“Thank you, Paul, for letting me suck your cock,” I say flippantly. My voice is mischievous and playful.
Unperturbed, he grins back at me. The pad of his thumb rubs along my bottom lip again, and he’s still smiling. “Very good. You’ll learn that my cock is a privilege. It’s something that you have to earn.”
He stops smiling and his face switches to stern and implacable. It’s the ‘Look’ again, the one that makes me quiver. “You are to do nothing without my instruction,” he says. “I’ll direct you, telling you exactly what I want. Do you understand?”
I nod, and my gaze is once more drawn to his captivating erection.
Paul pulls my hair in one sharp tug, jerking my head backwards. I gasp. The sensation in my scalp doesn’t register as pain. My oversexed body catalogues this rough treatment as intense pleasure.
My senses reel, I’m in a daze. Water from the shower cascades over me, mingling with the wetness from my own arousal. Shit. Everything this man does makes me horny.
I realize that I’m supposed to speak, so I say, “Yes, I understand.”
“Good girl,” he says, holding my head between his palms. "Now, open that beautiful mouth of yours. When I put my cock in, I want you to suck it.”
I obey, taking his broad head, heat and length inside. I let saliva pool, so he is surrounded by warmth and slick wetness. Much like he’d be if he’d entered my pussy.
“There you go,” he growls. “Very nice. Use your tongue. Touch my balls with your other hand. Now stroke my shaft. Yes. Like that. Fuck. That feels good."
His praise spurs me on. He continues speaking, directing me in every action. Paul’s velvet voice commands me. It’s hoarse and filled with lust, as I suck and lick him, servicing him with my mouth.
My eyes squeeze shut with pleasure as a liquid shot of pre-cum escapes onto my tongue. His heady male musk makes me moan. My whole body reacts, wanting more. My breasts ache. I squirm and whimper with desire. Inarticulate sounds come from my throat.
Sucking Paul off is seriously hot.
Breathing heavily, he holds my hair tightly and pulls back. His heavy erection leaves my mouth with a soft pop, as he takes in large lungfuls of air. His other hand is on his cock. Seeing him hold himself sends another surge of desire through me.
“How deep can you go?” he asks. “Do you think you can take all of me?”
I study his length and thickness, and shrug. “I don’t know,” I say, while the shower continues to rain warm water down on us both.
“Let’s find out," he says huskily, as he feeds me his cock, once more.
I take him in with a moan. His large hands cradle my head, controlling me and using me exactly as he likes. Taking my body for his pleasure. Jesus. I almost come with that thought. Paul advises me to relax my throat. He wants to go deep.
“Put your hands on my ass and keep them there. I want those luscious wet lips of yours. Would you like that? Would you like me to fuck your mouth until I come?”
Sensual heat flashes though me at those erotic words. “Mmmm,” I murmur. As his cock fills me, I can only hum my approval to his plan.
Why the hell does this turn me on so much? Somehow, the idea of Paul getting off by casually taking my body like he owns it, is as good as, if not even better than my own release.
My hands grip his tight ass, while his thighs press along my arms. I’m trembling and excited. His strong hands control me. With my hair as leverage, he pushes my head down on him until my mouth bobs half-way down his cock and then back up, down, and up.
“God, I love fucking your mouth. You love this too, don’t you?”
“Mmmm,” I hum.
I do love it. I want to drink his cum, or swim in it. Right now I don’t care how I get it, as long as I do. I need to hear his guttural grunt of pleasure and the slap of his balls, while he savagely pumps into me.
Each time he thrusts deeper, until he’s hitting the back of my throat.
Quivering with desire, I struggle to accommodate him. His length and size make me gag – but only for an instant. Paul’s being careful. His hands twist in my hair, grabbing it roughly for better purchase. He tightens his hold, and thrusts deeper.
Paul allows me to suck his cock.
I feel so damn grateful.
The way he dominates my body, the easy strength of him, and the pull of my hair – it all serves to remind me of my submission. Paul is in control – I completely let go.
Deeply aroused, open and available to him, I manage his rhythmic strokes while lost in a wave of pleasure.
In this one eternal moment, it’s all about him.
Why is this such an incredible turn on? I feel like his object. An object to be used. It’s uncomfortable on my knees, it’s hard to breathe when he thrusts deeper. Water from the shower is in my eyes, and all the while he’s taking me, fucking my mouth.
Taking me. That thought echoes in the back of my mind. I’ve never been so aroused in my life.
A spasm of sensation hits him. He groans and his hands clench. The erotic bite of pain as he pulls my hair, while he’s fucking my mouth feels amazing. I whimper helplessly as a pulse of raw pleasure shoots straight between my legs.
“That’s it,” he grinds out harshly through gritted teeth. His lungs labor with effort, I feel his cock throb and twitch. “Good girl. You feel incredible.”
What I see in his dark eyes steals my breath away: Possessive heat. Physical dominance. Force of will.
In awe, I tremble, and feel owned.
The tension in his body, the smell, sight and feel of him, as well as his beautiful voice praising me, all come together in a heady buzz of intense joy. Paul’s getting off because of me. Right now, this is my reason for living.
There seems no greater purpose in life than to please him.
He bites off a vicious curse, and says, “I see you on your knees, submitting to me, worshiping my cock – and it’s too much. Do you want your Master to come?"
I moan my affirmative. The ‘Master’ comment barely registers through my sensual fog of pleasure. He can call himself, ‘Master,’ ‘Emperor,’ or ‘God-King,’ if he wants, as long as he doesn’t stop doing what he’s doing.
Paul thrusts in a rapid rhythm. He grunts, pants and swears as he absorbs the heady sensations my mouth and tongue create. I listen with a shiver of wonder to his sounds of lust and bliss.
He commands me to take him deeper… harder… faster.
His harsh voice and stern demands build a fire in my soul. My eyes water from a combination of strain and exultation. He’s using my mouth to jerk off. I delight in being used. Have I ever known such joy?
Drool runs down my chin, but I don’t care. I focus solely on his pleasure. He pushes into me, deep in my throat. I gag momentarily, but he pulls back. His balls slap against me each time. I can feel the back of his thighs and ass flex, as he fucks my mouth.
More than anything, I want him to come right now.
The fact that he’s using me to get off gives me primal, animal satisfaction. I begin to hum with pleasure, craving the feel, taste, sight and sound of his release. I want the spurt of his musky cum inside my mouth. Like an animal I want him to take me, to rut against my body, until he spurts his seed.
His cock swells, it stiffens with pre-orgasmic tension.
"Take it," he gasps, ordering me in a deep, husky voice. "Take my cum. Take it all."
These sexy words almost push me over the edge. If I didn’t have his cock down my throat preventing speech, I’d have cried out with euphoric joy. His cock jerks and throbs. His hands flex, pulling my hair. I love the way he holds me in place.
As Paul releases, he rams into my mouth hard, pushing my head down upon him. I accidentally score him with my teeth. Hot bursts of semen jet inside me. I revel in the salty, musky taste. The inherent maleness of this intimate gift is like absorbing a piece of Paul. I long to drink him in.
He floods my mouth. I swallow greedily as his thick shaft pulses and his hot se
ed jets again, and again, in intermittent spurts.
A hard shudder wracks his frame. His hips jerk, he groans and grunts. Paul’s fingers convulse on my skull, tugging my hair, and pulling on my scalp in an exquisite bite of pain.
The erotic sounds of a healthy male in orgasm rings in my ears.
My channel spasms, my face contorts, and for one long moment I stop breathing. I’m right on the edge of orgasm myself, but am incapable of going over.
Paul’s essence fills my mouth and tongue, choking me. I’m awash with hot, thick semen and I love every second of it. In this moment, the rest of the world is insignificant. Only pleasing him matters.
Oh, God, I do want to please him.
A deep guttural groan tears from his throat, as he jets into me one last time. It’s a primal male animal sound of total release and I revel in it.
I continue sucking, drinking him in. I gag and swallow, yet I’m incredibly satisfied. For a moment I imagine what I look like to Paul, on my knees, with his cock in my mouth.
If he’d only touch my clit, I’m pretty sure I’d climax immediately. But it doesn’t matter. Even without reaching my own peak, I feel utterly replete.
Holy shit. Tears of passion course down my cheeks. How great was that?
I continue to minister to his cock, licking his rounded head and shaft clean, totally buzzed by the experience. The overwhelmingly powerful feel of Paul’s heady raw need, combined with the tension of his body, and his pulsing orgasm that went on and on. Man, oh man, what a thrill.
Still breathing hard, Paul strokes my face.
Damn. So intimate and incredibly satisfying.
I’ve gone down on guys before, but this is different. What is he doing to me? I’ve never been so affected or sated. To be honest, sex before Paul was never really satisfying.
I get off on getting him off.
I love it. I love sex with him. I love him.
I glow from the pleasure of having sucked him off. A strong memory flashes back, the smell and sound of him as he climaxed, the taste of his hot seed, his fingers pulling my hair and the feel of him on my lips and tongue.
Mmmmm. I make the sound unconsciously and lick my lips, when I notice his salty male taste, still on my tongue.
He used me hard, alright. And wow, just wow.
I kneel before him, like a supplicant in an act of worship. Standing high above me, he looks down.
Our eyes meet.
I’m totally buzzed. Paul ‘allowed’ me to suck his cock and drink his cum. In reality he used my body. He held my head like he owned it, and fucked my mouth until he came.
Another woman might feel abused or violated.
Another woman might not ‘get’ his need to take me, or my craving to be taken.
Still, I’m rewarded with new heights of ecstasy and euphoric bliss. My body is his to use, exactly as he wishes.
In serving him, I’m fulfilled.
This is a revelation.
It’s not about me. I have no ego in this act of giving. Is this what he means when he says that I am submissive in nature? Because deep in my soul, I begin to genuinely understand it for the first time. In this moment, there is only him.
My world narrows to this one act of utterly letting go. I give myself absolutely. This is not a simple case of sexual arousal and the completion of orgasm.
Sex is nothing compared to whatever this is.
It’s so much deeper and more intense. It’s profound. I have an aching, all-consuming need to give him everything. There is a dark side to Paul. I know this. I’ve been worried that he wants to flog the shit out of me. Right now, I wouldn’t care if he did. Right now, I want him to.
It’s as if every cell in my body is yelling, ‘Give! Give! Give!’ And with every fiber of my being, I hunger for him to take.
Only his dominance and complete control can soothe this burning ache inside of me. I’m utterly content in Paul’s shadow. He desires me. I’m beautiful and needed. How did an act of sex make me feel so cherished?
His large frame now stands in front of the shower spray, blocking the constant flow of water from my face. One of his fingers traces my cheek, and his thumb gently touches what can only be a falling tear. In all this water, how did he spot a tear?
I’m so emotional, and I can see that Paul enjoys this. He likes my tears. An odd smile plays on his lips as he calmly studies my face.
He views my heartfelt adoration and arches a brow, “What do you say, Emily?” he asks quietly.
I know exactly what he wants to hear, because I really want to say it.
I need to say it.
“Thank you for letting me suck your cock,” I murmur, in an awed sort of whisper. My voice is no longer mischievous and playful. I’ve been enlightened. Now, there is only a sense of completion, connection and reverence.
My knees are sore. My lips feel bruised and swollen, and yet despite it all, have I ever known such joy?
Chapter 8.
“For all the talk you hear about knowledge being such a wonderful thing, instinct is worth forty of it for real unerringness.”
– Mark Twain
~~~
PAUL
With my cock well satiated I dress, leaving Emily to finish her shower.
I prepared the coffee maker earlier, when I first got up, and now the heady and unique aroma of coffee permeates the kitchen. I pour a cup of fresh brew and take a sip. Mmmm. I like it black. As I pull out a pan and begin to cut small pieces of bacon for an omelet, I recall the events of the morning.
I’ve had a major breakthrough with my little rabbit.
While she sucked me off in the shower, there was a shift in her level of respect or devotion. It’s a subtle but powerful change. I can’t quite put my finger on it exactly. I’ll ask her about it later today, after she’s thought it through.
Some new understanding touched her; body, heart and soul. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but for a long moment there, she gave me everything. That power exchange blasted through me like a bolt of electricity.
Emily was born to serve. Born to serve me.
There’s no greater feeling than having a sub give themselves. To live only to pleasure and please me. This is what I want with Emily. I think it’s what she wants, too.
The memory fills my mind, a vision of my beautiful girl. I recall her on her knees before me, her warm breath gusting softly along my shaft, just before she kissed the tip. It had been heady stuff, Emily worshiping my cock. The way her eyes widened, as I emptied myself inside of her, filling her wet and willing mouth. It’d been incredible. The woman had been transported, just because I allowed her the privilege of sucking me off, and drinking my cum.
The reverent expression on her face, combined with her heartfelt words, echo in my mind. “Thank you, Paul, for letting me suck your cock.”
Damned if I’m not on a total high, just thinking about it.
Emily comes into the kitchen, dressed for work. Our eyes meet in a wordless exchange: passion, pleasure, the euphoric joy of honest connection. Neither of us says a word. There probably are no words to describe what we both feel anyway.
We sit together, quiet, yet content while we eat a quick breakfast. Our silence is comfortable. There’s nothing that needs to be said right now.
I love that Emily doesn’t feel the compulsive urge to talk. If it was up to me, social chitchat would be banned. Why do some people have to speak just because a room is quiet?
We spent the night together at my dad’s house. My father’s still in the hospital after having a major heart attack and open heart surgery. This was the momentous event that caused me to return home, after three years away.
I’d been traveling from place to place, doing odd jobs. Now I’ve taken my father’s place in the family business, until he’s well enough to return to work. Emily and I both work at my dad’s grocery store, ‘Jarman’s Food Mart.’ It’s in Lincoln City, about fifteen minutes’ drive from home.
I’m staying in
my old bedroom at my dad’s house. Emily and her mother live three houses away, on the same street. We live near the Oregon coast, right on Devil’s Lake, a 680-acre freshwater state recreational area. It was a wonderful place to grow up.
My parents and Emily’s parents were once best friends. They did just about everything together during our childhood and adolescence. Every Friday night they played cards. They also watched football and went to various games and events. Both families even went on vacation together. Those were good times, when we were growing up, and some of my favorite childhood memories.
And then my mom took off with Emily’s dad, and everything went to hell.
Checking the time, we gather our stuff, and I drive us to work.
“Shit, Paul, I’m sorry,” Emily says, when we’re half way there. “I need to go back. I forgot those real estate documents.”
We’ve been submitting applications for a house of our own. Emily’s been following leads for several rental properties, narrowing our options. Dad will be out of the hospital soon, and I’m sure as hell not staying with him. I also need to buy a car. My dad’s old Volvo doesn’t cut it, plus he’ll want his car back when he’s up and around.
“Don’t sweat it, Em,” I say, as I make a U-turn. “We’ll still make it to work on time.”
Like all accidents, what happened next was unexpected. Just as we arrive in our neighborhood, a big white cat lopes across the street. The silver Honda Accord driving directly in front of us, hits the poor creature. Whether the motorist knows he’s hit the animal or not, he simply drives on.
Emily screams, her face a mask of horror. “Quick! Quick! Pull over! That’s Merlin, our next door neighbor’s cat.”
I park the car, and we sprint to where poor Merlin is injured, lying on the side of the road. I rapidly take in the scene. A young girl, probably eight-years-old and her mother, get there first. I’m surrounded by three females. Every single one of them is bawling their eyes out.
I don’t even know this cat, but I choke up, too.
I squat down and put my hand on Merlin’s neck. My urge to touch him is the natural need to offer comfort, but I’m also checking his pulse. The lower end of his body, the pelvic area, is shockingly broken. It’s hard to make out, because there’s so much blood. The cat’s intestines can be seen through a gaping wound.