I never used to like a man coming in my mouth. Now I don’t mind all that much. It has an
inevitability about it. Men want it. They force me. I like to be forced. Because of that,
whether or not I like everything else they do to me become irrelevant.
Neil, naked as the day he was born, will be coming in my mouth any moment. I can’t see
that, nor the expression and contortions on his face. The blindfold makes that impossible.
Nor can I touch him, not with my arms bound so painfully behind my back. But I do know. I
can tell by the jerky spasms of his cock as it presses on my tongue and slips down my
throat. And I can hear it in his moans and his breathing. He is close. Master is close.
I’ve been with him for about a week now. I don’t know how long exactly because they
never tell me days or dates. That, too, is irrelevant. And because I don’t need to know,
because it is of no use to me, I don’t even bother to count. They give me a birthday
present each year, so I can catch up with time then.
At least the sofa is comfortable. I’m on my left side, with my bound feet and legs up at
the far end. My underwear is black, again. Most men prefer black. I know that. The ropes
bite into my stockings at my ankles and knees and the crotch rope is rubbing roughly, but
surprisingly pleasantly, through the lacy French knickers between my legs and my
ever-available pussy is answering back with her own special moisture that betrays me time
and time again. I’ve never been able to hide it. Even when I protest at whatever is being
done to me, even when I know I don’t actually want it, that seeping moisture tells my body
that my brain is telling lies. I need this. I crave the control and humiliation of abject
and complete surrender. I am a slave. And I love it.
My breasts hurt slightly where he’s pulled them out of my bra cups. He’s been mauling
them and pinching my nipples, because he likes to hear my moans of pain around his cock.
The rope around my chest hold my breasts upright while pinning my arms to my body and the
multiple coils of rope around my wrists completes my subjugation.
I’m not much more than a mouth to him right now. He’s kneeling beside the sofa,
rhythmically pushing his cock in and out between my hungry lips. Whether I’m ready to
accept his copious seed all over my tongue and teeth does not matter to him. He’ll do it
when he wants to.
He’s risen up slightly, holding himself up with his strong arms to get a better angle on
my mouth. He’s going really deep, until his balls touch my chin and his hair tickles my
nose. He doesn’t care, at this moment, whether I can breathe. Nor do I. Use me, my Master.
Use your slutslave.
Here it comes. He’s gone rigid and has pulled back until just the head of his cock is in
there. Lots of men like to come when they’re far inside my throat, jetting directly into
it, bypassing my taste buds. Not Neil, though. He gave his instructions the first time I
sucked him, which was within two minutes of my arrival at his house. He gave me no time to
unpack or undress, just took me into the garden behind the house, told me to take off my
dress and get on my knees. He unzipped, then held my head in both his hands to pull me
onto him, telling me how I was forbidden to swallow his seed until he gave permission to
do so.
He’s jerking fast. It’s as if the semen reaches the end and holds itself on the brink,
waiting until it can blast out with the maximum force. I puff out my cheeks ready. Aaah! I
feel the first spurt hit the roof of my mouth. It’s a lot. I can taste him on my tongue
now as more spurts follow the first. It’s warm, the same temperature as my mouth, so it’s
the sheer volume of it that makes me feel it, not any sudden change of temperature like
when you have a drink.
Five, maybe six spasms, each squirting a diminishing amount of his fluid into me. I
don’t want to spill any, not because I love the taste or anything, but because such a
spillage might anger him and get me a beating.
I don’t like being beaten. I’m glad of that. It hurts and maybe I deserve it, but I
never want to like it. If I actually liked pain then my feelings of inevitability and
submission would not be as great. I am beaten because my Master decides to beat me. He
gives me no choices. And that’s what I like - having no choices.
Whether I want to or not, the sheer amount of his sperm and the still-pushing volume of
his cock expels a trickle from the corner of my lips. It goes quickly cold as it trickles
to my chin.
He’s pulled out now, letting out a long sigh as he sits back onto his own legs. I know
he’s watching me. I know he’s focussing on the mouth he just fucked, imagining his seed
still sluicing around in there. He unfastens the blindfold and pulls it off, tossing it
aside, forgotten.
“Open up,” he commands.
As I open my mouth wide, he focusses hard on my lips. His cock, if it had weakened at
all, regains its former strength and rigidity. I’m quite flattered really. He’s handsome,
with rugged good looks gained from years at the top of his sport. And he’s turned on. By
me.
“Lick it round.”
At first I think he means for me to lick his cock again, but a swirl of his right index
finger shows me he wants me to swill his come around my mouth. I follow orders, dipping my
tongue in the well of fluid that has drained onto my tongue and is pooled behind my lower
front teeth. He obviously likes what he sees - a smile greets my tongue as I bring it back
into view, coated liberally in his white cream.
“OK, you can swallow now. Slowly.”
I tip my head back and let it slide back across my tongue, ensuring he can see all. I
hope it pleases him - like I said, I have no wish to get myself a beating. It seems to
hang for a few seconds, gathering enough of itself on top of my tongue to overcome its own
surface tension before slipping down my throat and onwards into my belly. I continue until
it’s all gone, even licking the cooled liquid that had escaped to my chin, as far as I
could reach.
“Good?” he wants to know. Like he cares.
“Yes, Master, thank you.”
I never know how to answer that kind of question. Do I say that it wasn’t good, that I
hated the taste and it revolted me to have to swallow it, but that I did anyway because he
told me to and his orders are more important than my likes and dislikes? Or do I say the
taste was wonderful, how he has gorgeous come and how I love to swallow it? The wrong
answer could earn me a punishment. I had quickly chosen what I hope to be a satisfactory
answer and it seems to have worked. He’s smiling.
He rises and pushes his cock back into my mouth, instructing me to lick it clean. Rather
a futile instruction, really, or so I thought. Hadn’t I already swallowed all he had to
offer? Apparently not, since a small bead of his fluid squeezes out and onto my tongue.
He pulls out again and tips me onto my belly, dragging me off the sofa until I fall in
an ungainly way to the thick sheepskin rug on the floor. It winds me for a second, but he
doesn’t falter, pulling my feet up behind me and securing them to the ropes that bind my
wrists, pulling hard until my back is arched. He tips me on my left side again and pads
nakedly from the room.
And this is how he leaves me, helpless, bound and uncomfortable. And I get so excited I
can taste it.
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