Smut Saturdays #10: Eating Her Out

Every fourth Saturday, I’ll be posting erotica I’ve written, based loosely on my own real life experiences or fantasies, for your wanking enjoyment. They’ll all be under the category ‘Smut Saturdays’ and if you’ve got any feedback or requests for smut scenarios, put ‘em in the comments or hit me up on Twitter @KinkyAutistic!


It has been months since I’ve had my mouth on a vulva.

The reasons for this are manifold, and are irrelevant to this blog post. All you need to know, reader, is that this lack of pussy-eating is not due to a lack of inclination on my part. I have not lost my zeal for cunnilingus one bit. I think about it at least bi-weekly, and imagining burying my face between a girl’s legs makes my bi knees very weak indeed.

…I’ll show myself out.

In the absence of an eager cunt to put my tongue on, but in the presence (for once) of my own spoons, arousal and sustained attention span, I thought I could feature some of my cunnilingus-related thoughts in a Smut Saturdays piece for y’all to enjoy in depth. You know, like thoughts about how badly I’d like to tie a pretty girl’s wrists to a bedframe or somesuch so her arms were above her head. Maybe I would tie her ankles down too, for good measure – as far from one another as would be comfortable, so her legs lay spread and, by extension, so did her cunt.

I’ve been thinking about how I’d kiss her neck, then her lips, then her collarbone, hovering over her and in absolute control. I’d probably stay fully clothed, in contrast to her stark nudity, just to remind her how naked she was. And I’d close one hand gently around one of her tits, holding it steady so that I could guide her hardening nipple into my mouth, whilst my other hand lazily explored the curve of her waist that led into her hip.

If she were kinkily inclined, I might bite at her tits, leaving bruises on the velvet-soft underside of each of them so she could wear low-cut tops without revealing the imprints of my teeth, but she would be reminded of them whenever she adjusted her bra. Maybe I’d also press my nails into her skin, starting at her sternum and running all the way down her belly, leaving four raised red lines that stop just short of her mons pubis. And I imagine that, by this point, her mons pubis would be raised as a result of her lifting her arse and hips up just a few millimeters – a desperate hint that she wanted me to eat her out, and soon.

I’d ignore it. Instead, I’d run both hands from her midriff to her hips, pin them to the bed, and sink my teeth into her firm-but-yielding thigh. She would squeak, and writhe, and tell me, “It hurts!” in a petulant wail – but when I made eye contact with her, she’d mouth the word, “Green,” as a signal for me to continue. So then, of course, I would bite the other thigh, slightly harder than the first, and slightly closer to the tenderest skin of her innermost thigh – which is also, of course, closer to her cunt itself. I’d suck a little bit on the section of thigh I held between my teeth, drawing blood to the surface to encourage it to bruise. She would be whimpering and twitching, pulling against the rope around her ankles in an attempt to push her cunt closer to my face. I would probably look up at her with my teeth still digging into her skin and quirk an eyebrow at her, as if to ask: What’s wrong, baby?

As if I didn’t already know.

Finally, though, temptation would overcome me too. I would know – maybe I’d even see – that the sustained biting and teasing had rendered her pussy slick and swollen, her usually-hidden clit engorged and poking shyly out of its hood. As I let my head drift closer to the space between her legs, I’d be able to smell the hot, human essence of her, and I’d lean into it, my mouth so close to her clit that she could feel the warmth of my breath. I wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer, and I’d let my lips touch her labia.

I would, of course, start off agonisingly slowly. I’d close my lips around her clitoris, kissing it slowly, and then I’d move further south, kissing the markedly less sensitive area between her clit and the opening of her cunt, savouring the taste of the thick wetness that my teasing had resulted in (as well as savouring my own smug sense of accomplishment about that). She’d pout a little at the removal of my mouth from her clit, so I’d drag my tongue back upwards and start running it up and down, gentle and broad, over her clit.

Over time, I would get more purposeful. I’d press my tongue a little more firmly into her vulva, focusing my attention more on her clit than on anything else; I would flex the muscles of my tongue so that I could deliver more pinpoint stimulation, finding the spot in the top-left quadrant of her clit that made her swear and grind her hips against my tongue; I’d place my hand flat on her mons pubis and pull upwards, just a little, to encourage her clitoral hood away from the erect knot of the external clitoris itself. I wouldn’t distract her with internal stimulation (this time, anyway), instead focusing solely on her clit and the swollen tissues around it.

And, after several delicious minutes of drawing asterisks and circles on her clit with my tongue, she would gasp, “Fuck, I think I’m gonna -”

And she would shake, and her mouth would open for a series of sounds that were ascending in both pitch and volume: “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhh!” and I would be there, between her legs, slowing down the movements of my tongue as she came all over it.

Then I’d withdraw, and she would look up at me with huge, oxytocin-flooded eyes and freshly-bruised tits, and I’d kiss her lips – the ones on her face this time – and ask softly what she’d like to do next.

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