That’s right. There. Lick me in just that exact spot. Find Sir’s cum.
And you know we need to make the most of this because we only have tonight. I won’t be seeing you again after this little pup. So please me. Put that shaggy head to good use between my legs and get to work. I need distracted from all the welts my Dom has left striped across my back and my equally abused bum.
Oh yes… I’m just going to lie back here, gingerly and recline. I’m going to think about your cock pulsating, and the ridiculous jealousy I sense it feels towards your tongue that’s currently mining my depths.
Oh how I want to lick your overflow too. Can you see the hunger for it in my eyes? Meet me. Greet me with lust, now.
Come here.
We lean forward so our tongues can joust and stroke. I taste me on you as you pant and squeeze my left breast in playful exuberance.
Return to your task. Seek what you need so urgently. You know I’m full of sweetness for you.
Legs spread, arms above my head, one hand twirling my hair, I take a little peek and I see something that makes me clench – your firm delectable ass. You might be close to forty but it is still your best feature. I’d never tell you, but I’ve seen men of twenty less well honed.
There’s more than one reason why I hold it in such high esteem. Cause I wanna bite it. Make you jump out of your skin. Make you know you’re fucking owned this night.
I want to kiss that divineness. That literal flesh and blood evidence of all the rutting you have done. All those animal orgasms. All those pussies, mouths and asses you have so enthusiastically filled. Lunged into. Fucked. Those brainless dollies who carved you out just for me.
Sometimes banal is what a person needs. I think you avail of it often. I approve. Oh I understand the hunger all too well.
I want to run the pad of my thumb along the grizzled path of dark hairs you’ve been hiding from me. Open boy. I want to drizzle pon your grizzle.
Come here. Lie on my body, on my front while I admire you. Kiss my neck. Feel my chest compressed. Smell my want of you escaping. Breathe deep for me and let my little thumb inside. Join my sliding action. Let me spread you as you spread me. A tsunami impending beneath both our skins.
This is a game of sinful slickened valleys.
I’m not sure who is winning in this natural lube game. We both seem to be struggling for air. I don’t care. Fucking slide with me . I’ll take oxygen tomorrow.
Hips buck. Hands grip. Lips collide and tongues consume. You’re sweating all over me. I’m so desperate I can’t keep still. I’d have you tie me down but I intend fucking you.
My two and a half inch thumb is making promises. Pressing into you a tiny bit, each time the tip of your cock notches my cleft. When it happens we just freeze. Like the moment needs fossilized. Captured. Uh. The dual entering is sending me towards critical mass. I know you’re the same. I’ve never felt your gorgeous cock so hard.
‘Put it in my mouth now,’ I command.
You ignore me for two seconds and continue grinding; a distinctly far from dry humping.
I concede you have power over me physically. But if you displease me, you’ll be binned and you know it. So this is a test of how much you want me isn’t it?
A two second think is all it takes and you make your way towards my lips and then feed me your dick.
‘Is that what you want Miss?’ you say on a groan.
I’m going to miss your noises. I grip that ass in appreciation as you pump. You slow quickly and I know why. You know Mistress needs to take her time. Cocks are not simple things, for there is much to explore.
I will be cross and unsatisfied if I’m deprived of my right of proper length of perusal.
Like a good boy you oblige, holding yourself back for me.
My hand finds the pulse in your groin where your blood flows, feeding your rampant erection. It is aberrant I know but in line with my lionine nature I feel a sense of power at the knowledge I could rip this part of you out or cut it to the bone and end you. Watch your blood jet out. Drink it. Maybe even fuck your cock as you die. We both know this. We know the opposite is true too. That I’m also at your mercy. I could just as easily be dispatched. Yet we entrust. I adore that trust. Our ice cream trust. Cold but sweet. It is freedom.
I suckle your helmet and drift my tongue under the little shelf of flesh all around. You are far from cold here. Far far from it. You are full of cream and heat and want. Tell me what you want now sweetling. Show your Mistress. That’s right.
You smack your cock on my flattened tongue and I’m looking at you, your slightly damp ass resting meatily on my chest. We smirk at each other and you roll off me to lie on your back; legs drawn up and willing like an oven ready chicken on my clean white sheets.
Such subservience only warrants one response doesn’t it?
Or does it?
Hm.
I nibble and kiss the insides of your waxen wrists, whilst the heat of my crucible rests upon your solemn navel. I wonder idly am I filling the long dead remnants of your umbilicus with my liquid transgression, pouring myself out as a libation brewed at Gehennas gate. A devilish thought that is. It makes me actively gush all the more, to find the tables turned thusly. As always you look a little afraid. And I know why, pet. Miss knows. Your fears are not so unfounded. Farts do happen. Mess happens sometimes as well – we know this. As does pain and humiliation. Anger.
And then there’s me. I happen – don’t I?
I lean over you. Studying. Mane trailing.
It’s not at all conventional. Not silky. Not kempt. It’s a riot. A mass of curls. My body’s own brand of defiance. We do not do blonde and long lashed pretty in this particular time and space. We do not do dainty and preened – drawn on, spray tanned, tacky tattooed and cunny plucked. We do fucked. We do ‘shut your fucking mouth’ and say respectfully with those ever so pretty dimwitted hazel peepers of yours, ‘yes Maam. I’ll be good.’
Go on…Do it.
Look at me, you sorry state of affairs.
Now.
Tell me without words. Go on.
You can’t can you?
‘Give me your arms.’
I don’t say it nicely. I sound like someone about to put you in solitary confinement. And not for a short time either. Metal clicks. You’re a butterfly pinned. I am imagining the little kernel of your innocent prostate. That gloopy pink grape of weakness. God did not put it so deep inside you for no reason. You cannot hide it from me. By hook or by crook I am coming for you – for it. Sir wants to see me get real nasty. His fluffy kitten must show her claws.
Like magic you obey. I wonder if you have heard my thoughts all this time? They are quite loud. Do you know how your acquiescence affects me? Probably not since you’re a basic bitch. So I’ll tell you.
It’s like the rustic smell of cardamom cookies baking. Do you know what those are? Biscuits. It’s like the turning on of the shower after a long hard day’s work and standing beneath,skin scalded, pain washed away. Rousing. Comforting. Pleasing. Yet there is more to be had. You are the clay sitting on the wheel. I am not your god. But I could be. I’m not your confessor but I am listening.
Look at you there all raw. Lying – beached.
Some might see your most private place in a passing glance as nothing notable; not even desirable. They might recoil. They know what happens there. Still, I treasure you conceding this gift to me and obviously also for the entertainment Sir derives.He matters.
I mean look at its little centrifugal lines, those little concertinaed pink shiny folds. Such a tiny star. A puckered tender nebula. With infinity at its center, as if life itself took a spear and stabbed its way into you at some point. A needle. A shot. A pristine hole. An apple cored. A window if only I can manage to gape it.
It is not still either. It holds a unique language all of its own I feel. Spellbound I am held, observing each and every manic twitch and wink. Your little polished jet rabbit eyes watching me. Me…a vixen of many summers. Teeth razor sharp. Mind sharper. Your pulse quickens beneath creamy skin. You can’t move much, restrained like this. That titillates. Little poussin.
After clamping your nipples I turn to the dresser behind me, discarding my earrings and don my harness. It is only a little cock I have. But I know what it will do to you. What it will cause.
I prop an extra pillow beneath your head so you can watch me at my work. A nice soft one. Sir is watching too now. He has joined us via conference call. He maintains a powerful dignity. Much of his control lies in silence.
His gaze is fixed upon all this lube I’m so carelessly dripping over the silicone dick that’s soon to be inside you.
Look at it. Gleaming there.
Go on.
I rub it a little because I want it warmed and I like the dirty squishy noises it makes.
Mistress can see how it is with you. My boy toy’s cock is threatening the firmament; youthfully bunched muscles cobble your hairy belly. Hands absently tug at restraints. How cute. You’re going nowhere. I crawl between your thighs and slurp you a little to the back of my throat then spit a very deliberate glob upon your body’s most secret approach. It dribbles all the way down, tickling like a feather and pools deliciously at the meeting between Egyptian cotton and trembling flesh. You cry out and from the corner of my eye, I observe Sir nodding his approval at his most cherished kitten’s playful depravity.
‘Miss!’
Poised at your now ready orifice, I linger.
‘What is it?’ I snap.
‘Fuck me, please, before I lose it Miss! I’m begging you.’
Perhaps I should make you wait then…but I’m afraid I can’t.
My hand finds your cock and grips in earnest. ‘There will be no losing it until I say so. Is that clear?’
You give a tortured groan. ‘Yes Miss. I am sorry.’
‘I should hope so.’
And then I breach you whilst casually circling your magenta crown with my thumb. Your hips buck. I look down, admire, then thrust again and slap your turgid prick with considerable venom. You make exquisite howling noises as I dig unmanicured nails into you. I can’t restrain myself. I rock back and forth. Raking. Tormenting. I tell you how much you’re fucking pleasing me. I tell you how much I love being the only one you tribute your cum to.
Give.
It.
To me.
‘Is he a good toy for my own little toy?’ Sir enquires rather loudly, breaking into the scene.
‘That he is Master.’
‘Good.’
Sir is stroking himself.
I squeeze your throat. Backhand your pinkening face.
‘Cum for me my hot thing. Cum for us. Let me see just how far you can squirt while I blatantly fuck you.’
And I drive extra deep, eye contact and penis thoroughly held. Corkscrewed. Treasured. Filled.
Pop.
There he blows.
Such pretty gouts of ivory pearlescent paint. Spewing everywhere, disgorged in a masculine musky web all across your juddering body as my fake dick still lies deep inside.
I withdraw from the haven of you, your precious walnut still crying out its passion as I clean you with an attention and dedication you do not deserve. My tongue slides about inside my mouth afterwards seeking what is left of your taste. On my own body, my fingers probe the spot you can never be worthy of filling yourself and I wonder how much of Sirs cum I’ve allowed you to steal.
We fall asleep swiftly.
During the night I wake to slake my thirst with water and watch the stars (thank you velux) whilst listening to your noble heart pounding upon your ribs from the inside.
It really is too bad I must let you go. But we both know I need Sir more than you.
His touch.
His blessing.
His punishment.
His forgiveness.
His body.
His mind.
I am his kitten. And he will find me another mouse to play with. Maybe even a better one.
[https://samanthajwright.com/2022/11/18/breaking-him-in-part-2/](https://samanthajwright.com/2022/11/18/breaking-him-in-part-2/)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yyfx8i/no_point_putting_a_well_thought_out_title_here
>Dirty talk Queen https://linktr.ee/mary_shaw
Sensational. I’m throbbing