First Day Home: Hairy Pussy Eaten and Huge Clit Sucked

Aisha dropped her bag by the door and stood in the warm hush of the apartment, listening to the radiator tick and the city traffic fade behind the glass. Twenty-two, curvy in the hips and soft through the belly, she had spent the last four months in a narrow dorm bed three states away, and the first thing she wanted on her first day home was not a shower or a meal. It was Ravi. She had texted him from the train platform, and the reply had been two words: Already here.

He was on the couch in a gray T-shirt and dark pants, twenty-eight and broad through the shoulders, barefoot, the afternoon light cutting across his mouth. They had been lovers since the summer she turned eighteen, and the distance had not dulled any of it. If anything the months apart had sharpened her. She crossed the living room slowly, feeling the weight of her own body, the way her thighs brushed, the thick private heat she had been carrying since the airport.

"You look like you missed me," he said.

"I missed your mouth," she said, and sat on the arm of the couch so her knee pressed his. "Specifically. I missed you getting down there and not coming up until I couldn't talk."

His eyes went darker. He set a hand on her calf, warm and sure, and slid it upward until his fingers rested just under the hem of her skirt. "Tell me how you want it."

She had thought about this on the train, in the taxi, walking up the stairs with her bag bumping her hip. "Slow at first. I want your nose in it. I grew it out the whole semester. It's thick. Dark. You used to say you liked getting lost in it." She shifted, and the skirt rode a little. "And my clit. You know how big it gets when I'm worked up. It's been swollen for days just thinking about your tongue on it. I want you to suck it. Not lick around it. Suck it like you mean to ruin me."

"On your first day home," he said, almost laughing, almost not. "You don't want dinner. You don't want to unpack."

"I want your face between my legs until I cum on it. Then I want your cock." She leaned down so her mouth was near his ear, her breasts heavy against the front of her thin top. "Long and thick. I want both hands on it. I want it in my throat. I've been empty for months, Ravi. Don't make me wait through small talk."

He turned his head and kissed the inside of her wrist, then the soft place above her knee. "Sit back. Spread for me. Let me see what I've been starving for."

The couch cushions gave under her as she slid down from the arm and settled against the back, skirt bunched at her waist before she even decided to lift it. She did it anyway, deliberate, both hands gathering the fabric and holding it high so he could see the plain cotton panties stretched over the dense dark bush. The hair escaped the edges, curly and thick along the creases of her thighs. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and peeled the panties down, kicking them off one ankle. Cool air hit wet skin. She was already slick, the lips plump, the hair matted in places where her own need had soaked through on the ride home.

She opened her knees wide on the cushions and looked at him. "See? Look at it. Look how big it is."

He did. Her clit stood out from the hood, swollen and glossy, unusually large even for her, the kind of clit that took a whole mouth to cover when she was this aroused. It throbbed visibly with her pulse. The bush framed everything, dense and soft, smelling of her sweat and the sweet-salt of arousal she had been carrying since morning.

"Jesus, Aisha," he said, voice gone rough. "You're dripping. That thing is huge."

"It hurts," she said, and she meant it in the good way, the ache of too much blood and not enough touch. "Every time I sat down on the train it rubbed. I almost came in the taxi thinking about your lips around it. Get on your knees. Eat me. I want your tongue in my hairy pussy before I lose my mind."

He went down without another word, knees on the rug, hands sliding up the insides of her thighs and pushing them wider. She watched his face disappear into the thick hair, felt the first hot breath against her soaked folds, and her stomach clenched. His nose nudged through the curls. His mouth opened over her. The first lick was long and flat, from the wet entrance up through the hair-matted lips to the underside of that aching clit, and she made a sound she had not made in months, loud in the quiet apartment.

"There," she gasped. "God, right there. Don't be polite. I didn't come home to be polite."

He groaned into her, the vibration running straight through her clit, and buried his face deeper. The hair tickled his cheeks and caught on his stubble. He licked her like he had been thinking about it every night she was gone, slow hungry strokes that parted her folds and gathered the slickness, then pushed it back up over her clit without quite taking it yet. She was soaked. Every pass of his tongue made a soft wet sound. She grabbed the back of the couch with one hand and his hair with the other and held him there.

"Talk to me," she said, breathless. "Tell me what you're doing to my pussy."

"I'm eating this hairy cunt the way you asked," he said against her, words muffled and filthy. "Your bush is all over my face. You're so wet it's running into my mouth. This clit—" he flicked the fat head of it with the tip of his tongue and she jerked "—this huge clit is going to be in my mouth until you cum. All of it. I'm going to suck it hard."

"Yes. Do it. I'm not going to last."

He licked her open again, slower, tracing each fold, nosing into the dense hair at the top until his lips found the swollen bud and closed around it. Not a tease. A seal. He drew her clit into his mouth, the whole thick length of it, and sucked.

The pleasure hit so hard her vision went white at the edges. Her hips came off the cushion. She ground against his face, pubic hair rasping his lips, and cried out, high and broken. "Fuck—Ravi—suck it—suck my clit—"

He did. He hollowed his cheeks and pulled, tongue working the underside while his lips stayed locked around the shaft of it, and the suction was relentless, wet, obscene. Her thighs shook around his ears. She could hear herself, the slick sounds, his hungry breaths through his nose buried in her bush. The orgasm built fast and mean, coiling low, and when it broke she came loudly, back arching, clit pulsing hard against his tongue, a rush of wetness smearing his chin. She sobbed his name and held his head and rode it, grinding her hairy pussy into his mouth while the spasms rolled through her.

He did not stop. He kept sucking through the aftershocks, gentler for three breaths, then harder again, drawing her still-throbbing clit back between his lips and nursing it. The sensitivity was almost too much. She tried to twist away and he held her hips and sucked deeper, and the too-much flipped back into need so fast she whimpered.

"Again," she heard herself say. "Don't you dare stop. Suck it. Make me cum again. I can feel it—oh God, your mouth—"

He ate her with long strokes between the sucks, tongue fucking shallowly into her clenching entrance, then returning to that huge clit and sealing his lips around it, pulling rhythmically, filthy and devoted. Her second orgasm slammed into the first before she had finished trembling. She shouted, thighs clamping his head, grinding so hard the couch creaked. Cum gushed against his mouth. He drank it, licked through the hair, and latched on again, sucking her clit like he could pull a third one straight out of her spine.

"Ravi—please—it's so big, you're sucking it so hard—I'm going to—fuck, I'm cumming—"

The third one shattered her. She came with her mouth open and no sound at first, then a raw cry that filled the room, hips bucking, the thick bush soaked and wild against his face, her enormous clit pulsing in the tight heat of his mouth over and over. He sucked her through every wave, hands gripping her ass, holding her open and against him until she was shaking too hard to grind and could only gasp and leak and clutch his hair.

When he finally eased off, his mouth was shining, her hair stuck to his lips, and she was wrecked against the cushions, chest heaving, skirt still bunched at her waist, pussy swollen and dripping.

She reached for him with unsteady hands. "Pants. Off. Now. I need your cock."

He rose enough for her to yank the waistband down, and his cock sprang free, long and thick, heavy, the head already dark and wet at the slit. She had missed the weight of it in her hands almost as much as his mouth. She wrapped both fists around the shaft, stacked, and still there was length left. She stroked him firmly, twisting a little on the upstroke, spreading the slick from the tip down the thick vein.

"Look at you," she said, voice hoarse from moaning. "All that from eating me. Your face is covered in my pussy."

"You taste like you came three times," he said, watching her hands. "Suck it. I want that mouth."

She leaned in and took the fat head between her lips, tongue swirling the underside, and sank down until he nudged the back of her throat. Both hands kept jerking what she could not swallow, firm and steady, while she sucked him deep, cheeks hollow, spit slicking her fists. He groaned, one hand in her hair, not forcing, just holding on. She bobbed, taking him as far as she could, gagging softly and pulling back to lick the head, then swallowing him again, jerking the thick base with both hands in time with her mouth.

"Aisha—fuck—your throat—I'm close—"

She wanted it. She sucked harder, hands working the long shaft, tongue pressed flat, and when he swelled and pulsed she pulled back just enough to keep the head on her tongue. He exploded with a broken sound, thick ropes of cum flooding her mouth, hot and bitter-salt. She stroked him through it, milking every drop onto her tongue, swallowing in heavy gulps, then licking the slit clean while he shuddered.

Still trembling from her last orgasm, she swallowed the rest with a wicked smile, cum and spit shining on her lips, and pulled him up by the shirt for a deep kiss that tasted like her pussy and his release mixed together. Against his mouth she whispered that her first day home had turned out better than she had imagined, filthy and perfect and nowhere near finished.

She was never leaving this couch without his mouth on her again.