I like to lay in fresh washed skin, slowly fingering my cock. A tumbler of whiskey rising and falling with each long deep breath. I focus on the golden waves rolling in the glass. Hank Williams is singing melancholy ballads on repeat, softly across the room. In the warm incandescent glow, my cock has risen. I grasp it firm in my strong hand. The head swells like a purple plum. A ripe plum, juice squeezing from the slit. I massage my dick tip like a wet clit, squeezing the plum for juice when it sticks. My thighs burning to my toes. The glass half empty, visions appear.
Her eyes lock with mine clawing drawing ever so slowly closer. Leaving little licks along the way.
Little licking tongue likes to linger on the purple plum of my loins, sucking the juice of my ripe fruit.
I thrust hard against my hand when a flash of pink crosses my lips. Wetting them with salt I can taste.
Strong smooth thighs part and pull me inside. Breasts swaying as she rocks in my lap.
My hand strokes are swift and light. Then she starts to feel the thrusting; touching herself, moaning, sliding her breasts against my face. My hand tightens, deepens, quickens with intent.
I raise my knees and thrust deep into her. She presses her forehead to mine and whines as I speed to an orgasm.
One last sip of whiskey and I cum. Spraying clean white to my chest.
Then it is just cooling pools rolling down my sides, a soft cock warm in my hand, and the slow rise and fall of the empty whiskey glass in the warm incandescent glow.