He gave no warning, he didn’t tease at all. His entire tongue just thrust powerfully into my hot, soaking center, and I felt my walls flutter violently against him. He reached up with his hand to grab mine and slapped it on my own pussy, asking me to touch myself. I flushed again, but as my legs began to shake from the ministrations of his tongue, I obliged him before he did something like stop to punish me for disobeying him.  I guided my fingers to my own swollen clit and pressed down the way I did in the shower every morning, slow circles that got faster and harder around my bud. My breathing grew erratic and I kept pressing my cunt harder and harder into his face. I felt his nose rubbing close to my clit. I heard him swallowing my wetness. Touching myself was different with an audience and it didn’t feel like it was my hand at all. It didn’t feel like it was my body. It felt like I was watching someone else and I wasn’t moving at all, I wasn’t performing these actions. Not on myself, not for him. But I was. 