Eating Her Out with Olivia Ponton

[TheLW]

Eating Her Out
With Olivia Ponton
Written by TheLW
Codes: Oral, Squirting
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Olivia Ponton stood at the foot of the bed like she owned the room, which, in that moment, she did. The event was over, but those black cage heels remained, intricate leather straps winding up her thighs like shadowy vines, metal clasps catching what little light filtered through the curtains. The rest of her outfit had been shed earlier, the strapless mini dress lay crumpled on a nearby chair, forgotten.

What remained was more commanding than any outfit, just her, those impossible heels, and an assurance that needed no words. She stood five-nine barefoot, the heels elevated her another four inches, extending legs already shaped by countless runways and relentless training sessions. Her eyes found mine beneath heavy lids, a look I recognized, the one she sometimes wore when she knew exactly what she was doing to someone. A few blonde strands had slipped loose from her updo, framing her face. Her lips were parted just enough to show the edge of a smile.

I didn’t speak. There was no need. I simply sank to my knees in front of her, the hardwood cool against my shins.

I started low, the way I always did when I wanted to draw it out. My hands rested lightly on her calves at first, just enough contact to feel the subtle flex of muscle beneath smooth skin. Then I leaned in and pressed my lips to the high arch of her right foot, right where the thinnest strap crossed over her instep. The leather was cool, her skin beneath it was warm. I lingered there, letting the kiss soften into something slower, more open-mouthed. My tongue traced the edge of the strap, tasting the faint salt of her skin mixed with whatever polish had been applied to the leather earlier that day. She exhaled, a soft, barely audible sound, and shifted her weight. A single tap of her heel punctured the silence, like a needle through cloth.

I moved to her ankle next. Another kiss, firmer this time. I let my lips part wider, sucking gently at the delicate bone before sliding upward along the front of her shin. Each press of my mouth was measured, one kiss every inch or so, spaced deliberately so she could anticipate the next. I followed the lattice of straps like a map, kissing the bare strips of skin between them. The leather framed her perfectly, every gap became a canvas for my lips, my breath, the occasional flick of my tongue along the boundary where hide met flesh. When I reached the back of her knee, I paused longer than before.

That spot was a secret I’d learned early on. Sensitive. Vulnerable. I kissed there softly at first, just lips brushing skin. Then more insistent, my tongue tracing unhurried patterns there. I felt her leg tighten beneath my hand, watched goosebumps rise like a current moving through her. When her fingers drifted into my hair, they settled there, not demanding yet, just anchoring herself as something gathered momentum within her.

I took my time climbing higher. The inside of Olivia's thigh demanded patience. I planted kiss after kiss, working my way up in a slow zigzag so no patch of skin went untouched. The closer I got to her center, the warmer she became, the silkier. Her scent changed too, clean soap and perfume giving way to something richer, more intimate. I kissed the soft crease where thigh met hip, first on the left, then the right, letting my nose graze the outer lips as I did. She parted her legs a fraction wider. No words, just the subtle shift of her stance, heels clicking faintly as she adjusted.

I kissed her outer lips then, soft, reverent presses, almost chaste compared to what was coming. She was already wet, I could see the sheen in the dim light, and could feel the heat radiating from her. The first real taste came when I dragged my tongue upward in one long, flat stroke from entrance to clit. Her breath caught, sharp, audible. I did it again, slower, letting the flat of my tongue cover every inch, collecting the wetness that had already gathered. She tasted like want, salty-sweet, warm, addictive.

Her fingers tightened in my hair.

I didn’t rush. Starting with wide, unhurried circles around her most sensitive spot, gentle motions that coaxed small, uncontrollable shifts from her hips. Gradually, I refined my approach, quicker flicks, light and precise, just enough to make her thighs tremble. When she began to push forward, urgent, hungry movements, I slid my hands to grasp the backs of her thighs. My fingers dug into the firm muscle just below where the straps ended, holding her steady so she couldn’t escape the rhythm I was setting.

I drew Olivia between my lips with gentle pressure at first, creating a seal around that sensitive point, then increased the intensity, rhythmic pulls that coaxed a deep sound from her. When I created a soft hum, the sensation rippled through her, I felt her tremble in response. I varied my approach in the way experience had taught me, sometimes broad strokes that traced Olivia's entire length, then returning to that eager peak, applying pressure, quick touches, spiraling motions, keeping her guessing what would come next.

Minutes blurred by. My jaw began to ache, but I ignored it. Her wetness painted my skin, a slick glaze from chin to nose, yet I remained steadfast. Olivia’s breathing had turned ragged, moans slipped out freely now, low and rough, sometimes broken by a whispered curse. Her thighs clamped tighter around my head with every surge of pleasure, then relaxed just enough for me to keep going.

I eased two fingers into her warmth, pausing as she adjusted to the sensation, then curled them forward against that ridged spot I knew would unravel her. My pace built slowly at first, fingers pressing upward in tandem with each sweep of my tongue, creating a steady cadence against her clit. I sucked harder, tongue flicking fast and precise beneath the suction. Olivia responded by rocking against me in tight, urgent movements, one heel lifted slightly off the floor before slamming back down with a sharp, echoing tap.

Olivia' tensed up everywhere, legs clamped tight, stomach muscles taut, hands clutching desperately at my hair. From deep in her throat came a ragged sound, words barely forming, "God... oh god..." Then she came apart completely.

It wasn’t just an orgasm. She squirted, hard, sudden, uncontrollable. The warm flood cascaded beyond my lips, streaming down to my shirt collar. Olivia’s body bucked against me as another wave came, then another, each one powerful and uninhibited. I kept my mouth on her, sucking through every shuddering release, tongue still working her clit in steady circles while Olivia’s body convulsed around my fingers. The intensity left her legs shaking precariously, she gripped my shoulder for support, fingertips pressing deep as the release continued to wash through her.

Time stretched like warm honey, half a minute that felt like an eternity before the tremors gradually subsided into gentle ripples. Olivia’s body collapsed forward, breath coming in ragged gasps, thighs quivering against my shoulders. I eased back then, offering feather-light caresses against her tender flesh, pressing unhurried kisses along the glistening evidence of her pleasure. I tasted her everywhere, the sharp tang of her release mixed with her natural heat.

When I finally eased back, sweat beaded across my brow and trailing down to my jawline. Damp strands of hair stuck to my skin, and perspiration had soaked through my clothing. Olivia looked down at me through glassy, half-lidded eyes, cheeks flushed a deep rose, lips parted and swollen from biting them.

A shaky laugh escaped her. “Jesus. You’re fucking soaked.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, pointless, really, and grinned up at her through the mess. “Worth it. Every goddamn drop.”

Olivia reached down, her thumb tracing the wet line of my jaw, still catching her breath. “Those legs are dangerous,” she murmured, voice hoarse and wrecked. “You keep worshipping them like that and I’m never going to be able to walk straight again.”

I pressed one last kiss to the inside of her right thigh, right where the highest strap ended, tasting the lingering mix of her release and sweat.

“Then don’t,” I said against her skin. “Stay right here. I’m not done with them yet.”

She laughed again, breathless, soft, and threaded her fingers through my damp hair.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because neither am I.”

The End

[Blocboy VC]

Nice job. Hadn't heard of her before, this was a great first story for me to read her in.