***
**THE TASTE OF HER SUBMISSION**
***
The woman glanced upward, seeing the man’s distorted face through the bottom of his glass tumbler. When seen from this strange perspective, his features appeared momentarily monstrous; his charming smile rendered suddenly sardonic, twisted and unsymmetrical.
The man drank the last of the whiskey in his glass, then lowered the tumbler toward the woman curled up in his lap. While swirling the half-melted ice-cubes in contemplative circles, he announced: “You taste good”, speaking in a guttural whisper.
The woman opened her mouth to respond, but found no words to speak. Instead, she lowered her head back down onto the man’s lap, letting her lips naturally wrap back around his swollen cock.
Her pussy was still aching from earlier. Although it was sore to the touch — *and painful so* — the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant. *How did he even come up with something like that?*, she wondered, letting the tip of her tongue glide under his foreskin…
***
When the woman arrived at the man’s residence earlier that day, she was greeted by an odd sight — *to say the least…* After having spent a number of months in the man’s company, she’d become acquainted with a great many things she’d never known of before: *gags, floggers, restraints, plugs.* But even so, there was nothing that could have prepared the woman for the strangeness of *this* sight.
It was an ice-cube tray, with what appeared to be a *Hitachi Magic-Wand* attached with duct-tape. The true purpose of this make-shift device had only become obvious to the woman *after* she’d been instructed to lower her poor cunt onto it. Within seconds, the man could hear the steady *drip, drip, drip* of the woman’s wetness slowly filling the ice-cube tray.
The man stood over her, savouring the medley of expressions dancing across the woman’s face, with one hand pressed down gently on her shoulder. When she attempted to squirm away from the contraption he’d made, the man give her a short moment to catch her breath, before pushing the woman back down, forcing her pussy lips to envelope the throbbing, vibrating wand…
***
But now, the woman is laying in the man’s lap. She’s exhausted. His deflated cock is still between your lips. The woman’s tongue is lazily lapping away at it, as if coating it in with strokes of paint.
The man leans back in his sofa-chair, with his glass tumbler perched on the arm-rest. The woman has watched absently as the ice-cubes inside melted, leaving only one small chunk left, floating in her whiskey-diluted wetness.
And that’s when the woman sees the man’s fingers dipping into the glass, reaching for the last piece of ice. She let his cock fall out of her mouth, just as his hand slowly moved toward her mouth, dripping cold droplets all over her body. The man ran the piece of ice along her lips in circles — like the second-hand of a particularly slow clock — until it had melted to nothing…
*”What does it tastes like? — Your submission…”*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticstories/comments/5vmd5s/the_taste_of_her_submission_bdsm