There's a long moment of stillness, just the warmth and the connection and the realisation that you're being held. Your body is shaking, and you realize your whole body is clenched still, holding onto your breath and your mind, unable to bring yourself to move.
It moves for you. Something clearer flicks your slit and you yelp, pulling back reflexively. Its lips stretch taut, refusing to let you go. The tendril tightens around your shaft.
You're tugged forward more deeply into that suffocating, delicious heat, your hips shaking against the tiled wall, clenching on the edge of another orgasm! The lips slowly pull back, locking at the base of your head again, sealing wetly. The other part - a thin tongue? - presses much more carefully against your tip, licks you gently this time, the tingling of the nerves drawn out in time with a long, low breath from you.
You feel your teeth resting against the wall, realize your mouth is wide open. It continues to lick, starting this time by tracing up the ridge of skin running the underside of your head, its tongue smooth you can hardly feel it until it flicks over your tip and makes your hips shake again.
You've used your hands for this many times before, but this is so much smoother than your fingertips. And the way it feels, around and over and almost in you. Like… hot chocolate? You breath out a laugh, but nod to yourself - yes, like Dutch hot chocolate, almost literally melted chocolate, so sweet, vaguely bitter but in a very good way, each long sip becoming a velvet warmth inside, spreading from your full smile all the way to your deepest core, radiating with a blissful satisfaction that invigorates and relaxes your very soul. And then, as now, you begin to relax.
The tongue slides over you, and you groan and shiver aloud as it tools over the taut skin atop of your glans, again and again, around and around. The lips pull tighter, the tongue continuing to swirl across skin almost too sensitive to take it. You find yourself panting against the cold tiles, eyes shut as you try to remember how to breathe, almost eager to forget.
Then something changes. There's a pull, a tightness, and you realise it's sucking on you, drawing you closer and further in without actually moving you. Gods, it makes you want to thrust, like you need to fill the emptiness it's drawing you into, the negative pressure ahead tugging on your tip and the ridge of your head and much deeper inside. The tongue swirls slower, clearer, back and forth, and at your base the tendril begins to stroke you again.
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