Becoming an Oral Slut

I used to be terrible at giving head. Some of this was aversion to dribbling, gagging (which I have a remarkable reflex for) or the very idea of getting cum anywhere on or in me. I didn't want to appear anything other than perfectly proper when on my knees.

And of course, the overriding reason I didn't give in to the whispers of that demon succubus on my shoulder? Good girls don't enjoy giving head. Everyone knows that.

Oh, I wanted to be good at oral in principle! But you see, you can't just want to be good at it. Practice helps of course, but you have to really love where you're putting and what you're putting in your mouth. Trying to avoid their cock touching anywhere but your anxious, sphincter-like lips means you might as well be giving them a hand job with your thumb and forefinger, or making them fuck a calamari ring hooked up to the cold and impersonal vacuum of space. Not the sexiest brand of oral out there, I'm sure you'll agree.

My aversion to embracing oral was one of the first things that broke after my kink-awakening, and what an eye-opener it was! I now didn't only want to make Mr Monsey happy, I wanted to make me happy by watching and caressing his cock, feeling his warmth on then in me and the thrill of being gifted his cum. I'd fantasised about being swept up in my arousal before, but never had the thought of cock, his cock, possessed me so. These are all symptoms of a deadly case of cock worship, something I'd heard of but thought could only ever be a hammed-up roleplay game. And there was more lurking deeper in me; I wanted to give myself to his cock so completely he'd think nothing of using me for his own pleasure, grabbing my hair and fucking my face like I was designed for it, a toy to discard after use.

Did I have a real slut locked up inside me like the succubus suggested after all, now woken from her slumber and rattling her cage? And if I could I let her out now without shame, could I do it without making a fool of myself?

Thankfully my questions were soon answered. Trust me when I say that if you want someone's cock in your mouth that much their arousal will give your poor technique from lack of experience a pass. Enthusiasm goes a very long way. So does a little reading; the succubus on my shoulder is less an all-knowing font of kink-wisdom and more a generic lustful ideas factory, more's the pity.

I tentatively brought up the idea of giving myself to him one morning and, after some final reassurances between us he sat on the edge of our bed and told me to kneel. He slowly unbuttoned his jeans, lifting his waistband away from him until his cock sprung free, already erect and waiting for me.

Oh god, it was intoxicating. As soon as I got on my knees between his thighs I was hovering on the edge, then when his fully hard cock appeared I gave into the feeling and fell. What was left of me was something rawer, someone both very present in the moment and yet sat a million miles away, drinking in the entire scene. I knew what I had to do and I wanted to do it so badly, like the ache of needing penetration during high arousal only it was tingling all over my body, driving my actions with a cool focus. If he'd denied me right then I would have begged to have him in my mouth and would have meant every word.

Suffice to say I didn't have much patience for drawn out teasing. I did some of course, running my hands up his inner thighs to place my thumbs either side of his balls, fingers pulling down his pants further to get them out of my way - I needed to see the whole of him. I pressed my face to his cock to feel its warmth, to feel every twitch on my cheek, a kind of possessiveness asserting that his cock was promised to me. Then I held him, running my tongue up the side of his shaft to taste the sweat on that impossibly soft skin. He'd been excited for a while, it seemed.

My other hand cupped his balls, fingertips pushing behind, ready to massage his prostate. He loves the warmth of my hand there and that day was no different - his pelvic floor clenching at the sudden touch but quickly relaxing and he sighed. I was making him happy and I hadn't even tasted him properly yet.

I watched him watch me, his gaze holding mine in curiosity and arousal like a first-time voyeur, though his gently parted lips told me my touch was reaching him. My gaze I vainly hoped was sultry, though I knew it would be more animalistic, possessed even.

I ran my tongue, as broad and all encompassing as I could make it, from the underside base of his shaft to the head, taking my time to feel every bump from vein and taut foreskin. The soft, dual pressure from the underside of his glans encouraged me to push my tongue against the sensitive spot of his frenulum, then around, feeling every part of the ridge of his glans, before finally finding the very tip. I did this a number of times, each time his hands clenched into the bedspread and each time I grew wetter.

When I could take no more teasing I knew it was time to take him fully. I tilted forward, tongue still on his glans, made the last eye contact I could with him looming over me, then took him into my mouth. I relaxed around him, and pressed him to the roof of my mouth with a flat tongue, surrounding as much of his cock as I could manage. I began to bob my head.

The strength of satiation from sinking him into my mouth was so high I found myself moaning onto him, clenching my pelvic floor as though expecting his cock to be filling me there too. Forgetting my plan of massage I released his sack to run both hands from his knees to his hips, fingering his adonis belt and around to his back, snaking my hands under his shirt to tenderly stroke his obliques. I felt so close to him at that moment, like I could feel all my touches back on me as electricity. I pulled him towards me and in response he began to thrust - the tiniest of pelvic rocks but enough to tell me he wanted more.

The first drops of precum leaked onto my tongue. I salivated more in response. Somewhere in the back of my head blossomed a recognition of previous worry, but in that moment the viscous salt was a nectar, just as salient as a gentle caress, only unstoppable and therefore undeniable proof of his growing pleasure. I was doing it right, I felt amazing, and I craved more immediately.

In my eagerness I took him too deep. I gagged hard and had to pull away, a spasm in my throat that thankfully ebbed away in moments. And yet even with that sudden pain I didn't care. I pounced back and drew out my next assault, a forceful suck that drew in my cheeks and tongue to surround him completely in that velveteen warmth I knew he was revelling in, using the entirety of my tongue to near-enough rasp along that sensitive spot under his glans until only my tongue tip had contact, then swirled around his head before pushing back down again and resuming my strokes, the taste of his precum stronger and my saliva dribbling away from my lips.

Again I went too deep too soon and I gagged a second time. Pinpricks of tears rose at the corner of my eyes and it was becoming harder to breathe through my nose. The slut growled in frustration that she'd found such a lacklustre limit in me, though she begrudgingly noted it. Although I wanted, even needed his entire cock down my throat, if I gagged a further time he might take pity and remove himself and therefore his cock from my presence. She, and therefore I, resolved not to make that mistake again.

Some vague thought floated back that before my distraction I had cupped him. I gently returned my hand to his balls to play - just a gentle squeeze in a rhythm in keeping with the bobs of my head, middle finger pressing behind to massage his prostate.

He hissed and squirmed. His fingers found their way to my hair, a gentle hold that made me shiver, but his pelvic thrusts were growing in strength. He was trying his best to be courteous but I didn't want him to hold back. I knew what to do. I gripped his cock with my free hand, the rest of his shaft slippery with my saliva, and used it as a brace for my lips.

It didn't take long for him to get the message. The gentle stroking of my head became a subtle pressure, then an obvious push. He wanted to use me! What composure I had left evaporated. I was lost to the sensation, now reduced to an eager sloppiness, the rhythm not my own anymore but the one he demanded, the worshipper becoming a willing sacrifice to his pleasure. He became frantic in push and thrust, panting and breath catching in his throat. My jaw ached and lips blossomed in pain where they hit my teeth, tongue barely able to keep up with the head of his cock.

He warned me in a breathy choke that he was about to come. I hummed my acknowledgement, not wanting to break stride, not wanting him to lose the bliss I could feel growing in the fist balled in my hair. I pressed his prostate harder and he lost decorum completely, his thrusts pushing deeper and fucking my face for the hole it was -

And then, with a low groan, he came in my mouth for the very first time.

I felt every twitch of his cock - how each pulse moved up through my lips, across my tongue, the way his cum pooled at the back of my mouth. I didn't move, didn't swallow, waiting instead for the pulses to subside and for him to be completely spent, savouring the headiness of this experience. What little I could taste was salty but pleasant. Part of me had the wherewithal to be surprised that it tasted so good, that I wanted his cock again. I wasn't playing - I really had become the slut I'd fantasised about.

I needed him to know, but didn't have enough of my mind back yet to form a coherent sentence. So I released him, tilted my head back enough to catch his eye, and made a show of swallowing for him, wiping my tears and saliva from my face in the process. He smiled punch drunk - I'm sure I did too, and then he lifted me from my knees so we could cuddle. I eventually recovered enough presence of mind to voice my frustration at gagging, and he stroked the back of my head, letting me know he'd be game for training that out of me.

The idea sent a sweet thrill through me. The slut that had possessed me was still there then, just with her cage door now wide open, that demon on my shoulder swinging the keys around her finger.

Not long after he had me again, but this time he knew both what he wanted and the fucktoy I was capable of being. We were only passing in the hallway when he fired off a cursory demand for me to get on my knees. I obeyed instantly, focus honed on his zipper, already salivating for his cock. This time he was dressed in business attire and stood over me, stroking my head dispassionately as I serviced him. He was practically wordless, but why would he need to be anything else? I knew what to do. After he came in my mouth I again waited so he could watch me swallow my reward. I got a short, sharp pat on the head for my efforts, and then he left. I was so blissful I laid on the carpet for a long while, revelling in the sensation of being used and discarded like the fucktoy I was meant to be.

I still have a lot of training to do to improve my oral skills - both my cock worship needs a little more restraint and deepthroating is a long way off; I'm sure I'll be detailing my progress at some point in the future. Those first times were something of a revelation for me, though; what it meant to be a good girl was redefined in the instant I tasted his cum. I wore a crooked smile for the rest of the day, and I began to listen a little more to the idle chit-chat of that succubus on my shoulder, to see what other heights of pleasure she could help me reach.