Could you kindly shut the fuck up so that I can suck your clit until you cum like the neediest little slut? Thanks, I really appreciate it. [M/F] [Cunnilingus] [Fingering] [Instruction] [Second-Person POV]

Is that rude?

I don’t mean to be and, listen, I know I should probably pay attention when you talk, but it’s just so *fucking* hard when you’re wearing a tight pair of leggings that immediately draws my eyes to your thighs. And here I am–while you’re telling me about what the jerk Penny did at work today–thinking about what kind of panties you’re wearing. About how nice it’d be to roll the waistband of those leggings down and find out for myself.

Probably something simple. A solid black or white or forest green thong. Cotton. Viscose. Modal. Polyester? Maybe wool. Probably one of those thongs from that one defunct brand that you insist are the greatest things to have ever kissed your lips.

Save for *my* lips. Obviously.

I get it. I know, I know. You wanna show me some TikToks and tell me about Sarah’s latest, horribly disappointing fling (kindly get your girl off Tinder), but *I’ve* got my own designs. My attention is drifting, settling right along your hips, like my hands, pressing into your sides as I slide *dooooown*, tongue against your stomach, teeth pulling at the stretchy waistband of those leggings. Keep talking. Go ahead. I like it when those thoughts go from coherent to barely English–a muddled mumble that devolves into the neediest fucking whine this side of the Missisippi.

Which side?

Either side.

*That’s* how fucking needy you sound when my lips slide over that little mound, deftly avoiding your vellicative clitoris (get real, this early? I’ll be back, for it later, babe) and sliding down to that perfectly voluptuous vulva. And don’t you love making eye contact with me when my lips meet your labia, my tongue darting inside, tasting how fucking *wet* you are. Why? Already? All that from my hand wrapping around the edge of your thong and pulling it down?

You got goosebumps and I like that.

A slightly shivering thigh and I rub that.

Fingers digging in while my tongue flicks up, wraps around that little jewel, and bids a very refined *hello*.

Hello, and let’s get really fucking personal.

So that little lick is a little tease but your little moan turns into something more like a little whimper when I start sucking. Take it between my lips, hands sliding under your ass, holding you **down**, while I make myself at home.

I don’t need the fucking alphabet, sweetheart, because I know *you*. The way you move. The noises you make. The way your breathing grows swift when you’re about to cum. I can do this with my eyes closed. With one hand tied behind my back. But I won’t. Because I need one hand on your ass and the other pushing inside that tight, clenching pussy. *Squeeze* my index finger. Joined soon enough by my middle finger. Pressing down, while you flex your glute against my palm.

Now I’m really listening, y’know?

Every moan, whine, whimper, yowl, and howl.

Your hands running through my hair. My five o’clock shadow a little rough against your soft inner thighs. Fingers turned, saying “come hither, honey” as I spot the G and hold it down.

Suck and lick and tease and flick.

Hand moving from your ass to your nipple. Thumb. Forefinger. Press and roll gently.

I think you might lose it.

If I’m not careful you might cum.

And you know me–I’m rarely careful. Just call me a bull in a china shop because I’m gonna make you *squeal*.

Are you there?

Hm?

Fucking getting there?

Can barely fucking talk.

A smattering of blurred words.

That’s what I like.

That’s what I want to listen to.

Keep it up.

Keep.

It.

The.

Fuck.

Up.

Clit against my tongue.

Your wetness down my chin.

Soaking my fingers.

You’ll cum because I’ll fucking **make** you cum.

Sit back.

Spread your legs.

And *shut up*.

Try to hold it in.

Really.

Do it.

There it is. Here it comes. I wanna feel your entire body tense up. Back arching as you press against me. Pussy on my mouth. Hands digging into the sheet. Shut up until you fucking *can’t* anymore.

Because, sometimes, I might not wanna listen to you talk, but I sure as hell wanna listen to you scream.