The necessity of a towel
It was always an exercise in patience — taking her past the point of not wanting to cum again and disregarding her whispered protests. She always took joy in a soaked towel.
Fucking always involved a towel — from the first time she ever invited me into her bed. Yvonne never squirted a little but a lot, and she could literally soak the bed.
It was always an exercise in patience — taking her past the point of not wanting to cum again and disregarding her whispered protests. She always took pleasure in a soaked towel and has told me so more than once.
I could never make her squirt with my cock but rather my two fingers and my tongue — I enjoyed her taste and the sight of fluid pouring from her cunt, and I craved it always.
Once she was spread over me; my fingers caressing her spot as my tongue played with her clit. She stopped sucking my cock and let herself flow — I tried to drink as much as I could but most of her juices ran down the sides of my face onto the towel.
Occasionally, she would try to make herself squirt as I watched but she never could. She could only make herself cum, and even when she watched me jerk off and cum all over her pussy, the towel would stay relatively dry.
I woke her one night from a deep sleep with my touch and we fucked for a while. With my tongue on her clit and my fingers deep inside her I made her soak the bed. She got so angry at me for not getting a towel.
After the towel is soaked, and if I haven’t cum yet, she will spread her legs and we will fuck on the wet towel until my screams of release fill the room. I will collapse into her and she will wrap herself around me and we’d kiss.
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