A tongue’s dilemma: The art of sucking cock vs. eating pussy

I’ve spent years on my knees sometimes in submission, sometimes in worship, always in hunger. And the debate still burns in me like the ache of an unfinished orgasm: What’s better sucking dick or eating pussy?

Let’s start with Peter.

His cock wasn’t the biggest, but fuck, it was perfect. Thick enough to stretch my lips, with a vein that pulsed against my tongue like a heartbeat. I remember the first time I took him deep, my nose buried in his trimmed curls, the salt and musk taste of him flooding my mouth. He groaned, fingers twisting in my hair, hips jerking as I hollowed my cheeks. “Just like that, Natalia fuck, your mouth…”

I loved the control. The way his thighs trembled when I teased the tip with my tongue, flicking over that sensitive spot beneath the head. The way his breath hitched when I swallowed him whole, throat fluttering around his length. And the reward hot cum spilling over my tongue, his grip turning possessive, his moans raw and unfiltered. I licked him clean after, savoring the bitter tang, his softening cock twitching against my lips.

But then there was Karen.

Her pussy was a revelation plush lips, glistening, the scent of her arousal thick and sweet like ripe fruit. She didn’t just let me taste her; she demanded it, grinding against my face with a desperation that made my clit throb. I buried myself in her, tongue circling her clit before plunging inside, fucking her with slow, wet strokes. She tasted like honey and sin, her thighs clamping around my ears as she came, her cries muffling against the pillow.

The difference?

Cock is power. The weight on your tongue, the way a man unravels when you take him to the brink. But pussy? Pussy is intimacy. It’s a conversation a moan, a gasp, the way a woman’s hips rise to meet your mouth, her pleasure yours to give.

So which is better?

Fuck, I don’t know.

But if I had to choose… I’d pick pussy. Because nothing compares to the moment a woman falls apart on your tongue, her fingers tangled in your hair, her voice breaking as she whimpers “Don’t stop.”

And yeah, I kept my shirt on both times. Some mysteries are better left uncovered.