Free One Night Only by Violet Blue

probably a twenty-four-hour bug; then he and Robin carried me up to my room. “Best if she just sleeps it off,” said the doc, and Robin, the sweetheart, said he’d stay there with me in case I woke up in the night and felt worse. I knew that bit already, though, because he was the next thing I saw, stretched out on the couch at the far end of the room, a book on his chest and fast asleep.

    I sat watching him for a moment. The evening had been alive with promise…when he touched my hand, I swear I saw sparks, and when he took it and pressed it to his lips and murmured something that I only just heard (but I know the words “taste you” were in there somewhere), I almost wet myself there and then. In fact, now that I thought about it, the fact that I didn’t wet myself should have warned me right away that I wasn’t feeling quite right. Add that to my earlier inability to speak coherently, and maybe to the ease with which I fell asleep at the lecture, and the doctor was probably right. Maybe I did have a bug.
    But I felt fine now. Finer than fine. I climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Robin didn’t stir, and I smiled at the bare feet protruding from beneath his blanket; smiled, too, as I spotted his trousers neatly folded on the chair, and his shirt carefully hung on the back.
    I cleaned my teeth, peed, then stepped back into the room. He hadn’t moved since I last passed, and I wondered about something: he’d left my underwear in place—what about his? I tiptoed to his side, crouched and lifted one corner of the blanket: long legs, hairy and muscular, and a pair of cotton briefs, good old-fashioned Y-fronts. Well, that answered that.
    The thing is, there’s a lot you can do with a pair of Y-fronts, especially if, like these, they’re a little loose. For instance, using the tip of one finger, you can lift up one of the flaps and who knows what you’ll find in there, all curled up and sleeping, just like its owner? And, if you’re really careful, and you make sure to use your finger to gently roll it, rather than using your nail to hook it out, you can maneuver that something till it’s just peeking out, still warm and unsuspecting. Then you can lean forward a little and stretch out your tongue…careful, don’t jog him with your chin, just let him sleep on…and you just circle around that little slit with the tiniest tip of your tongue.

    A story came to mind, one I’d read online a few nights before, about a girl who awakened her husband by sucking gently on his cock. What a wonderful way to greet a new day that must be. And it must be pretty good for the guy as well. I leaned forward a little closer and licked again. The taste on my tongue was tart but tantalizing as I danced lightly around that one closed eye, and this time I was rewarded with the merest hint of movement.
    I glanced up at Robin’s sleeping face. He lay impassive, completely unaware. But his dick knew something was going on, and as I ran my tongue once more across him, I could see it unfurling beneath the fabric of his briefs, thickening and strengthening, and pushing through the flap.
    Boldly, I dragged my tongue across his helmet, then down onto the shaft. He wasn’t fully erect yet—at best, he was semisoft. But, even in the dim light cast by my bedside lamp, he was an impressive-looking fellow. I concentrated for a moment on that supersensitive spot, right where the helmet meets the shaft, and this time I got a twitch. And another one. That’s it, my beauty, just keep on hardening, and I’ll do the rest.
    Flat on his back, Robin slept on. Was he dreaming, I wondered? And, if he was, was the state of his cock playing any part in it? I worked up a little spit and dribbled it onto his helmet. I blew gently. Another twitch and at last, his cock made its first attempt to rise, to reach out to whatever was teasing it so. A little more spit, a