I start putting my fingers in his mouth and he sucked graciously but not self indulgently, then pulled away because I was gagging him.
Still, he didn’t beg for the cock. The harness was hanging behind me off the closet door. Freshly lubricated, in fact.
Monday.
Black patent leather.
It’s my boot, and his chin is on the floor. His hair is in his face. Wet. Of course. His back is all I can see. A tight t-shirt, simply so I can watch him breathe, and he’s breathing deliberately for no other reason than to please me.
I don’t care how long it’s been.
He doesn’t complain that he’s not seen my cock in hours.
Or how his ass aches for violation.
It’s his nose. Against the tip of my black patent leather boot.
And he doesn’t even have a boot fetish.
His wrists are chained behind his back with simple silver handcuffs, and his shoulder blades seem almost magical to me when they shift because he’s trying to find a comfortable position without letting his nose lose contact with the tip of my boot.
It’s like the Labrador with the dog biscuit on his nose. Holding so very still.
We never discussed these rules. I just shoved him there, by the back of the neck, and his nose ended up at my boot, and I moaned in approval, and he never moved since, and then five, ten, and fifteen minutes went by.
I removed one glove and parted my legs. Peeled aside my panties to masturbate.
His nose never left the tip of my boots.
My only regret was that I couldn’t feel the warm breath through the thick material.
When I was done, when I came, I used one hand on the leash to pull him up. He winced and moaned a little in pain. He was sweating. All of it was muscle tension, like holding a yoga pose for twenty-something minutes.
He’d heard the orgasm rocking my body. I had just watched his hands shifting in the bonds, his face pressed down to my boot, trying to hold still. No words. I saw fists when I did get close to climax. His breath did change a little. My fingers tasted good. I was entertained when I reached to his fingertips and let him feel the moisture myself and said, “Do you know where my fingers have been.”
When I lifted him upright by the leash, he was off balance, dizzy I guess. I was in a chair. He was sweaty, as I said, I think his nose was running, too. I start putting my fingers in his mouth and he sucked graciously but not self indulgently, then pulled away because I was gagging him.
Still, he didn’t beg for the cock. The harness was hanging behind me off the closet door. Freshly lubricated, in fact.
He looked exhausted. Sore.
I knew the handcuffs were hurting him. I knew his shoulders were on fire.
I left him there to get up, leave the room and get him some water.
I returned with a dog bowl.
It was a good night.
**
I sat on his face.
Masturbating.
“This isn’t for you,” I reminded him. “This is for me. So make it entertaining.”
Four times, I nearly stopped. In fact, once, I did. I did, and I left the room. I walked out, I shut the door, and I said, “I’m calling some friends and making plans because you bore me. I can’t even masturbate on your face and enjoy myself. Have you forgotten everything? Read your journal.”
He read.
We took a shower together, I pinned him to the wall facing away, and fingered him using conditioner as lubricant and told him he was a bitch. I’ll admit, that was for his benefit, not mine. But these were, indeed, desperate times.
My panties were very light pink lace. Almost white. The kind that becomes nearly transparent when wet. “I’m too tired to strap you down,” I told him. “And I want you to suffer.”
When my thighs were on either side of his face, he once again faltered. I left the room, returned with an appropriate gag, and pulled his head back by the hair. His eyes shut tight, remorseful, he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
I guess it’s my fault, really. I probably wanted the gag all along. Double-sided. A large, thick cock gag. On the other side, a nice, rideable dildo. My favorite. I wasted no time. I mounted his face. I fucked him without mercy. My panties were just pulled to the side, I wanted him to see them.
I had to delay the orgasm. I could have climaxed in mere minutes. I slowed down, covered his eyes with my hand, dismounted, delicately kissed his available features, delivered some affectionate yet degrading commentary, then remounted and finished myself off. Climaxing all over his nose. Squirting and nearly choking him.
With a light slap to the cheek I apologized, removed the gag, cleaned up the mess with my panties, gagged him with them (just for the delightful grunt of dismay) and told him to kneel in appreciation while I showered).
It was an ok night.
**
Finally, the cock.
“Please,” he said.
“Stop being so greedy,” I corrected him. Again.
He lowered his eyes and bit his lip, trying not to watch me apply the lubrication.
“Are you begging me to fuck you, or not to fuck you?” I asked him.
“I’m begging you to fuck me, Akasha,” he whispered earnestly.
“How long have you known me?” I asked him. Now, I was stroking my shaft with quite a bit of intensity, walking toward him and my boots were making a bit of a racket. I think he knew I meant business.
He swallowed. He’d know me, well, awhile. And, he’d read, well, memorized, everything I had ever written.
I took him by the chin. Made him look at me. “The first thing I ever seared into your brain,” I reminded him, “Was to never beg me for anything unless it’s mercy.”
Once again, he swallowed.
“Otherwise, what does that make you?” I asked him.
This, he remembered. “Just another self-indulgent asshole.”
I turned him around from his kneeling position, bent him over, and slowly pried apart his thighs. “I don’t exist to fulfill your fantasies,” I reminded him. “You exist to fulfill mine.”
Kneading, preparing his asscheeks for the inevitable penetration, I said to him, “I intend to fuck you until you are degraded. And humiliated. And ashamed. And you should be begging me for mercy, and showing me how vulnerable you feel, because you know by now that’s what makes me ache. Or did you forget?”
Two fingers in his asshole made him say, “Please.” But, I think the response was automatic.
I didn’t fuck him.
It was not a good night.
**
“I’ll do it for you,” he said.
I barely knew him. I don’t know why I trusted him. Because I hear it all the time. Usually, it comes shortly before, “Do you want to fuck me in the ass? Let me get the dildo.”
“What will you do for me?” I tried to clarify.
“The thing you are afraid to tell me.”
It was the best day.
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