Thursday, July 23, 2015

Sub drop? Or just crazy?

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.  


So my post title is a bit tongue-in-cheek, I'll admit. I don't really think I'm crazy, though at times I do wonder about my mental stability.

I've heard the term "sub drop" before, and I know I've previously experienced it to a small degree - the emotional let-down after play, the sadness for no reason, even the self-doubt which can surface after intense sessions. It wasn't too bad, and I had never asked Master for any kind of aftercare, because really, I felt kind of stupid to be experiencing these emotions after having a good time.

And I will acknowledge that it may be difficult for him to reach out to me after time spent together, because we do not live in the same area and we both have to play catch-up at work when we've had a few days off.

But this last time, just this past weekend, I had asked specifically for aftercare, because we were anticipating having my nipples pierced, and I knew I would need more contact than usual in the first days post-piercing.

However, Master told me I wasn't ready to be pierced (which I wasn't), and that he would have to slow down with me. Well, let me tell you, I felt as though he'd pulled the rug out from under me. We had a hard-to-face but honest discussion, and I cried, but afterward we still played a bit, and we parted on good terms.

So this week I have tried to modify my behavior that way Master told me I ought, and I've performed my tasks as usual - all without a peep from him. I have sent a message every day, and other than one quick "how's your week going?" - to which I replied, and he did not answer - there has been silence. I hate silence. It unnerves me and scares me and pisses me off, especially since (a) I had specifically asked for care this time, and (b) I have told him several times in the past that I would appreciate him telling me if he knows he's going to be busy or out of touch for a while. Then I'm not left hanging, wondering.

Which is where I am now - wondering, and feeling sad and like I've failed, and with zero acknowledgment of the changes I'm trying to make for him,  I have started feeling like I don't even know why I'm trying in the first place. So because I'm not yet ready for some things he wants from me, does that make me unworthy? Am I useless because I can't yet give him everything he wants? His silence feels like rejection, and it hurts.

And it's hitting me harder this time, I'll admit. Earlier today I was on "The Submissive Guide" - I love that site, check it out - and lunaKM had posted about loving your body (and your self, by extension) where you are, even while working toward something better. And tears spilled down my cheeks, because lunaKM said, "You are beautiful," and I had a really hard time accepting that. I haven't heard it in so long .... I never really believed it to start with, and Master has helped my self-image immensely, but the self-doubt still creeps up on me once in a while, and coupled with the sense of dissatisfaction and disconnection I'm feeling, well, yeah. I'm a blubbering mess right about now.

I guess what all this rambling has been about is, sub drop is real for me, and it leaves me feeling unsettled and vulnerable, and it compounds other emotions I may experience. I would like Master to know that I need more contact, even just a couple of texts to check in with me and let me know what's going on in his world and when I might be able to expect a longer conversation. Because I know my submissive journey is on-going, and I'm not perfect, but I'm still making progress. And I also know that my joy in submission is closely linked to feeling connected and valued. I'm struggling right now, and while I know it will pass - it always does - it's tough while it lasts.    

 

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Reflections

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


So I've just returned from a weekend with Master, which I had anticipated would include me sexually servicing him, and being bound and used and then rewarded, and fully expected to be taken to have these nipples pierced, as Master has been talking about that for a while.

Instead, Master took me to task for a poor attitude and some bratty behaviors, and I was forced to face a few inconvenient truths about myself.

Let's back up a bit - Master recently revamped my weekly task list (which I elaborated on in a previous post). And I completed my tasks, don't get me wrong; but he pointed out that I was doing the bare minimum, and that I was completely lacking a joyful spirit. I was approaching them as chores, as check marks on a to-do list, and not as something I might grow through or learn to enjoy.

And I had no idea I was projecting all of that to him. I wasn't even aware I was acting that way or feeling that way or going through the motions. So to have him sit me down and lay it all out was painful. I could see that he was right, which was a tough pill to swallow, given that I was so sure I'd been doing the right thing.

He admitted he's been pushing me, and I obviously am not ready for all of it. Oh, that hurt. But it's absolutely true. When I didn't understand what he wanted me to do, I got defensive and frustrated and snappish with him instead of asking for clarification. I admit to feeling a bit relieved about postponing the piercings, so I definitely am not ready to own them & be happy with them. There are other issues I'm struggling with as well.

So tonight my emotions/mindset are all over the place; I feel terrible thinking that Master is disappointed, I feel relieved knowing I have some breathing room, I feel conflicted about what he's asking and expecting of me in future. I still have a ways to go before I'm truly at peace with total submission, I see, and that is hard to deal with.

Please don't think the weekend was terrible; Master did bind me, he did use the flogger, he did give me some lovely bruises to enjoy. He did say that sometimes I do really, really well - but I do have to really be careful about my attitude and how I project things to him. And that is concerning me. I feel like, I've been trying to be good, and if that's not enough, then will I truly be able to fulfill Master's wishes for me?  He says he has faith that I can, and that I will; I just have to come to believe it for myself.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Update on Tasks

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


Last time I wrote here, I told you about Master's new training regimen for me. And I got better at throating - though the dildo did develop a huge crack which I had to attempt to fix. It's holding, for now, but recently I've seen a couple secondary cracks forming. Big disappointment. I will probably have to replace it. The damn thing is barely 6 weeks old.

Anyway - Master has seen improvement in my throating ability, yay for me, & he's expressed his pleasure with that. Last week he changed things up again. Now on Mondays, Wednesdays, & Fridays when I throat train, I have to recite my devotion with the dildo in my mouth.  And then I am to say, "I love Master's cock" with the dildo still in my mouth before I throat it. And I have to throat it 13 times, holding for a 5-count each time.

It is not easy. I feel sort of foolish, talking with a fake cock in my mouth, & my voice sounds thick & funny cuz I can't properly enunciate my words. And I drool like crazy, which I personally find rather gross, bu I'm not allowed to remove my mouth from the dildo until I have completed all 13 throatings. So I end up letting all that excess saliva - & I'm saying there is a lot of it -  just flow out of my mouth & slide down my chest & drip onto my stomach & thighs. I end up a slimy mess, which I'm not crazy about. I do train naked, so at least I don't have to change clothes afterward, but I do kneel on a folded towel, to catch the worst of the slobber. Ick, ick.

And I do still gag, though I have found that it's reduced if I do my training before I've had anything to eat. That's not always possible, so I try to schedule the training for later, so I have the least chance of vomiting.

I will be very honest with you - I am not always thrilled to do this training. It's messy, & uncomfortable, & I do feel somewhat dehumanized by it. But in the back of my head I tell myself that Master has requested it of me, so I do it for that reason. It is an obvious outward act of submission, performed by me on Master's orders.

And I will say, that even if I don't necessarily like the task itself, I do like knowing that Master is pleased by my obedience. And that's what I'm working for.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

New Training Tasks

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


Master has recently (in the past 2 weeks) changed up my usual task schedule. Now, on Mondays & Wednesdays, I'm to spend 10 minutes practicing deep-throating with a realistic dildo. On Tuesdays & Thursdays, I spend 10 minutes riding that same dildo, and on Fridays, I do both. I record these sessions, so that Master can view them and comment on them.

So far - well, it's going ok.

I'm not loving these tasks, I'll be honest; I seem to spend more time gagging and vomiting than actually achieving getting the cock all the way into my throat, and as for the riding, well, the suction cup really doesn't adhere to the stool all that well, so I end up holding it with one hand, and my legs just kill me. After each task, I'm always dripping with sweat and panting like I've run a race.

But in the past few days - remember, this set of tasks is only 2 weeks along - I have noticed that I'm able to throat the cock a bit more easily. (I have also noticed that a tear has developed along the seam, where the molded scrotum joins the shaft, so that's a bit disappointing.)

I have always had trouble when giving oral. I gag, I choke, I puke. It's not pretty. My jaw hurts like a bitch after a while, & I always end up feeling like I've had a huge workout. Still, I understand why Master has assigned this task to me, so I practice, even though my eyes tear and I cry and I gag and puke. I want to believe I'm bending to his will, that he's pleased with my perseverance, that eventually maybe I'll be able to throat him without vomiting. Eventually.

One caveat to my training is, I wear my wrist and ankle cuffs. I find that I quite like them, to be honest. Their weight is real and reassuring, an outward sign of my status as owned, and that makes me feel good. Peaceful, usually. I like being able to see them as I complete my tasks.


Thursday, April 23, 2015

Unfettered, Part VI

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


I'm stretched out on the bed, that beautiful four-poster, and Master has just finished binding me. My hands are bound together at the wrists above my head, and my ankles are each tied to one of the posts. My legs, quite obviously, are spread open to allow him easy access to my pussy and inner thighs.

After the scene out in the barn, he'd given me a bottle of water, for which I was grateful. I'd felt wrung out, and so, so tired, and very sore. We'd made our way back to the house and he allowed me a nap. I needed it. And honestly, I needed some quiet time to process the intensity of the scene. I wasn't kidding when I said I was doubting my sanity. When I'm in pain like that, I can't help but wonder why the fuck I allow that to happen. And then I have to process everything that happened and reconcile it.

Which brings me here, bound to the bed. I'm pretty sure he's not going to be gentle with me, despite what he'd put me through earlier, and honestly, I'm feeling pretty fragile right about now.

His persona now is quite different that what he'd shown me while we were in the barn. I have no blindfold, no gag, there are no floggers or canes or clamps in sight, just he, and I, and these mild restraints. I'm actually feeling pretty comfortable, despite the lingering bruises on my breasts and general body aches - the kind you get when you've overexerted yourself, when your muscles are sore but you know you've worked them hard, so it's a good kind of sore.

He sits on the edge of the bed so that he faces me, with his body slightly turned toward me. He regards me for a moment or two, long enough that I start to wonder what he's looking for. Without saying a word, he reaches a hand between my legs and begins stroking his property, pressing on my clit, then dragging his fingers down my pussy, then sliding one finger inside me. I sigh, because it feels good, and because he's being very gentle right now.

"There's more than one kind of pain, you know," he says, conversationally. "You did pretty well, earlier, my whore; let's see how you do with another."

I'm a bit startled, to be honest. The last thing I want to endure is more pain. I was actually hoping he would bring me to climax now, as a reward for earlier. I can't imagine what he's trying to accomplish, or teach me, or whatever his thought process is. Haven't I been good for him? Haven't I cooperated, and not fought him? I close my eyes and try to beat back a wave of disappointment. In my head, I know that I have given him control; I have agreed to be obedient and submit to his will to the best of my ability, but oh, God, this is hard to accept.

I open my eyes, and when I catch his glance, he bends his head and captures my nipple in his mouth. I suck in my breath on a gasp, because it's really sensitive - not painful, really, but I feel the peak pebble up immediately and a frisson of slow desire rolls through me. My back arches, pressing my breast up into his mouth, and I tug on my bound wrists. There's really nowhere I can go, of course; I simply must lie there, quiescent, accepting his attentions as he sees fit to give them.

His fingers continue their questing exploration of my pussy, stroking and gliding and pressing, and his mouth feasts on my breast, his tongue laving over the nipple, his lips suckling me. It's good, really, good, and I'm wet, and I can hear a squelching sound when he pumps his fingers inside me. My hips try to rock against his fingers, but tied as I am, it's a futile attempt. His fingers do some little twisting thing, and I gasp, then moan loudly, squeezing my eyes shut and arching my back. Holy hell, that was amazing, and my level of desire immediately kicks up a notch. Well, several notches, really.

His sweet torture continues, his fingers dipping and rubbing and sliding, his mouth hot and wet and occasionally nipping me. Even tied and positioned as I am, I can feel a trickle ow sweat snake its way down my back, and my breaths are coming in short pants, my heart driving a quick beat in my chest. I squirm, and moan, and arch, and yes, yes, I'm close, so close, feeling my climax drawing nearer ....

Master pulls his mouth off my nipple with a soft pop, and I whine in disappointment at the loss.

"What's the matter, whore?"  His voice is soft, but his tone is not. I barely hear him, caught up in the razor's edge of desire that I'm currently balancing on.

Through panting, stuttering breaths I say, "Wanna cum, Master. So, so close, so close. Please, may I cum? Please, Master, please?"

He leans closer, speaks even more softly. "Awww, does my whore want to cum? Does it hurt, whore?"

"Yes," I hiss, and it's not untrue. The ache between my legs is past the fun happy kind and rapidly approaching the too-long-denied, deep-throbbing-ache stage. I shift and pull against my binds, and give a sharp cry, because he's keeping me right on the edge and it hurts, and I wanna cum, dammit.

"Please, Master," I try again. "Please, it hurts, please can your whore cum now?"

And then, incredibly, his fingers slow, then stop, and he pulls them free from my pussy. I give another cry, of disappointment and not understanding and incredulous stupefaction - I am aching fiercely, here! Hello! I tug at my bonds again, but Master merely brings his juice-soaked fingers to my lips. I open my mouth automatically and suck them clean, in between my panting breaths. When he deems his fingers clean enough, he sits back and looks at me.

"I am your Master, aren't I, whore?" he muses. I can only look at him, and blink, and lick my lips, and ache, fiercely, a deep inner burning and need and longing surging through my body. I groan in frustration. He ignores that. "You have given yourself to me, and I use you for my own pleasure, correct?"

I nod, still panting, still squirming, and I can feel my legs trembling now. Funny, I hadn't noticed that before. I whine again before I can help myself.

"I have decided that I don't want you to cum right now," he continues. "In fact, you are not to cum until I say so."

I'm sure I'm gaping at him. But he merely reaches up and loosens the bonds at my wrists. I bring my arms down - my shoulders are aching, too - and rub my wrists against the ghost feeling of the bindings. He walks down and unties my left foot, then comes around the end of the bed and unties my right foot. I try to curl up in a ball, squeezing my thighs together to help relieve the deep, nearly painful aching, but he stops me. He tells me get dressed and go downstairs, and mechanically, I roll off the bed, stumbling on shaky legs, then gather up my clothes and pull them on.

I go to the door, slowly, feeling that terrible deep ache and need with every step, though truth be told, it is beginning to fade just the tiniest bit. He merely raises one eyebrow at me, so I go out the door and down the stairs to the living room, where I curl up on the couch. I have to believe there's a reason, but damned if I know what it is.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Unfettered, Part V

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk. 


Master leads me outside, and I blink rapidly against the strong morning sun. I still don't know how he managed to find this house, in this isolated location, but whichever direction I turn, I cannot see another house, or a road (other than the driveway), or any sign of population. In my own searches for vacation rental properties, I haven't been able to locate anything this isolated. 

We wander back behind the house into a nice-sized yard, well-maintained, with a stepping-stone walkway which meanders toward the back of the yard. Master directs me onto the path, and as I near the treeline at the edge of the yard, I see a patch of white daisies dancing in the shadow of the trees. That makes me smile.

I duck into the trees, following a faded but still visible trail. It's a bit cooler here, out of the direct sun, but the trees aren't very thick, so sunlight dapples the ground. After just a few minutes I reach a clearing, of sorts; I come out of the trees into a cleared area, with mowed grass and, of all things, a small red barn. It's exactly the stereotypical little red barn, complete with faded white trim and a hex sign painted on its side. The door is thrown wide, so I wander inside.

It's quite small: 3 stalls for hoses along one side, a small tack room opposite, and a large bin which must have been used for storage of oats or other feed. To my right, a set of stairs along the wall leads up to what I assume is a loft. Spaced evenly in the center of the hall, supporting the loft, are two stout beams. The beam closest to me catches my eye; on the floor surrounding its base is a soft-looking blanket. Well, I don't know for sure it's a blanket, but it sure looks like it from here.

Master comes in behind me, passes me, disappears into the old tack room. He emerges with a small black duffel bag - I have no idea when he managed to secrete it here -  and walks back toward me, stopping next to the closest beam. Then he tells me to join him.

Actually, what he says is, "Come here, whore." My feet are moving before he finishes his sentence.

I stop before him, tilting my head up to meet his eyes, but I stay silent. He considers me for a moment.

"Position I," he says. I shimmy out of my clothes and toe off my sandals, then kneel on the blankets (there are two, I see) with my head bent and my hands resting palms-up on my knees. I hear a zipper as he opens the duffel, and I close my eyes. I try not to listen as he roots around, pulling out whatever he's pulling out, and I focus on keeping my breathing steady. I shift on my knees, because even with the blankets, the barn floor is really hard, and my knees aren't too happy. Master comes to stand before me, grasping my chin in his fingers and pulling me to my feet. I stumble a little, but manage to keep my balance.

Master is still holding my chin. His fingers are squeezing, digging in, and I'm uncomfortable. "Who owns you?" he asks.

"You do, Master," I say.

He seems satisfied with that, at least for now; he tells me to close my eyes, and when I comply, he places a blindfold on me. I feel it when he picks up my collar, running his fingers along the chain. He lets it drop back to my chest, then presses a finger on the charm, so that the edges of the metal disk dig into the skin over my sternum. I can't help wincing; it hurts when he does that. His hand grasps me by the throat, and my heart leaps. I'm sure he can feel my pulse thrumming madly under his fingers.

He shoves me backwards, still gripping my throat, and my feet stumble backwards three or four steps. Then my back hits the beam and I jolt to a stop. My head bounces off the beam, then, and I swear quietly ("Ow! Dammit!"). There's a splinter or something poking my lower back, and I squirm, trying to shift my position and get away from that offending sharp piece. Though honestly, a splinter will soon be the least discomfort I will feel.

"Hands above your head," he orders, and I raise my arms and rest the backs of my hands on the wooden beam. He steps close enough that I feel his body leaning against me as he wraps what feels like soft rope around my wrists, winding it around each hand and then around the beam, until my hands are held securely to the beam. I give an experimental tug; there's not much play there, enough that I could probably twist my body to face the post, but not nearly enough to take a full step away.

"Open your feet," he commands, and I shuffle my feet apart, opening my legs, leaning more of my weight against the unforgiving roughness of the beam. "Open your mouth," he says, and he slides my bit gag between my teeth. Ugh. I drop my head forward so he can fasten the buckle holding the bit in place. I bite it, gently, testing it; there's not much play here, either. So I'm bound, blindfolded, and gagged; I cannot see, speak, or move more than a step in any direction. My heart is thudding wildly in my chest, my breathing quick and shallow around the bit, my ears straining for clues as to what's coming.

I hear the tell-tale rattling and clinking of the clover clamps, and I wish to God he won't use them again so soon .... he steps in front of me, one hand grasping my left nipple, rolling it, teasing it, and I can feel it tightening, growing taut. He attaches the clamp and I groan around the bit; I hate hate hate these things, they just hurt so much. He drops the other clamp, and its weight pulls painfully against my clamped nipple, forcing a stifled scream from me. Fuck, but that hurts. I hiss around the bit, because the free clamp is swinging, and every movement of that chain pulls against the clamp on my nipple, and it just never. stops. hurting.  

He picks up the free clamp and teases my right nipple; I think he has to work a bit more for this one, since my body isn't quite so eager right now. Soon enough he attaches the other clamp, then tugs on the chain to test the tightness of the clamps. Fuck, fuck. I drop my head back against the beam and just moan pitifully. God damn, but I hate this. It's only been a few minutes, but I'm already questioning my sanity - and my ability to endure.

Suddenly, a sharp sting lashes across my upper legs. I jump, and cry out, though it's muffled by the gag. I suspect he's using the flogger, but I'm not really thinking clearly; not only am I feeling the residual sting from his strike, but I've jostled the clamps, and they are biting fiercely into the tender flesh of my nipples. That hurts far worse than the flogger, in my opinion, and it never stops, never lessens, never eases, it just goes on and on. I try to prepare myself for the next strike, but when it falls, I flinch, sucking in a harsh breath before moaning. He brings the flogger down on my thighs, my stomach, my calves, varying the placement with each strike, and I moan or scream or whimper every single time. I am trying to hold myself as still as possible, hoping to minimize the pain in my nipples, but I can't see where he is, so I can't tell where his next strike is going to fall, so I can't really steel myself not to react - so I jolt and twist and buck every time, and the clamps on my nipples bite and dig and hurt so very much, and then finally I just kind of - give up. It hurts so bad, and I hang my head and cry, shaking, which of course jostles the clamps, which hurts more, so I cry harder, so I shake more - it's miserable. 

Right now, in this second, I hate him. And I despair for my own sanity, agreeing to it in the first place.

Eventually I hear a muffled thud, which I think means he's dropped the flogger. I'm sure I look a mess, with the tear tracks on my face, and my nose is running. I sniffle, and wince, because no matter how hard I try to be still, I keep shifting/moving/twitching, and the clamps keep biting me. Master's hand touches my cheek, startling me,  and I flinch, and wince, and moan yet again. He takes the clamp off my left nipple - none too gently, I can assure you - and I scream around the gag at the huge flare of pain that causes. He removes the right clamp, and I scream again, and fresh tears cascade down my face. I just hurt so, so much, and what I really want is to be able to wrap my arms over my poor abused breasts and hug them to me, but of course, I'm bound and I can't move.

He removes the blindfold then, and I blink several times, both at the brightness of the light in the barn and to try and clear the film of tears still clouding my vision. Next he unbuckles the bit, and I work my jaw, trying to relieve the stiffness in its joints. He bends his head and captures my gaze.

"Who owns you, whore?"

"You do, Master." My voice is thick, and unsteady, even in my own ears, and I have to fight against my instinct to drop my eyes.

He gazes at me for several long seconds, then straightens and begins unwinding my bonds. When I am free, I drop my arms and stretch out my shoulders, which ache from being in that position for so long. And then I do cross my arms over my chest and press against my tender, still-hurting breasts. I wipe my eyes, scrub my hands over my cheeks - and then, without being told, I again assume Position I. I know he is not done with me, so I wait for him to tell me what's happening next.  



Sunday, April 5, 2015

Unfettered, Part IV

This is an adult blog, containing graphic and detailed descriptions of sexual situations and BDSM themes. Read at your own risk.


I wake in the morning, and stretch languidly. I'd indulged in a long soak in the tub last night, so I'm not feeling too sore this morning, thankfully. The bruises on my breasts are a lovely deep purple now; I will bear those marks for several days, perhaps longer. I like them very much.

I roll quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Master, and head to the bathroom, where I quickly take care of business, wash up,  and brush my teeth. Master like to be awakened by my mouth on his cock, but I can't abide doing it when my teeth feel furry from sleeping all night. Eewww. So with my now-minty mouth, I take a deep breath, and tiptoe back tot he bedroom.

Master is lying partly on his side, partly on his back, with the sheet kind of twisted around him. I climb back on the bed - I can't help it now if I wake him - and gently tug the sheet away from his body. He stirs a little, and I bend down, bracing my weight on my arms, and pull his cock into my mouth. I breathe shallowly, acclimating myself to his musky scent, and stroke the tip of my tongue along his length. I gag, then, because I always do, but it's a little one, so I don't stop what I'm doing. My arms are getting a little tired already so I shift my position a bit, changing the angle of my mouth, working now to pull him as deep as I can while his cock swells and lengthens in my mouth. I know that soon enough I won't be able to take him all, so I do it now while I still can.

He groans softly, and shifts more to his back, so I follow, not allowing his cock to slip past my lips. He pulls in a deep breath and says, "Good morning, whore."

I pull away just long enough to reply to him, "Good morning, Master," then immediately latch onto his cock once again. He's harder now, almost too thick, and my lips stretch wide and my jaw pops as I try to accommodate his size. I whine in response to the jaw pop, cuz that smarted quite a bit. His hand comes to rest on the back of my head and I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to relax as he presses my head toward his groin, forcing his cock all the way to the back of my throat. That makes me gag, hard, and I have to fight with myself to remain still and not pull away. I am rewarded with a husky "Good girl."

He lets go, and I resume bobbing my head, pulling his cock in and letting it slide out, over and over again. "You are a good little cocksucker, my whore," he murmurs. I gag again, and this time I feel my stomach lurch, so I pull away and cough, my eyes tearing. Ugh. I hate when that happens. When I bend down again, he tells me to give him his pussy. I pivot on my knees so that he can easily reach his prize, then turn my attention to sucking his cock once again.

His fingers are questing, pressing inside me then pulling back out, and I open my knees wider for him. I find it difficult to concentrate on sucking him while his fingers are pounding inside me, and when he rubs my clit, it's with so much pressure that it's not pleasant at all, but uncomfortable. I squirm, pulling away from him, and he smacks my ass hard and tells me to stay still. Now I am trying to give him a good, thorough morning blow job, but his fingers are still pressing so firmly that it almost, almost hurts, and I don't like that at all. I close my eyes and chant to myself, "OK, OK, OK, OK..." It helps a little, but really, my jaw has locked and hurts like a bitch, my clit is not happy, my pussy is beginning to feel sore, and my arms ache from holding myself up.

I wrap my fingers around the base of his cock and start stroking him in time with my sucking. I hope he allows me to make him cum; that would be a fine start to our day. I feel him shift position again, and his hand drops from my pussy and grasps my leg. Then, he starts speaking - or demanding, really.

"Do you like sucking my cock, whore? Has my whore missed my cock?"  I hum agreement without letting loose of him - "Mmm-hmm, mmmm, mmm, " - and stroke him faster, swirling my tongue over him while I pull and slide and push. He bucks his hips up, nearly gagging me yet again.

"Do you want my cum? Do you?"

This time I do lift my head to answer him, rubbing the side of my cheek all over his cock while I reply.  "Yes, Master, yes, I do." And I drop my head and pull him right back into my mouth, sucking him as hard as I can, wanting his cum, wanting to swallow his essence. He begins thrusting his hips up, fucking my mouth, and I lean back just a bit, just to prevent myself from gagging, as this is definitely not the time for it.

"If you want it, you need to take it," he says, and his voice is deep and fierce. I know he's getting close, and I want nothing else in this moment but to have him spill himself in my mouth. My heart is racing, my arms trembling, my knees sore, and if my mouth were not otherwise occupied, I would be panting. "Are you ready, whore? Take it, take it, take every drop, take it," his voice is commanding, and then his body stiffens and he groans. Thick spurts of cum fill my mouth and I swallow, and swallow, and swallow, my hand still wrapped around his cock, my tongue still working his shaft in between bursts. He slowly relaxes into the mattress, and still he's cumming, and still I'm swallowing, because I really do not want to miss any.

At last, he's finished, and I carefully pull my mouth away, coating his cock with my tongue, careful to lap up any drops of his precious essence as it oozes lazily form his spent cock. I have to lick him several times to capture it all, and when at last every drop has been consumed, I flop on my side, panting harshly. I'm covered in sweat, my body is trembling, his taste still on my tongue. I lean forward to rest my forehead against his knee, content to rest here beside him. And I say, gratefully, "Thank you, Master."