I am on a train to Montreal at 9 in the morning and I want to write about being face-fucked. Fortunately, the seat next to me is vacant, so I can do so without the risk of a stranger seeing the tales of skull-fuckery on my screen.
I used to be terrified of getting face-fucked. Legit terrified – for the same reason I fucking hate it when doctors have to use a tongue depressor on me or take a throat swab: gagging. When I was still learning how to suck cock (and, arguably more importantly, how to enjoy sucking cock), I would sometimes gag even if I was the one controlling all the movement. It’s just not a very natural thing if you’ve never done it before, having this firm tubular object fill your mouth and slide back and forth across your soft palate, dangerously close to uvula-town. Starting with getting face-fucked would’ve been like skipping tricycles and bicycles and hopping right onto a Harley-Davidson.