips slick and her tongue shiny with it, he stayed close, stroking slowly, deliberately, watching the head of his cock swell again with lazy, post-release sensitivity.

Then he pressed the tip to her lips.

She parted them instinctively, but he didn't push in. He just smeared the head across the mess he'd already left behind. Painting her with it. The fat crown dragged along the curve of her lower lip, trailing a smear of cum across the slick surface. He tilted slightly, letting the slit kiss the corner of her mouth, leaving a string of white there that clung and stretched when he moved back.

She stayed perfectly still, mouth half-open, lips shiny and soft. Her tongue flicked out briefly to meet the underside of his head, catching a taste, but he pulled back just enough to keep her hungry.

He circled her lips with the tip, slowly, almost lazy, pressing the sensitive skin against hers like a signature. His. Marking her mouth over and over.

And she let him.

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Part 10: The Swallow

Then, slowly, she closed her lips.

Her mouth moved with intent now, pressing her tongue against the roof, shifting the weight of what he'd given her. She tasted it again, thick and lingering, before she finally began to swallow.

He saw it in her throat first. That delicate motion, like a ripple under skin. Then her tongue moved again, smoother this time, gathering the last of the cum and drawing it back with care. She swallowed once, then again, slower.

There was so much. Some had thickened near the front of her mouth, and she worked it gently between her cheeks before tipping her head back just slightly, letting gravity help. She swallowed that too, every bit, and opened her mouth once more to show him: empty. Nothing wasted.

Her lips were still messy, glowing with the last of what he hadn't wiped away with his cock. But her mouth was clean now, taken.

She looked up at him through her lashes, lips parted again in silent invitation. And he felt himself getting hard again.

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Part 11: At the Base

She dropped lower, slowly, sinking until her mouth met his balls.

Her lips parted, warm and wet, and she took one into her mouth with practiced care. He felt the heat of her tongue curling beneath, the suction gentle but deep. Her nose brushed the base of his cock, and he could feel her soft breath while she worked him.

He stood tall above her, stroking his cock with heavy, deliberate motion. His shaft gleamed with spit and pre-cum, the skin stretched tight all the way to the root. Big in his fist. Bigger than her hands could hold.

She looked up at him while she sucked, never breaking gaze.

That was the part that got him: the wide, unblinking eyes, locked to his as her mouth moved around his balls, slow and steady, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if she wanted nothing more.

He growled low in his throat, hand working faster now, the thick shaft jerking in time with her rhythm. Her hands rested at the backs of his thighs, holding herself there, offering her mouth, offering her face.

He was going to give it to her.

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Part 12: Covered

He came with a deep, guttural noise. Thick white ropes came spurting out of his cock, the first splash catching her just above the eyebrow.

She didn't flinch. She just smiled through her suction, then pulled back slightly to give him her face.

The second burst hit her cheek. The third smeared across her mouth. He kept stroking, guiding it with his hand now, aiming at every inch of her skin like he was claiming her, painting her in it.

And when the last few drips hung heavy at the tip, he bent down, dragging his fingers through the mess on her cheek and smearing it across her other side. Over her nose. Down her jaw. His hand glided across her skin, thick with his own release, spreading it like lotion, rubbing it into her chin, her lips, her flushed skin.

She giggled. A soft, breathy sound that broke the silence, light and beautiful. She was a mess, glazed and streaked and absolutely perfect. And she was proud of it. Still on her knees, still looking up, waiting for more.

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Part 13: Straight from Him

He stood over her, breathing heavy, his cock still dripping with the last traces of release. She looked up at him, her face streaked, lips shiny, a few threads of cum still clinging to her cheekbones and chin.

He could have left her like that. Marked and waiting. But instead, he reached down, cupped her jaw with a firm, steady hand, and said quietly: "Now taste it. From the source."

Her lips parted before the words fully settled. She nodded, barely, just a shift of her chin into his palm, and leaned forward, her mouth drawn toward the tip of his cock like a magnet.

He held himself for her, fingers curled around the base, guiding the head to her lips. The crown brushed her mouth, sticky and warm, and she kissed it first, soft and reverent. Then she opened wider.

She took him slowly, tongue spreading beneath the shaft, lips sliding over the head, sealing around him.

He groaned. There was no rush now, just slow submission, slow possession. Her mouth moved with intention, her cheeks hollowing slightly with each pull, savoring the slick taste of his skin, the heat still radiating from his length. She tasted herself faintly too, her spit, his release, the evidence of everything they'd already done together.

And she didn't break eye contact. Not once.

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Part 14: The Platform

She knelt again, spine straight, her eyes locked on his.

Then she slowly opened her mouth wide and extended her tongue. It glistened, wet with her own saliva, pink and soft, held perfectly still. Offered. Not for kissing, not for tasting, just for him.

He stepped in close, cock in hand, and brushed the tip of it across the surface of her tongue. Light contact. Barely a press. His head was still tender, still flushed dark from the last round, but hardening again in his grip. Every time it passed over her tongue, slick and slow, he felt the heat deepen in his core.

He stroked himself above her, using his free hand to guide the motion. Each time the head passed over her tongue, up, down, press, drag, it glided through the moisture she held there for him.

She didn't move. Didn't flick or lick. Just kept her mouth wide and tongue out, obedient and still, like she was holding a sacred offering.

When her mouth dried, she closed it for a moment, gathered more spit. Then opened again, tongue out, wet and glistening, ready for more.

He groaned, watching the way her breath barely shook the flat pink surface. Watching the gloss of spit cling to his tip after every stroke. He could feel it building again, heat crawling up from his thighs, his stomach tightening as his shaft swelled heavier in his grip.

She was still, present, waiting. His cock throbbed.

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Part 15: The Swallow

It was a slow, deliberate pulse.

The first thick bead pushed out of him and landed heavy at the center of her tongue: white against pink, warm against warm.

Another spurt followed, and he dragged the tip forward through the mess, smearing it along the length of her tongue before resting the head there again. More spilled in short, wet bursts pooling near the back of her mouth.

And still, she kept it open. She waited until he was done, until the last droplet stretched thin from his slit, until his breathing slowed and the throbbing calmed in his shaft.

Then she closed her mouth. And swallowed. A single, smooth motion, her lips pressing together, her throat moving once, clean and easy. Her tongue slipped back into her mouth like nothing had happened, and when she opened again, she showed him: empty.

Not a drop left. Then she smiled, just a little. Like it wasn't over, like it never would be.

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Part 16: Throat, Claimed

She was still kneeling, her mouth still wet, that little smile still lingering. He grabbed the back of her head.

No more slow brushing. No more waiting. His cock was already thick again, hungry, aching, and this time, he didn't ask. He pushed it into her mouth in one hard stroke.

She gasped, but not with her lungs, she couldn't. Her throat stretched around him, lips suddenly sealed tight around his shaft, her breath cut off the instant he hit the back of her mouth. He held her there. No warning, no mercy. Just cock, deep and full.

She looked up at him, startled, but not scared. Her hands clutched at his thighs, nails digging in. And then, slowly, she relaxed her jaw. Opened more, let him in.

He groaned low in his chest and started thrusting. Fast. Shallow at first, then deeper. His grip in her hair tightened, fingers wrapped in it like reins, guiding her onto his cock again and again until her nose was pressed to his skin. The sound was filthy: wet, harsh, rhythmic. Her spit mixed with the slick mess from before, drooling out the corners of her mouth as she took every stroke.

Her throat twitched around him. She choked once. He didn't stop.

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Part 17: The Breaking Point

Her eyes began to water.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, not from sadness, not from fear, but from pressure, from fullness, from the brutal rhythm he was using to take her mouth like it was nothing but a hole to fuck. She blinked up at him, lashes wet, mouth stretched wide.

He pulled out with a gasp, a strand of spit and pre-cum clinging from her lips to the head of his cock. She coughed once, catching her breath... and then opened again.

She wanted it. So he gave it to her.

He drove back in, deeper this time, using her now with long, unforgiving thrusts. Her throat clenched tight around him with every push. She moaned around his cock: tiny sounds, choked and desperate, and he could feel them vibrate through his shaft.

Her whole face was a mess of tears and drool. Her flushed cheeks were slick and glowing. And she kept taking it.

Her body rocked with the force of each thrust, but she never pulled away. Never gave him a reason to stop. Her tongue flattened. Her jaw loosened. Her hands held onto him tight, like she needed it, like she needed him to keep using her until he was empty.

His rhythm grew erratic, hips jerking forward harder. And then, with a deep growl, he buried himself all the way in.

He came down her throat. She swallowed around him automatically, convulsively, drinking every hot pulse as it surged straight into her. His hands trembled in her hair. His whole body locked up. And she held him there, gagging softly, eyes brimming, mouth still full, until the last twitch passed.

He pulled out. Her lips stayed parted. A long strand of spit and cum stretched from her mouth to his cock. Her eyes were red, cheeks damp, face ruined.

She was smiling again.

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Part 18: Ruined and Hungry

He stepped back, chest rising and falling, cock in hand and dripping. His cum painted her face: thick across her cheeks, mouth, lashes. It clung to her chin in slow trails, a few strands connecting her lips to his tip. Her tongue flicked out, catching what she could, but most of it just stayed there glistening, warm, claimed.

She didn't wipe it away. She stared up at him through the mess, eyes wide, lips parted, trembling on her knees. And then, breathless: "Please..." A whisper, soaked with need.

He froze. She wasn't finished, not even close. Her whole face was wrecked, smeared, flushed, and still she wanted more. Wanted him. Her voice was cracked and her breathing unsteady, but she looked at his cock like it belonged inside her again.

"Please," she said again, louder now. "Don't stop. Use me." He didn't speak. He grabbed her hair with both hands and pulled her toward him.

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Part 19: Deep Again

Her mouth opened wide as he brought her back to his cock. There was no teasing this time. He shoved his tip past her lips and thrust forward hard. Her throat welcomed him.

It wasn't pretty: her body flinched, her jaw struggled, but she didn't fight it. She let him bury it deep, let her throat bulge around his cock, her breath cut off, her face smeared with his cum and now stretched around his length again.

He started thrusting faster than before. Rougher. His hips slammed forward, his grip anchoring her in place. She choked softly, drool falling from her chin, more cum leaking from her cheeks, but her hands held tight at his thighs, not pushing away: Pulling him in.

She loved it. And he could see it in her eyes, even as they watered: pure hunger, surrender, even bliss. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't done. She wanted to be used until there was nothing left.

He groaned, the pressure building again faster than he thought possible. His cock was still sensitive, but the friction of her throat, the heat of her mouth, the sight of her ruined and begging... he couldn't stop.

He wasn't going to.

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Part 20: Tongue Worship

Just as he felt himself boiling over again: balls tight, cock throbbing at the base of her throat, she pulled off.

Not far, just enough. Her lips slid back, slow and wet, and the head of his cock popped free of her mouth with a slick sound. A thick line of spit stretched between his tip and her tongue, already hanging out, ready, waiting.

She looked up at him again, and that look, wrecked, shining, utterly submissive, hit him harder than anything. Her tongue caught the underside of his head just as the first spurt shot out.

It landed messy, splashing across the center of her tongue. She held it there, her eyes never leaving his, tongue flat and open like she was catching rain. The next pulse came slower, heavier, right on the tip, and she rolled her tongue under it, playing, spreading the taste of him across her mouth.

He kept stroking, barely able to hold his grip, every stroke now gliding through her saliva as she licked and kissed his head, gently pumping more out with her mouth alone.

She moaned, barely audible. Her lips wrapped around just the crown, sucking gently, like she didn't want to take anything more than the very edge of him. Her tongue flicked under his slit, teasing it, milking it. Every movement said: I love this. I love you like this.

And her eyes, her soaked, glowing eyes, told him without words that she wanted it all.

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Part 21: Her Hands, His Shaft

She took him in both hands.

Her grip was firm but worshipful, fingers wrapped around his slick, heavy shaft, the head flushed dark with pressure. She squeezed, twisted slowly, her palms gliding over the wet skin with practiced ease. One hand at the base, the other just below the tip. And she worked him in a rhythm that made his thighs twitch.

Above her, he groaned, low and ragged. His hands sank into her hair, fingers threaded deep at the roots, pulling just enough to remind her who she belonged to. But he didn't guide her. He didn't need to. She knew what she was doing.

She looked up at him through her lashes, cheeks flushed, mouth just parted. Her tongue slipped out once, wetting her lower lip, but she didn't suck him this time.

She was focused on her hands: stroking, twisting, hugging every pulse, every tremor out of him while he held her face in his hands and watched.

Her pace sped up. She tightened her grip just slightly, then loosened, teasing, sliding up and down with more pressure near the crown. His cock jumped in her palms. A bead formed at the tip and she paused just long enough to lick it away, slow, without breaking eye contact.

He groaned again. His grip in her hair tightened. His hips jerked forward. She smiled. She kept stroking.

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Part 22: The Forehead Mark

Her hands moved faster now: two fists working together, slick and eager, stroking him up and down with perfect rhythm. His cock throbbed between her fingers, swollen, flushed, twitching like it knew what was coming.

She looked up at him, still kneeling, her hair tangled between his hands. Her forehead was tilted slightly forward, offered without words. Right here, her eyes said. Come on me. Mark me. I want it.

His grip in her hair tightened. "Fuck..." he choked, hips jolting forward. His tip bobbed once between her hands, shiny and stretched, and he came.

The first spurt hit her right between the brows, thick and hot, splashing across her smooth skin and dripping toward the bridge of her nose. She didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She just watched him with her eyes wide, her breathing shallow, as he spilled himself across her.

The second spurt landed higher, in her hairline. The third, lower, sliding down toward her lashes. His cock jerked in her hands, every pulse messy and shameless, and still she stroked, milking him, guiding every drop exactly where she wanted it.

When the last of it oozed from the tip, she slowed her hands, smearing it just slightly with her thumb, painting the final bit across her own skin like it belonged there.

And all the while, she looked at him with that same expression: this is what I want. Look what you did to me.

His chest heaved. Her face glistened. And the only sound was the soft, wet strokes of her hands still gently moving on his softening cock.

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Part 23: The Edge of Surrender

She leaned forward slowly, lips parted, eyes locked on his. Her hands settled low: one cupping his balls, the other holding the base of his shaft steady. Then she brought her mouth to just the tip.

And she stopped. Not teasing, not hesitating, just... holding it there. Her lips wrapped softly around the head, sealing him in. Her tongue pressed flat underneath, motionless. Her breath was warm, her gaze unchanging.

He froze. The tension snapped like wire pulled too tight. His stomach clenched. His hands hovered just above her head, trembling with restraint, not daring to push. She wasn't moving. She wasn't sucking. She was holding him there, still and silent like a promise, like a threat.

Her mouth tightened a little for the smallest suck. Her tongue traced the rim. He exhaled like he'd been holding it for hours. "Jesus," he whispered.

She kept him there. Nothing rushed, no rhythm. Just that heat, that unbearable stillness, that look in her eyes saying: I want all of you. Give it to me. And he couldn't hold it back. His hips jerked. A raw groan tore out of his chest.

She felt the shift in him, and she responded without a word. Her lips sealed harder, her hands anchoring him. The muscles at the base of his cock flexed, and she knew. The first pulse hit her tongue thick and hot. Her eyes didn't waver. He was coming hard.

It overwhelmed both of them: fast, full, messy. The pressure in his gut exploded through him in heavy spurts. She tried to take it, she wanted to, but it came too fast, there was too much. Some slipped past her lips, spilled down his shaft, smeared her fingers. She swallowed what she could, then took more, her tongue working under him as he pulsed again and again.

It was chaos. Hungry, shared chaos.

When it slowed, she still had the tip in her mouth, cleaning it with careful, reverent licks. Her hand pumped slowly, milking the last drops, her thumb brushing his slit. His thighs trembled under her touch.

And through it all, she kept looking at him. Not asking, not waiting. Just showing him, completely, how much she wanted it.

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Part 24: In Her Hands

He was already close.

She could feel it in the way his cock jerked in her grip, the heat pulsing just under the skin. Her hands were slick from his own arousal, from spit, from the mess they'd made together. They moved with smooth, eager strokes. One at the base, the other gliding just beneath the head, twisting and squeezing in a rhythm that was too perfect to be accidental.

She was breathing harder now, not from exertion but from the thrill of it. By the way he sounded above her, the way he let her take over, the way she could make his hips twitch with just the right pressure. Her mouth was slightly open, and every so often a soft moan slipped from her lips, involuntary and low, like she was feeling it all through him.

"Fuck... don't stop," he groaned, voice hoarse, thighs shaking. She didn't.

She stroked faster, tighter, completely focused. Her thumbs brushed his slit, her palms spread slick with precum and heat, and she felt it building, every muscle in his body locking into place.

Then he came. Hard. His cock jumped in her grip and thick ropes of cum burst out, hitting her fingers, her wrists, dripping between her hands in long, wet strings. It was wild, messy and she didn't even flinch. She just kept going, moaning softly as the warmth spilled out over her skin. The slickness only made her strokes smoother, filthier, more intoxicating.

She watched it all: Every pulse, every tremor. She loved it: his release, his need, the way he gave himself over in her hands like that. His breath came in broken gasps. He couldn't even speak.

Still, she stroked. She was slow now, letting him ride it out. His cum smeared between her fingers, down his shaft, along the backs of her knuckles like she was handling clay, carefully, reverent, deeply aroused.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at her, she was still moaning softly, still smiling. Still stroking him somehow, soaking in everything they'd made together.

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Part 25: The Final Gift

Her hands were still wet with him, her grip gentle now, stroking him through the aftershocks. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted, completely open, ruined and radiant.

He looked down at her and felt something deeper than the high of release. Something full, tender and overwhelming.

He bent low, still breathing hard, and cupped her jaw in his hand. Her face was flushed, her fingers coated, and when their mouths met, it was hungry.

His kiss wasn't careful, it was needy. Tongues brushing, lips slick, a low moan shared between them as if the only way he could thank her was to devour her. And she melted into it, whimpering softly into his mouth, letting him take exactly what he needed.

When he pulled back, she followed his movement, lips chasing his for just a second. But he wasn't done. He stood tall again, his cock still slick and sensitive, but hardening again, impossibly. The kiss had lit something under his skin. Something primal.

She looked up at him and knew instantly. She held still, hands falling to her lap, chest rising and falling. Her face tilted back, expectant and eager. He stroked himself once, twice, again, faster.

"Look at me," he growled. She did. She locked eyes with him, her lips trembling, every part of her body poised in open worship.

And he exploded. The first burst hit her cheek: hot, fast, marking her. The second, thicker, splashed her chin and the corner of her mouth. The third landed dead center, right between her eyes, sliding down the bridge of her nose like molten need.

And it kept coming. He hadn't known he had this much left in him, but watching her so willing, so undone, so perfectly his, he gave her everything. Each spurt painted her, streaking across her flushed skin, tangling in her lashes, dripping onto her tongue when she dared to let it slip out again, just a little.

She was in heaven. By the time the last pulse oozed from the tip, slow and heavy, her face was soaked, her breath was shaky and her smile blissful.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her eyes said it all. Thank you. I loved that. I want more. And his cock, twitching in his hand, promised there would be more.

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Part 26: Wrecked and Wanted

She blinked slowly, lashes sticky, vision hazy behind the mess he'd given her. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, trembling breaths. She didn't move. She just knelt there, glowing, wrecked, face shining with his release and eyes still locked on him like he was the only thing holding her together.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. There were no words yet, just his hands, big and steady, brushing the hair gently from her face. His thumbs traced under her eyes, catching the drips before they reached her lips, then smearing them softly into her cheeks with slow, reverent strokes. She leaned into his palms.

"You okay?" he asked, low and hoarse. She nodded. Her mouth moved like she wanted to say something, but the words never came: just a breathy sound, more moan than answer, and a desperate kind of smile.

He kissed her again. This time it was soft. Deep. Lingering. Their foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing each other in.

She clung to him now: hands at his neck, her thighs twitching from tension unspent. He could feel her arousal thrumming between them, still building, even in the quiet.

"You're still..." he whispered, but didn't finish. She nodded again. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, "So horny I could cry." He exhaled a soft laugh, pulling her fully into his lap. "Then we're not done." But he didn't rush.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her there, letting her body melt into his, bare skin to bare skin, her ruined face resting on his shoulder. His fingers slid slowly up and down her spine, grounding her. Her hands curled against his chest.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that, breathing, entangled, full of each other. Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at her again. His thumb brushed her lower lip. Her pupils were wide, her skin flushed and sticky and perfect. He smiled. "Let's get you cleaned up."

But the glint in her eyes said: Only if you fuck me after. And God help him, he was already getting hard again.

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Part 27: Her Turn

She was still in his lap, her face sticky against his skin, heart racing like it didn't know the session had ended. Because it hadn't.

He could feel it in her body, in the way she couldn't stop shifting, subtly grinding against his leg without even realizing it. She was soaked between her legs, and the need hadn't faded. It had deepened, curled up tighter with every denied second.

She tried to hold still, tried to focus on his fingers brushing her back, but the ache was too sharp now. She whimpered into his shoulder. "I know," he murmured. "I know, baby."

Then he laid her back slowly, reverently, onto the soft rug beneath them. Her hair fanned out, her skin flushed and glazed. He kissed her, just once, and moved down her body.

He didn't tease. He didn't talk. He just touched her, his fingers sliding between her thighs, parting her soaked lips, finding her clit already swollen and twitching. She cried out at the first contact, back arching, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yes," she gasped. "Please... don't stop."

He didn't. He circled her with slow, steady pressure, keeping her open with his other hand, his eyes locked on her face like he needed to see the moment it broke her. Her moans were ragged, desperate. She tried to lift her hips and he pinned them down, not harsh, just firm and controlling. Giving her no choice but to feel everything.

Her legs started to shake. She reached for him, grabbed at his forearm, her body rolling toward the edge. He leaned in close, voice low and rough. "Let go."

And she did. It tore through her like a storm: back arched, thighs clenching around his hand, a choked cry rising from her throat as she came hard, all at once. The release hit her in waves, her whole body shuddering, her face scrunching in blissed disbelief. She was loud and uncontrolled. She was perfect.

He stayed with her through it, still stroking her gently as her muscles fluttered and softened beneath him. When her breath slowed, he kissed her inner thigh, then crawled back up to pull her into his arms again.

She collapsed against his chest, boneless, sticky, smiling. Her voice was barely a whisper: "Finally."

He chuckled softly and kissed her temple. "You earned it."

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Part 28: The Quiet After

They lay tangled together in the quiet, bodies still warm, skin flushed and damp. The last flickers of her orgasm still pulsed faintly through her, leaving her loose and glowing in his arms. His hand stroked her back with a slow rhythm, not needing anything more. Just this.

She pressed her face to his neck, nuzzling into the place where his scent lived, safe, human, real. He kissed the top of her head. "You okay?" She nodded. "Better than okay."

There was silence for a long moment. Not awkward or empty, but full of breath, of shared heat, of everything they didn't need to say out loud.

She shifted a little closer, sighing as she settled fully against him. Her body was still sticky in places, and he didn't mind at all. He cupped the back of her head gently, protectively. "You're incredible," he murmured.

Her smile was small. "You're gentle for someone who just ruined my face." He laughed softly. "I only did what you asked for."

"And you did it so well," she teased, curling a leg over his. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest slowly. "I love how you touch me. Like I'm something to be handled, not just used."

He kissed her again, this time longer. Slower. "You are. You always are." And he meant it. Every rough thrust, every filthy word, every stroke across her tongue or cheek or thigh, he had put in with her. They had done it together. With their hunger, their enthusiasm, and her permission.

She rested her palm on his heart. "Thank you." He caught her hand and held it there. "Always."

They stayed like that a long time. Breathing each other in. No more words. No more need. Just skin, and quiet, and care.

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Epilogue: The Steam Between Them

The water was already running, the bathroom fogging up in seconds. He stood behind her in the shower, his arms wrapped around her waist, their skin slick from both the heat and the remnants of everything they'd done.

She tilted her head back into his shoulder with a long, amused groan. "There is so much of it," she laughed, swiping a hand across her cheek and holding it up, eyebrows raised.

He looked. Then grinned. "What can I say? You looked too good." She snorted and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "I think half of it's still in my hair."

He reached up, threading his fingers through the wet strands. They snagged. "Yep. It might need a comb, maybe even a prayer." She giggled again, louder this time. "You really went for it."

He turned her gently under the water, rinsing her face with slow hands, thumb brushing over her brow. "I wanted to give you everything." Her laughter softened into something warmer. "You did."

She cupped his cheek and kissed him. She was glowing. Then she turned back around, reaching for the shampoo.

As she lathered, he helped her untangle, patient fingers working through the knots. They were naked, wet, still sticky in a few places, but none of it mattered. There was no rush, no shame, just shared mess and quiet joy.

She glanced over her shoulder. "You know, this is your fault." "Oh, absolutely," he said, deadpan. "And I'll do it again. She grinned. "Good."

And in the soft thrum of the water, they kissed again, grinning against each other's mouths, hands slipping across wet skin, tangled in hair and heat and the undeniable intimacy of being cared for after being undone.

They stayed in the shower until the water turned lukewarm and the steam began to fade, but the warmth between them never did.