Memories

The pizza box was still warm when Lisa tossed it onto the coffee table, grease soaking through the cardboard. Marty didn’t even glance up from his game, his thumbs hammering the controller buttons with the intensity of a man fighting for his life.

She leaned against the armrest, watching the way his jaw clenched whenever his character took damage. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple—pathetic, really, how worked up he got over pixels.

"You know," she said, plucking a cold pepperoni from the box and dragging it slowly between her lips, "I was thinking about that time in your dorm. When I got on my knees for you mid-raid." His character stumbled on-screen, taking a critical hit.

Lisa grinned, letting her fingers trail up his thigh. "Remember how you tried to keep playing? How your hands shook when you came down my throat?" His grip on the controller tightened, knuckles going white. The headset slipped slightly, revealing the reddening edge of his ear.

She could smell the salt of his skin, the cheap fabric softener on his hoodie. Her tongue flicked out to catch the last trace of pepperoni oil from her bottom lip. "I bet you’d last even shorter now," she murmured, her breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. "Bet you’re already imagining it." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. The game over screen flashed, ignored.

SUMMARY^1: Lisa distracts Marty from his video game by reminiscing about giving him head in his dorm, teasing him with vivid details of the encounter. Her deliberate touches and whispered provocations make him lose focus, culminating in his character dying in-game as he visibly reacts to her words.

Lisa traced the outline of his cock through his sweats—already half-hard, twitching under her touch. "You loved how I didn’t stop, didn’t you?" Her fingers curled, pressing just enough to make him jerk. "Even when you grabbed my hair. Even when you fucking whimpered." The controller clattered to the floor as his hips lifted involuntarily.

She laughed low, sinking onto the carpet between his knees. The denim seam of his jeans dug into her palms as she leaned in. "I still remember the taste," she admitted, nosing at the heat trapped in the fabric. "That first bitter fucking punch when you came." Her teeth grazed him through the cotton, and he hissed. "You want to see if I’ve gotten better at swallowing?"

Marty’s fingers tangled in her hair—not pulling yet, just gripping. Like he was afraid she’d vanish. Lisa licked a slow stripe up the length of him, savoring the way his thighs tensed. "Game’s paused," she whispered against his zipper. "But you’re not, are you?" The damp spot on his boxers darkened as she mouthed at him. Somewhere, his character was bleeding out on-screen. Neither of them cared.
She unbuttoned his jeans with her teeth, the metal scraping loud in the quiet room. The sound of his breath hitching was better than any headshot. "Remember how you apologized after?" Lisa dragged the waistband down just enough to bare the tip of him, glistening under the dim TV light. "Kept saying you’d ‘last longer next time.’" Her tongue flicked out, catching the bead of precome. "Spoiler—you didn’t."

His hips jerked when she sucked just the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue in tight circles. The taste was sharper now—less shy, more *his*. She pulled off with a wet pop, grinning at the frustrated groan it earned her. "Still so fucking polite," she taunted, palming the rigid line of him through his boxers. "You gonna beg? Or should I make you?"

The headset dangled from one ear as Marty finally looked down at her. His pupils were blown, lips parted around uneven breaths. Lisa held his gaze while she hooked her thumbs in his waistband, dragging everything down in one slow motion. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed and leaking. She blew a stream of cool air over it, watching the way his abs clenched. "Oh," she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the base. "You *are* begging."

Marty’s groan vibrated through her palm as she squeezed. "Fuck, Lisa—"
Lisa continues her seduction, undressing Marty with her teeth while mocking his past promises of lasting longer. She teases him with deliberate pauses and provocations, noting his physical reactions and escalating the tension until he finally vocalizes his desperation.

"Uh-uh." She licked from root to tip, stopping just short of taking him in again. "You don’t get to rush." Her free hand slid up his thigh, nails digging in just enough to brand. "Not when I’m remembering how you *pulsed*." She sealed her lips around him, hollowing her cheeks on the way down. His grip on her hair tightened—finally pulling, finally *taking*. The salt-bitter burst on her tongue was worth every second of the wait.

And when his hips stuttered, when his moan cracked her name, she didn’t stop. Not even when he came.

Especially not then.

Lisa swallowed deliberately, throat working around him until he whimpered—a broken, punched-out sound that had her grinning around his cock. When she finally pulled off, his hips chased her mouth instinctively, desperate and clumsy. She swatted his thigh, leaving a stinging red mark. "Greedy," she tsked, dragging her tongue along the oversensitive underside just to watch him shudder. "You really thought I’d let you off easy?"

His hands fell away from her hair like he’d been burned, chest heaving. The controller lay forgotten, buttons blinking a frantic SOS from the carpet. Lisa licked her lips, slow, tasting him there. "You’re lucky I like the way you lose control," she murmured, stroking him lazily. His cock twitched in her grip, still hard. Still *hers*.