Sequel to 9 1/2 Inches


By Britta

"Lick-2-3-4, suck-6-7-8--" mumbled Tom with his mouth full.
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"Can you please stop with the choreography count while you're giving me head?" Chakotay asked in a long-suffering voice.
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"Okey dokey."
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Chakotay smiled then quickly groaned as Tom began to bite his balls. Sharp bites like the ones little mouse teeth would make, he thought. Fingers twisted in his pubic hair then tugged and alternately soothed. His breath stopped and started in tandem with each yank and rub.
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Whatever possessed him to ask Tom Paris out on a date? The man was a demon in the sex department. Irreverent, sparkling, daring, and at times, it seemed, not a bit serious. Like now. A musical interlude combined with a blowjob. What would Tom think up next?
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The hot mouth that had pleasured him to the brink of orgasm stopped moving up and down his dick and wheedled, "Come on, Chakotay, sing it for me. Sing it and I'll bring you off."
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Oh gods, not that. It was so stupid it was embarrassing. Tom and his fixation on twentieth century culture. Shit. Oh no, oh gods, those nimble fingers were going to force him--"Suck on my big ten inch...record!"
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Tom sucked and squeezed and held Chakotay in place throughout the wild ride of climax. Mission accomplished. Tom felt smug having managed to get Chakotay to sing to his tune.
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B'Elanna had been right. His twenty-four centimeters had got him a date with Chakotay's twenty-six. And what a date it was turning out to be.
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The End

THE END

Comments? Suggestions?
E-mail me at Britta