Your message said it had been a long day at work and you were frustrated.
'And? What do you want me to do about it?' I replied.
You know I like it when you tell me how much you want me; it reiterates your consent. I wait while you're typing.
'I need to forget about work and life and chores and even being a person. I need to be your toy again. I want you to play with me and make me do anything you want. Use me for your pleasure until my mind is emptied of everything except your cock and your needs.'
I smiled. You only write longer messages when you're really horny.
I typed: 'Good girl. Because you're not a person, you're a set of holes. And what do we say about fuckholes...?'
'Fuckholes don't need a brain, you said,' without hesitation.
'Exactly. Be at the hotel in an hour. I'll book it in your name. Go in the room, and be ready for me.'
I knew you'd comply. I didn't need to wait for you to reply. I made the arrangements, and got ready.
I debated whether to take anything with me from the collection of toys I keep to use with you. I decided on a dildo, just a medium one, nothing too extravagant, and some lube, putting them in my jacket pocket in case I wanted something else to use on you.
An hour and ten minutes later, I arrived at the hotel. The reception staff knew me, and they knew what we did there, but I didn't care. They'd seen it all before. They handed me a keycard and I made my way to the room, my cock beginning to stir as I thought about finding you, waiting for me.
I swiped my way into the room and entered slowly, stepping firmly and deliberately, letting you know I was coming and you'd better be ready. I rounded the corner and you looked at me from the bed, expectantly, as I removed my jacket.
You were wearing a black, see-through bra and matching panties made with just the right grade of fabric to obscure the view beneath enough to make someone eager to get them out of the way quickly.
You leaned back, parting your legs for me, showing me what you were offering in a way that pleaded 'pick me to play with'.
"I bought these for my anniversary," you said, in a quiet voice.
I smiled at your words, pleased that you know exactly the kind of thing I like.
"Someone ought to do what they were designed for," I said.
I'd never been particularly into lingerie, whether it was kinky, revealing, or otherwise; I always preferred what was underneath. But, knowing why you'd bought them, and getting to be the one to ruin them, turned me on. I wanted them gone.
But not yet.
I approached the side of the bed staring down at you, and beckoned you towards me, signalling with just a motion of my hand that you should be closer. How were you going to service me otherwise?
You obeyed, moving over to the edge of the bed where my hips conveniently met the height of your face. I unzipped my jeans and waited. You knew what I wanted; you're a good slut and know what you should do when I require it, without needing to be told.
I felt your hands reach through to my cock, massaging it as you pulled it free and out to take hold of it properly. It responded to your touch, growing harder as your soft fingers slid over my shaft and teased the head, running over it, and then back down to my balls, gently squeezing them, coaxing them to prepare more of the cum you always crave.
My cock quickly grew to its full capacity: seven inches long and six in circumference, its circumcised head pointing directly at your mouth as you continued to stroke and play with it.
I wanted more.
"Come on," I told you. "If I wanted jerking off, I could have done that myself."
I reached down to take hold of your head with both hands, pulling your mouth to me, which opened automatically, always ready to take a cock and put it to good use.
My cock pushed passed your lips and I breathed a moan as I felt your tongue against the underside of my shaft, sliding over me as I drew your head further to me, moving one hand to the back of your head, and winding your hair around the fingers of the other, giving it a little tug as a warning: don't stop.
I pushed my hips forward and my cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag a little, coughing as I pressed further to feel your throat open and swallow me, which you did, willingly and eagerly, tipping back your head while the resistance of your hair round my hand made you wince just a little. I pushed against the back of your head, holding you there, your lips at the base of my shaft, and the head of my cock firmly buried in your willing throat.
"That's it. That's what I needed,' I moaned, and began slowly rocking my hips.
My dick slid up and down in your throat, but never withdrew. I kept you on me until I felt you beginning to struggle more, spluttering a little, unable to get enough oxygen but still recognising that my need was more important: your existence solely to please me.
I tugged hard on your hair, yanking you off me so you could gulp in some air before I quickly thrust back into you, making you choke as I drove back down your throat in one swift motion, barely enough time for you to inhale. I wanted to fuck that throat; it's mine to use and I was going to do so, thrusting my hips harder, in and out, my tall frame towering above you as you lay on the bed choking on me. The sounds you were making - fuck, those sounds - the spluttering, gagging, and gasping of a slut so desperate to fulfil her role perfectly. Your throat convulsing around my cock making me breathe heavier, moaning and grunting as I keep fucking you.
"You dirty bitch," I said, in a low voice. "Your throat was made for this and you know it."
I looked down at you, your eyes watering but full of lust, savouring the feeling of being my cock-sucking whore. I shifted my gaze down your curvy body to your fat ass, stuck up in the air behind you. Such a perfect ass that I knew needed some attention later. Until then, your face would have to do.
I unravelled your hair from my fingers and brought my hand to your face, taking hold of your cheeks between my fingers and thumb and raising your face towards me. Swiftly, I brought my other hand round and lightly slapped your cheek.
"Don't worry," I said with a little smirk. "I won't leave a mark. We don't want you to have to explain that."
You nodded obediently, knowing you deserve it. Even though you did everything I asked, you could always do more. I smiled again, and slapped that cheek once more.
"Good girl."
I wanted to cum. I could feel the pressure building and my cock starting to throb, pulsing back against the walls of your throat.
'Should I pull out and give it to you all over your face? Or should I pump it all straight down into your stomach where it can slosh around as I use you all evening?' I thought.
I decided on the latter. Grabbing your head once more and forcing you to take me deep again as my cock throbbed and pulsed, and released my cum straight down your throat, flooding you, making you choke as I held you there until I was done, moaning, grunting, emptying my load into your greedy stomach.
Finally, I let you go. You gasped, breathing heavily, desperate for air. Saliva drooling down your chin and hanging from my cock. I slapped your face again, before rubbing my cock over you, wiping that spit all over your cheek.
"Filthy whore," I told you, with a look that let you know what you're really worth: a cleaning tool.
You knew that wouldn't be the end of it, but you didn't know what might come next. That's what makes our times so enticing for you: you never know what I could have in store for you and your holes.
I sat on the bed, arms folded, my cock now soft between my legs, still glistening from the remains of your spit.