Master Drakes Mouth

I am a woman with strong opinions about which behaviors are in fact becoming for a lady. It is unseemly for a woman to use profanity or to use crude terms like "titties." A lady sends thank you notes promptly and never rests her elbows on the table. And it is never becoming for a woman to dress like a slut on Halloween.

As such my costumes in the past have either been ultra-feminine (geisha-spider) or the product of Kelly's warped brain (cannibalistic pig). Now that my Master, Master Drake has asked me to don a costume, my mind is addled, and I am unsure which route to go. In the end I go with "stupid" because right now I am obsessed with feathers. I choose to be Big Bird with long pink and orange thigh high tights and a shiny yellow dress... and yellow feathers to adorn my hair. But no beak. No... a beak would just get in the way.

Now, I am a girl who is afraid of lots of things: rollercoasters and spiders and fire and failure, but one thing I am not that afraid of is monsters. I am more likely to be disturbed by like the Nothing in the Neverending Story than an actual, credible monster. Still even I have my moments...

So when Master Drake, whose motives I still can't always fathom, answers the door dressed as the ghost clown from Scooby Doo, I am... taken aback.

His dark eyed, leering costume brings me back to the childhood days when I used to cower in front of the tv, hands over my eyes, whispering "it isn't real; it isn't real; it's just TV..."

Still, I imagine we must make an odd sight, me on my knees, my sunny yellow feathers tickling His skin, His clown suit fallen to His ankles as He draws me close.

I inhale His smell, comforting, arousing, familiar, the scent of His body, of His erection, the sting of anticipation, the itch in my throat. I feel His hands on the back of my head, encouraging me, hastening me... Slowly my mouth opens, my lips part, my tongue sinks to the bottom of my mouth... I reach.. forward, reaching with my neck, my jaw, my saliva... pooling in my mouth, expectation hanging on my trembling chin.

But I am slapped back for my efforts, a stiff, smart smack across my cheek that sends me recoiling to the side, a yelp of surprise and confusion.

"As a teacher of young children, Pet, you should know better than to begin an assignment

without first asking for directions."

I wince and color. I hate it when people use my job against me.

"What are my directions, Master?"

I mumble, then, mindful of my

place, I add "I hope only to please

You." It is the truth.

He explains that as I suck Him tonight He plans to pound me harder than He ever has before, that He plans to use my head for just what it is, His favorite fuck-toy and nothing more. He tells me that if I lift my lips from the skin of His hard cock before He is finished, the consequences would be dire, beyond my worst nightmares.

"Understand Pet?"

I acknowledge that I do.

At His insistence now, my full lips part, and He is between them, expanding against the walls of my mouth, testing my limits. I am rocking gently back on the balls of my feet absorbing Him inch by swollen inch.

Slowly feathers begin to fall, twisting lazily to the ground, like bright Autumn leaves as He begins to push me harder, His cock, groping the furrows of my throat, His head tickling my larnyx, as the sunny, yellow down drifts gently to the floor. My lips are squeezed around Him, my wet mouth, moist and hopeful. I have just begun to sweat, nut hair to dampen...

Then He is gripping me, the sides of my head. He is sliding my head back and forth on His shaft, His cock, three fingers wide, laced with saliva, slick and hard like fossilized stone, beating time against my tonsils. And I am slowly breaking down. There are spots of sweat on my tights from where my ass has been pushed onto my calves, and the fabric of my dress is sodden. My legs are weak; my spine begins to ache.

He has me hard between His hands now, His gripped me up like He promised He would. I can feel the smush of my cheeks against His sweating palms. He drives Himself, His cock like a sword, into me, my mouth, my throat. Faster and harder than I can fathom. As providence would have it, His cock fits my throat quite well, and He can prick it a thousand times and it will just barely withstand. Back and forth like a saber, an insistent saw, cutting into my consciousness, reeking havoc with my respiratory. My cheeks are hollowed, my eyes and nose are burning. He is pounding into me with a new found fury. I am nearly doubled up around Him, His fat cock, stretching my throat, unmooring my senses, my hold on reality is slipping. All I can feel around me is cock. His smell, filling my nostrils, His grunts filling my ears, His hands wrapped around my head like a vise, pushing me harder, harder, until I want to scream. Until there is blood pulsing in my veins and I am dizzy... dizzy... but my scream gets swallowed, smothered by cock and I am moving to a foreign rhythm, a frenetic pace that threatens to spill my innards, to capsize my breath and body, as I lurch forward and back, thrust again and again... and oh! again down on His fury, down til He is past my threshold, past my endurance and sweat and tears are staining my body, my nerves are weak with protest, my body is like a rag doll, heaved between His heavy hands.

Faster... and faster.

And my only lingering strength is the seal I keep around Him, the suck and drag of a moist mouth, fat lips on meat. The lure of my tongue which invites the agony, leading Him further down. my mouth, sliding up and down the protruding veins of cock. Warm and dangerous and fine.

Until in the end, His red clown hair askew, the make-up bleeding from His face, He cums, spilling His churning wad down my seizing throat, racking my body with His spasms of ecstasy. And I feel His hot seed pouring down my gullet, can taste Him on my tongue and in my nose... and He is everywhere, my head beat into His flesh, my senses are filled by Him, overwhelmed by Him. I am overpowered by His strength, by His girth and by His seed... that launches into me so hot and fast that I release... I let go. Too early. Too soon.

So that a long, thin stream of pearly white comes trickling down my chin and down the front of my plastic, yellow dress.

And I look down in shame.

Look down so I do not see how He strengthens in size, how His skin pales ten shades, how His eyes turn into dark hollows. Until it is too late. The ghost clown is upon me! I feel His cold hands sink into my flesh, feel His teeth against my neck, sucking out my soul. My legs go clammy and fall out from under me, my skin assumes a death-like pallor. He is on top of me, on top of me... His gluttonous hands are ripping at me. Tearing. His sinister clown laugh is the last thing I hear as my spirit is relinquished into the cool Canadian air and all that is left of me, the poor pet who failed her Master, is a pile of laughing yellow feathers.

The end