I [F] gave a throat service my neighbour will never forget

I went to his door without much makeup, hair tied up, and nothing under my hoodie. I didn't need to speak. He opened the door, smiled down at me, and stepped aside.

I walked in, quiet, shy, and immediately dropped to my knees in front of the couch.

He sat down like he was waiting for me, legs spread just a little. I crawled between them, soft and eager, resting my hands on his thighs, eyes looking up for permission.

He stroked my cheek gently. "You came back to serve, didn't you, princess?"

I nodded once, slowly, then nuzzled into his lap, letting my cheek rest against the warmth of him through his sweatpants. I kissed him there, soft kisses, slow ones, a little trail of affection through the fabric. Then I pulled him out carefully, like unwrapping something I'd been missing all week.

I started with little kitten licks. Just the tip. Just the underside. Slow and worshipful. I pressed lipstick-soft kisses down his length, leaving warm stains and glossy smears. My mouth was already warm and wet, my lips shiny with the start of devotion.

When I eased down onto him, I took my time, soft breath, relaxed jaw, letting his warmth slide deeper inch by inch until my lips were brushing the base and my chin was damp with the mix of our need. My throat stretched around him, not to endure, but to welcome.

He sighed, leaned back, and laid his hand gently on my head. A sweet, affectionate pat. "Good girl… you really love being full, don't you?"

I hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating around him. As I moved slow, deliberate motions wet sounds filled the room. Not loud, not frantic. Just the sound of surrender. My spit clung to him, long strings tracing from my lips to his skin every time I pulled back to breathe, then let him slide back in.

Every time I reached the base again, he gave me another soft little pat. Like he was rewarding a pet for doing something right. His praise wasn't loud, but it settled into me like warmth: "That's it… just like that. You're perfect, sweetheart."

My lipstick was smeared completely now. Glossy pink rings marked every inch of him, streaked and glistening. I could feel saliva running down my chin, but I didn't care. It was part of the offering. Part of the softness. I just wanted to give.

Now and then, I pulled back to lick him clean, my tongue chasing the wetness along his skin. "I love this," I whispered between kisses, breathless but happy. "I love making you feel good."

He cupped my cheek, thumb brushing across my lip, smudging the little shine that was left.

"You're such a sweet thing," he murmured. "Such a perfect little mouth."

I gave him one more look, soft, trusting, needy. Then slid down again. Slower this time. Letting him disappear into warmth, into peace, into the one place he knew I would never hold back.

When I felt him come, I stayed still, breathing slowly through my nose, my lips sealed tight, my hands still folded in my lap like a good girl. I swallowed it all. Eyes closed.

He gave one more tender stroke to my hair. A quiet hum of approval. My whole body relaxed.

When I finally pulled back, I rested my face in his lap, sighing softly, my mouth still warm, my chin sticky, lips parted and content.

He smiled down at me with pride in his eyes.

"That's my girl."

And I nuzzled into him, cheeks glowing, already thinking about the next time I'd be lucky enough to serve.