How do you want it?

The word cock has never meant a lot to me.  Well, it didn't use to mean anything other than cock a doodle do, which was supposedly the sound my rooster made in the wee hours of the morning when I was a kid.  Maybe it is because a penis used to just be a dick, nothing spectacular really.   Every man had one and I didn't wonder which guys had big ones or who might have the one that was curved just right.  I'd never entertained the thought that there could be one that would satisfy me as much as I can satisfy myself with a toy.  I have always felt that a girl had better know exactly how to get herself off and if she couldn't, that she should not expect anyone else to be able to get her off either.  I handle my business and I know I am good at it, so good in fact, I sometimes feel guilty for not letting others watch me.  Perhaps it was partly because I enjoy myself so much that I had not seen the true beauty of cock.  Things have changed.  When I hear the button-fly jeans open, I salivate.  When it is not inside of me I want it in my mouth.  Slamming it in the back of my throat is fun for me, especially when I do it abruptly after an extended period of time spent slowly brushing it back and forth across my lips from side to side.  I love to hold my lips tightly and tease the head with my mouth, just a little bit at a time until the meaty, inside of my lips is completely wrapped around the head.  Then I curl my lips under and push just to the rim, back off, wrap my mouth around the shaft and move slowly up and down every part of it.  The way his cock responds to me makes me willing to do anything to please him.  Yesterday he commented that I am never done, that I always want more and will never be the first one to say I'm tired, no matter what.  I said, "I did once".  We've done it over 400 times and once, I had enough.  I was lying.  I just felt bad because he was beat.