By Zoe Adams
I’ve been with my partner now for over four years – well, four years, two months and five days, if you want to get technical about it.
In our time together, we’ve had our ups and downs, like any couple. We know each other’s likes and dislikes, even when it comes down to something silly like a pizza topping (I personally love four cheese, whereas he loves meat feast).
When it comes to the bedroom, I’ll be completely honest; I love a bit of foreplay. He touches me in my innermost places, with either his fingers or toys. Not only does it feel amazing, but it gets me in exactly the right mood.
Sometimes the foreplay between us is fast and hard, full of unbridled passion. And sometimes it tantalisingly soft, tender and full of romance.
My partner’s favourite side of foreplay is fellatio. He likes me to nibble at his thighs and take him into my mouth as fast as I can.
Half the time, I like to go slow, teasing him in every sense of the word. It’s then that I can crawl up his body and passions ignite, as it turns into sex.
In the four years, two months and five days we have been together, I have given him countless fellatio, but I have barely allowed him to ejaculate into my mouth.
I’d never understood the phrase ‘spit or swallow’ when I was younger, but of course, now I do.
The first time I had ever let him ejaculate was at my house. We were about two years into our relationship, and we had been on a picnic and explored a wood where I had camped twice previously.
We arrived home to an empty house. The second we were in the house, he cupped my buttocks and kissed my neck – instantly I knew how turned on he was. I wanted to do something special for him after such a great day out, but I knew the house wouldn’t be peaceful for long.
This led me to lock us in the bathroom. Once there I unbuttoned his trousers, freed his penis and began to suckle on him. I kept going and going, ignoring his warnings to stop.
Semen hit the back of my throat, and filled my mouth. It was disgusting and sickening. When he was finished, I spat into the toilet bowl, wiped my mouth with tissue and flushed it all away.
As much as he loved it, I told him there was no chance I’d do it again.
Or so I thought.
Last Sunday was the best of times, it was the worst of times (as Charles Dickens would say). There had been a huge argument in my family, and so my partner and his Mum drove to pick me up to stay at theirs for the night.
In his room, we cuddled. He stroked my hair, soothing me. We found ourselves kissing and touching and sooner, rather than later, I was nestled between his legs, massaging, kissing and sucking at his member.
I kept going, using all the tricks I had picked up from the books I had been reading (fantasy/paranormal romance) and soon he was warning me.
Something had taken over me as I kept going and going.
Hot, sweet semen splashed onto my tongue, dribbling down my throat, plugging my mouth. I found myself swallowing to be free of it, but at the same time I realised something – it had tasted better than the last time, and strangely, I was enjoying it.
When it was gone, and he had kissed me within an inch of my life, I couldn’t help but smile. I had cemented our relationship further, and that felt good.