I’d been fantasizing about this moment since the first text. Your message pinged just after sunrise, waking me up with a simple, devastating command: “Be ready for me tonight.” It’s crazy how those five words wound through my skull all day—how they made everything else, every class, every errand, every bite of food taste like a rehearsal for the way I planned to taste you.

Now, at last, I was exactly where I belonged: propped between your thighs on the edge of your bed, my chin resting on your taut quadriceps, my eyeglasses slipping down my nose as I looked up at you with deliberately wide eyes, feigning a l*ttle innocence. The lamp cast a golden, forgiving haze over your body, making your c*ck look even thicker and more heroic than it had in the steady glow of my phone screen. I l*cked my lips and let myself imagine what I must look like to you—a girl with a mouthful of metal and a brainful of sin, ready to drag her tongue over every inch of your length and worship you with a devotion that felt almost religious.

You didn’t ask me to strip. I did it on my own, one hip at a time, turning my back so you could see the curve of my *ss and the telltale gleam of my retainer case in my discarded jeans. I loved the anticipation in your voice as you beckoned me closer; I loved the possessiveness in your hands as you guided me into position, your fingers threading into the mess of my hair.

The first touch of your c*ck against my teeth sent a shiver through me. You slid in slow, aware of the sharpness of my brackets, but I wanted you to feel it—the way my braces caught on the underside of your shaft, just enough to leave an impression but never enough to break your skin. You told me once that you liked the danger of it, the risk of being scraped by the same mouth that could, with a single word, be told to behave. I didn’t want to behave. Not tonight, when everything inside me was tuned to the music of your desire.

I let my lips slide lower, taking you deep, until my nose met the slight brush of your pubic hair and the pressure of my glasses pressed into your pelvis. My eyes watered, just a l*ttle, and you brushed your thumb over my cheek, catching the tear before it could fall. You said my name low and rough, and I moaned around you, humming in a way I knew you could feel all the way up your spine.

You asked me why I was so obsessed with your c*ck. You wanted an answer, but you didn’t want me to stop, so I pulled off just long enough to pant it into your skin: “Because I love how f*cking thick you are, how every time you push into my mouth I feel like you’re breaking the rules of physics, like you’re shoving into my throat and my brain at the same time. I love the way you taste, especially when you get tense right before you c*m, that salty-dark punch that only I get to swallow. I love how my mouth gets sore from you, how my lips stay swollen and red, how my tongue feels owned.”

You laughed—g*d, it was hot, the way you laughed at my desperation—and pressed your palm to the back of my head, making me take you in again, deeper, until the smudge of pre-c*m on your tip slicked against my tongue and my chin was wet with it. I let drool spill out shamelessly, feeling it run down my throat and onto my chest, mixing with the sweat beading at my collarbone. My small tits brushed your knees every time I bobbed my head, and I arched my back to push my *ss higher in the air, hoping you’d notice the way my thighs trembled with need.

The more you moaned, the hungrier I got. I started to drag my brackets against you on purpose, using my tongue to soothe wherever I’d left a mark. You gasped the first time I did it—a real, surprised gasp—and I felt the power of it in my c*nt, a l*ttle pulse of pride at the way I could make you lose control. You called me a filthy girl and I smiled, mouth stretched wide around you, so you could see how much I agreed.

Things escalated fast. You stood, towering over me, your silhouette turning monstrous and perfect in the dim room. I knelt at your feet, my tongue out, my mouth open, my glasses fogged with the heat of our bodies. I wanted you to finish on my face, in my mouth, anywhere you liked; I wanted you to see your c*m explode over my braces and stick to the lenses of my glasses, a badge of honor and proof of my devotion. My hands were behind my back, my body language pure submission, but inside I was wild with the power of it—how I could make you snap, over and over, just by using my mouth and a l*ttle stainless steel hardware.

When you finally came, it was everything I’d dreamed. The first sh*t h*t the roof of my mouth, hot and sudden; the next painted the inside of my cheek and splattered over the brackets, clinging to the shiny metal in globs that I rolled around with my tongue. You groaned as the third pulse streaked up past my lip and landed on my glasses, blurring the world and soaking my eyelashes. I held my pose for you—kneeling, drenched, mouth full—too greedy to spit, too hungry for your approval to do anything but swallow and show you.

As you backed away to catch your breath, I scooped the drops from my glasses with a fingertip and sucked them clean, eyes locked on yours. I could still feel the throb of your c*ck in my mouth, phantom and insistent, and I wanted more, even though I was trembling with aftershocks.

Ready to see how messy this gets? Join me inside for the full worship session.

Braces Facials Bl*w Jobs POV Braces C*ck Worship Facial: Lone Star Angel Sucks and Begs for Your C*m on Her Knees with C4s.com

Braces Facials Blw Jobs POV Braces Cck Worship Facial: Lone Star Angel Sucks and Begs for Your C*m on Her Knees with C4s.com