I was pressing my nose and mouth into at least a quarter of an inch of flesh to engulf his dick whole.  I was doing fabulously, swirling my tongue over the ridges of his head and then sliding down to take all of him in my mouth furiously.  My gag reflex enforced itself only when I needed air.  Pesky breathing.

When I took him out of my mouth to draw in ragged breaths, I was still connected by strands of saliva to the head.  He wiped his fingers on the underside of his head, taking away the extra lubricant and wiping it off on my bed spread.

"That's a lot of throat lining," he remarked.

I looked at him. "Do you really have to call it throat lining?"

"Well.  Would you rather me call it The Nose Mucus That Coats Your Throat That Aids Swallowing of Food?"

"No.  That's even worse.  Call it . . . I dunno . . . my 'special slippery juices' or something.  I don't care.  Just not throat lining."

"Just suck my dick, Deanna."

"OK."