#185) Her Button Nose – GRAPHIC CONTENT

Her tongue was doing delicious things to me,
so talented in how it flicked at my slit
deep and then shallow, then deep,
so knowledgeable in how it circled my clit
teasingly close, then wandering away.
But it was her button nose
pushed deep up the crack of my ass,
that unfastened my reserve
and undid all my fears,
letting my libido out to play.
She could tell by my breathing what she was doing,
so she just giggled when I whimpered,
“Oh God, I’m gonna cum…”
Taking her lips from my lips,
she replied, “You don’t have my permission yet.”
I tried to think of other things,
my shopping list, the laundry.
The impending orgasm receded
like a wave drawing back on the beach
but the limitless ocean was still there.
“I wanna spank you first,”
my brown-nosed dominatrix smiled.
And she did,
and I came,
and she punished me for that, too.
Later, arms and legs entwined,
all my nasty bits aglow,
we lay in a state of mutual bliss.
“I loved… that,” I uttered.
“Thought you were gonna say something else,” she smiled.
“Are you kidding? The last time I made that mistake, you caned me. Hard.”
Her upturned nose again entered my upturned butt hole,
her tongue became reacquainted with my pussy,
and I lost all care.
“I love you!” I proclaimed, knowing what it’d cost me.
“I’m gonna strap you for that,” she pronounced.
I put my ass in the air
as I buried my face in the bed-clothes
feeling like “Fantasia’s” sexy ostrich,
as my lover fetched the Scottish tawse.
When she was done
and she was sweating as profusely
as I was crying, she said,
“Remember, before, when I said that your bottom never looked prettier?
Well, I was wrong. Now, all red and hot, it’s prettiest!”
“I need to fuck you,”
she whispered, getting up to put the strap back and seize the strap-on.
My first question was which phallus she’d choose for the harness,
which was answered when I saw the thin, straight, flesh-colored one,
instead of the veiny, fireplug that I adore.
My second question was answered
when she parted my bum
And nudged the slick toy against my anus
instead of an inch away
where my clit dripped and throbbed and ached.
She knows what’s best for me,
I told myself as the thing slid up my tightness
with an ease that would’ve been effort
if my fav phallus had been doing the job,
still, the job was quickly becoming Joyous.
“Please may I cum?” I begged!
“Not before I do, my little bitch,” she rejoined.
I HAD to distance myself from the anal-erotica
in my elevated backside from the ecstatic release ready
to explode in my pillow-buried brain.
God answered my pulchritude-predicament
with an image that entered my churning mind
to keep my libido from boiling over,
reduce it to a manageable simmer:
the proboscis of Pinocchio.
I imagined my lover’s perfect button nose
transformed into the long, thin, beige dildo
currently trafficking up my tooter,
her eyes wide, her knees knobby, her cunt clothed in lederhosen.
“Face-fuck my pucker, Pinocchio!” I repeated like a mantra.
Until I heard her huffing and puffing like the Little Engine That Could Cum,
and felt my bottom bathed by her squirting jism,
so that I could let myself go, or rather cum, too.
That limitless ocean engulfed me
with a tsunami of an orgasm.

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