Authors: Emily Tilton
He looked at me with an air of mock-benevolence; I sensed the hunger in his eyes, though, and it made me tremble a little.
“I’m not going to go easy on you, though. We’re going to have a nice, long session, now, and I’m going to come down your throat.”
I whimpered at the casual coarseness of this expression of his will to domination but said softly, “Yes, sir.”
“Your jaw will ache, but I don’t care.”
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t figure out why. I suppose it was gasp-worthy, but it was too offensive even to gasp at. What I
should
have opened my mouth to do, part of me was screaming, was to say “Java” or “Fuck that”. But my gaping astonishment at his naked, aggressive desire gave way suddenly and without warning to limb-loosening arousal: arousal that made me want to put my hand inside my lacy thong and touch myself.
I had not broken eye-contact, but I had been distracted by my own inner perturbation and I only noticed then, a few moments after he had uttered this declaration, that his eyes had narrowed and he was watching my face to judge my reaction as minutely as he seemed to judge everything I did that had the slightest thing to do with him. The discerning look on his face changed a great deal: above all, it raised the pressing question of whether he really didn’t care that he was about to make my jaw ache by forcing me to suck his cock for (what? fifteen minutes? an hour?), which in turn led to the possibility that he
did
care but either wanted to make my jaw ache or wanted to make my jaw ache only to the extent it would make me happy or help me get off, that he was making my jaw ache and saying he didn’t care.
“You think too much, Chloe,” he said. I wondered if he had read the entirety of my thought process on my face, or just a little of it. He stood, and began to unfasten his belt. “It’s time to stop thinking and suck my cock like a good girl.”
I panicked for a moment. What was I supposed to do? Should I kneel up? Should I crawl over to him making little cooing sounds in my throat? I looked around me, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, as if there might be people there who would tell me what to do, but Geoffrey said, “Don’t worry. Remember, I’ll tell you what to do. Relax.”
He crossed the short distance to where I was kneeling, sitting back on my heels. His belt was undone now, and he was undoing the button on his grey wool slacks. “Look only at my cock, little slut,” he murmured, “whenever it is visible.” He lowered his zipper, and now his fly was open, and I could see his blue pinstriped boxer shorts.
“If I want you to look me in the eyes, I will tell you to do so, but if I haven’t told you so specifically, your bottom will pay if you dare dishonor my cock by taking your eyes off it.” He lowered his boxers, and at last my master’s cock sprang free, hard and straight and pointing right at me. I looked only at it, as I had been instructed.
Geoffrey’s cock was bigger, both in length and width, than the penises of the two guys I’d slept with. I was a little ashamed of myself for how grateful and how wet that made me. It rose from a nest of dark brown hair and brown skin veined with blue, and a drop of moisture glistening at its tip. It swayed, very slightly.
“Just look,” he said softly. “Just look for now.” He reached out and took my head lightly in his hand, as if to make sure that I couldn’t look away, while in his right hand he weighed his cock. He enclosed it, then pumped it with his hand slowly, as he said, “Are you going to be a good girl and let my cock have its way, Chloe?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
“Are you all dressed up to suck my cock? Did you put on those nice panties to show me that you want to be a good cocksucker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You look very pretty in them, Chloe. They’re just the kind of thing a cocksucker should wear.”
Watching him pleasure himself as he degraded me and prepared to take his pleasure in my mouth was hypnotic. I had never seen a man give pleasure to his own cock except in a porn video, and the sight was intensely shameful because I knew that he was masturbating looking at
me
and thinking about
me
and about what he was going to do to
me
.
He gripped my head more tightly with his left hand, and he leaned forward. Much as I wanted to be made to do what Geoffrey was going to make me do, I emitted a panicked sound as the cock came closer. “Shh, Chloe, shh,” he said. “You’re a cocksucker now.” He pushed the head of his penis against my lips. I started to open my mouth, but Geoffrey said, “No, don’t open yet. Just kiss.” I pursed my lips and kissed right where the little slit was. The wrinkly skin at the top felt strange on my lips. Then he took the cock away and began to slap me lightly with it, all over my face—cheeks, nose, forehead.
“Beautiful,” he said. “Chloe is a cock-slut.”
I felt defiled, but I longed to be defiled further.
“Open, now,” Geoffrey said, “and stick out your tongue. Further, and curl it downward. There we go.” Now he used his left hand to cup my chin and hold my mouth in place, while with his right he placed the head of his cock on my tongue. “There,” he said with satisfaction.
The texture of my master’s penis was what I perceived first as I waited in this position to be instructed, or to be used. Smooth but curved very intricately in a way that felt terribly new and terribly wicked, for an instinctual part of me knew that a girl shouldn’t feel that on her tongue, that it was bad and naughty to have a cock on your tongue. Then, a very light taste of a deodorant soap, perhaps, or maybe even of male pheromones—but in any case it tasted like a man, though it could be that I thought that because it was Geoffrey’s cock I was tasting.
Geoffrey lifted it and lowered it again onto my tongue. I remembered that the girls in the videos would sometimes act like it was a little game and try to catch the guys’ cocks with their mouths, but I could sense that was the opposite of what Geoffrey wanted; he wanted to watch his cock claim my mouth. All I saw was the thicket of his pubic hair and a little of the muscles of his waist where they disappeared under his shirt.
“Alright, sweet girl, here we go. Open as wide as you can.” I tried to part my lips to their utmost, already feeling my jaw beginning to tire, and Geoffrey thrust inside my mouth with a sort of manly grunt that gratified my pride at least a little, since it was clearly a sound of satisfaction at the feeling of my virgin mouth around the cock that he had imposed there. He only came inside a little bit, but my mouth already felt terribly full. The feeling of submission, too, was nearly overwhelming; somehow the cock in my mouth was annihilating me as it took away my power to speak in favor only of my capacity to give pleasure to my master. But in that annihilation was a sort of intellectual pleasure that sent me reeling and made me thrillingly conscious of myself as a white lace adorned possession for Geoffrey’s use.
“Only the tip, now. Only the tip to start,” he said softly, and began to use me. “Just stay open for me, Chloe. There you go.”
True to his word, he seemed to be trying to train me to take him the way he wanted—to give him his way in my mouth. Back and forth with his hands firmly around the back of my head. I felt like my mouth was going dry and I was drooling uncontrollably at the same time. I seemed to descend into a strange universe of animalism; without the power of speech I was nothing but a pet, and I loved it, though the censorious part of me shouted on, “What are you
doing
?”
I could only reply, “I’m not
doing
anything. I’m being done to, and I need that.”
“One nice, deep thrust now,” Geoffrey was saying, “to teach you what I’m really looking for.” Suddenly the cock was going deeper and deeper, and he was saying, “Shh, shh. There we go.” His shirt front, hanging down, brushed my forehead and occupied my whole vision, and I was gagging and choking, but Geoffrey wasn’t letting me go, and I couldn’t even say “Java” if I had wanted to, because my master’s cock was in my mouth.
Then it was over, and Geoffrey was pulling out, saying, “Good girl. That felt very nice.”
I nearly fell to the rug but managed to stay upright, still sitting back on my heels. Geoffrey took a step backwards. I looked up at him, uncertain of what he wanted.
“Eyes on my cock, Chloe,” he said.
I flushed and returned my gaze to his penis, glistening with my saliva. It stood out arrogantly, pointing at me, the curly hair above it nearly obscured by the blue shirt cloth that reminded me that my master had the right to wear clothes, even when enjoying me, but I must wear only the naughty things he had told me to wear. Below, too, his trousers remained at his knees. I wasn’t even worth dropping his pants for, they seemed to be saying, but since I was there, wearing white lace underwear and clearly available for anyone who knew how to treat me, why not just put his cock in my mouth to see what I was good for?
To my surprise, he sat on the couch then and took off his pants, pulled the belt out, and folded them. He put them on the couch next to him. “Come here, Chloe, on your hands and knees.”
Obscurely grateful that he was keeping his promise to tell me what I needed to do to please him, I obeyed. He opened his knees, and now I could see the whole area of his manhood: hairy, the way, I thought, a dominant man should be; arrogant, somehow, in its thrusting externality.
“Come here,” he said. “Nuzzle here and kiss me. Worship my cock while I tell you my philosophy of irrumation and fellatio.”
It was an even more shameful act than putting my tongue out to let Geoffrey lay his cock atop it, I realized, and now I really was
doing
—but I was doing because I had been taken in hand, and it was a doing that was more fundamentally also a being-done-to. Slowly, I approached, unsure of where to begin.
“You may begin by kissing my scrotum, young lady,” he said. “You have permission also to touch my cock.” He demonstrated how to lift his cock out of the way to expose the wrinkled skin of the precious sack. I bent my head and kissed, and he said, “Very nice. Now, nuzzle and kiss.”
I kissed his scrotum all over and touched his cock as gently as I could, and I heard him make another little grunt that I thought must be his equivalent of my whimpers. Then he began his instruction as I tried to put his theoretical lesson into practical application and provide my master with the pleasure that was his due.
“The Romans had two marvelous words, just as we do—though I think the Romans’ words are better—no, sweetheart, you never really suck… that’s better—for the pleasure a man can have in a girl’s mouth. Fellatio corresponds to giving a blowjob—that is, pretty much what you’re learning to do right now, Chloe. Irrumation, on the other hand, is what I was doing to you a few moments ago. Face-fucking, that is. Take my balls gently in your hand now and kiss them. Nice.” He fell silent for a few moments, panting a little, and laid his hand gently on top of my head and stroked my hair. I felt like I might be getting the hang of it.
“It’s important that you understand—take it as deep as you can, now… better, but you’re going to have to practice quite a bit. It’s, um, important that you understand that what feels best to me is fucking your face, pure and simple. A lot of the time, my way is going to mean that your face gets fucked, and you accept it because you accept rule one.” I made a little whimper at the thought and the mental picture that accompanied it, of Geoffrey using me as roughly as he liked, because Geoffrey always got his way. “I like to watch a girl get what’s coming to her, and looking down at you with my cock in your mouth because I had decided it was time for it to be there was a massive turn-on for me. I’m afraid there’s just going to be no getting around that for you, and being face-fucked is just something you’ll have to get used to. That’s it; licking up and down is very nice. You’re being a very good girl.
“But it’s also very important to me that you learn to give a good blowjob, because that feels very good too. Variety is the spice of life, after all. Also, and even more importantly, training you to please my cock with your mouth is a crucial exercise in taking you in hand—at least as I like to take a girl in hand. And knowing that you understand what gives my cock pleasure will help you grasp just what you have begun by submitting to me.”
My mind and my pussy were afire with these insights, which really did seem to me quasi-mystical. I bent to my task, kissed his thighs, licked along the joining of thigh to pubis, nuzzled his lightly furred scrotum with nose and mouth. I submitted to the majesty of his cock, and I was desperate to have it inside me. I took it in my mouth, remembering not to suck this time. I tried to take it deep and gagged a bit but managed to control the reflex more than I had before.
Then he took my head in his hands again and began to pump his hips, making the biggest groan I had heard from him yet. I gagged, but the quick pumping was much easier to bear than the slow thrust.
“Hold my balls, slut,” he growled. “Very gently.”
I obeyed, melting at the sudden return of “slut.” I was a slut, and I should be called one, and I should have a cock being pumped in and out of my mouth. I was desperate to break rule four and put my hand inside those lacy panties, but I caressed the soft pouch and was rewarded with a final, strangled grunt and a convulsion in his hips, and then a sort of “Ah… ah,” and I knew that I had pleased my master as the warm, salty and bitter seed filled my mouth, and I swallowed, feeling it burn my throat a little as I submitted to Geoffrey’s cock completely and took what I was given.
He let my head go, and I sat back, still looking at his cock, which seemed to be shrinking by the moment—a process I had never seen close up before. “Thank you, Chloe,” he said. “That was lovely. You pleased me very much.”
I knew it was deeply irrational, but I got so much pleasure from his condescending praise that I practically purred.
“Come back into my lap, good girl. You may look me in the eye.”
I obeyed, feeling wonderfully happy but also a little frustrated.
“Take off my shirt, please,” he said.
I blushed. How strange to swallow his semen and then to blush when commanded to take off his shirt. I began to unbutton the shirt.