I dropped my weight onto his mouth before he finished saying my name. Mid-hello. Thighs over his ears. That was face sitting phone sex with no warm-up and no chair for him.

I settled like I meant to stay. The laugh he likes, lower than usual, because I was talking to the top of his head. Queening. Smother. The kind of oral that makes a man forget he has hands.

He tried to rush the clit like it was a finish line. I lifted half an inch and put him back where I wanted him. Face sitting phone sex kept the tempo mine. Slow grind. Full sit. The ugly little sound he made when I cut his air for a count of three and gave it back like a gift he had not earned.

Domination without a speech. I described the view from above: my wet on his mouth, his nose mashed, the way his cock jumped every time I rocked forward. Breath play that never needed a toy. Just hips and timing. No limits on how long I kept him there. Anything goes if he can still moan into me.

He asked to look at me. I said he already was. The view from under a woman is the whole point. I had him stroke only when I lifted. Stop when I sat. Edge like a man who understands furniture.

Face sitting phone sex again while I told him about the shower glass in my bathroom, steamed, my handprint on it from earlier. Copper light. Slate tile. I wanted that picture in his head while my weight did the rest. He got sloppy. I praised the sloppy and then made it worse on purpose.

When I came I did not get off him. I used the shake. Made him keep licking through it until his jaw sounded tired. Then I let him cum with my name mashed into his mouth and my thighs still deciding if he was done.

I stayed a minute after because getting up too fast is a kindness I do not always feel like. He thanked me into the wet. I laughed. Body worship queen from the other direction. Him under. Me deciding the air.

I had him describe the taste without poetry. Salt. Heat. The place where my weight made his voice thin. Face sitting phone sex likes that thin voice. I rocked once more just to hear it break.

He wanted to know if I was done. I was not. I put two fingers in his mouth beside his tongue and made him messy on purpose, then sat again so he had to choose which job to keep. He chose wrong. I corrected him with my hips.

The last minutes were quiet except for wet and breath. I told him when he could finish. He did. Ugly. Grateful. Still under me. I wiped his mouth with my thumb in the story and told him not to clean up like a guest. Guests get chairs. He got the floor and my laugh. Next sit: thesincenter.com/Gracie. Bring a towel.