I sat on my knees quivering at the door, my rouged shins resting against the tattered shag carpet waiting patiently for him to arrive home in the position he has described is acceptable for me to greet him in: knees on the floor, spread hip length apart, head back and lips pursed into a perfect opening.
Softly at first, then getting louder, I could hear his heavy feet come up the concrete stairs outside the apartment door. My body tensed with anticipation, excitement, and fear as each footstep grew louder, until I heard the rusted knob squeal to the right. He took two steps in the door and looked to me with appreciation. He stepped closer to me until his slightly aroused member pushed through his wool suit pants to greet me.
"Take it out," he told me, as though he was saying, "Hi honey, I'm home." This pleased me greatly. I quickly fumbled to release the sterling silver latch of his belt following the button and zipper, pulling those and his boxer-briefs down just far enough that his lively cock could spring to my face.
I hesitated what seemed a slight moment, as I enjoyed the view, but he quickly curled his fist into my hair and pushed my open mouth around his waiting cock, pushing it deeply until I gagged. I felt so happy to feel him in my throat.
"You like to gag on my cock, don't you slave?"
With my mouth filled completely with his swollen offering I could only manage a slight nod. He pulled out completely before pulling my face up to meet his eyes.
"Don't you slave?" he repeated sternly.
"I love to gag on your cock sir."
No sooner had the words escaped my lips had he forced my to take his full length into my mouth again, letting it dip deeply into my throat. Its warmth was amazing, and I could feel my own juices begin to churn as well. He was so intoxicating, delicious, and I love being his.
I continued to run my tongue the length of his thick member, struggling to breathe with him completely buried in the pink of my throat. I could feel him pushing harder until my nose hit his groin. It took all my practice and training to remain perfectly still at that moment; gagging, and struggling to breathe, I enjoyed him fully.
"Stay there slave." He commanded monotone, as I struggled to swallow around his cock. I looked up to him for approval but his eyes were closed and his head rolled back just enough I couldn't meet my eyes to his. Just then, he grabbed me tightly, wrapping his firm fist in my thick brown locks pulling me back roughly.
"Over that,'' he said forcefully and pointed to the blue leather ottoman adjacent to the matching sofa. I struggled quickly to appease, crawling quickly to it and sprawling my body over it completely, spreading my legs widely with my ass to the sofa. He slipped off his loafers, and continued to the kitchen grabbing two Miller Lites from the fridge. I know that neither of them are for me. He doesn't like me drinking. He sauntered back to the sofa pausing for a moment letting his eyes run down my back, ass, and down my slit all the way to my black patent pumps. He always insisted I wear my heels, "A good slut is dressed to the 9's," he always told me, by which he meant; in the buff, and high heels.
I could hear him settling comfortably as he slumped down into the sofa behind me. He rand his foot up the back of my leg pushing his toes slightly into my wet pussy... I could hear him crack his beer and give it a good slurp while he did this, obviously seeing this as leisure to him. I tried to relax, letting his toes find their way around my exposed backside and glistening wet pussy. Every time he inched closer to my opening my entire body twinged with excitement.
I heard him rustle against the leather behind me and felt the flesh on my backside burn amazingly as his hand rushed down on it. A small moan escaped my slightly parted lips as he began to rub the spot softly.
"What do you say?" He asked playfully.
"Thank you, sir" I let out softly with a gasp of air.
