If ever there were a point where she could wrest control of the scene from her master, this was it.
He knew it too. Such a soft sweet morsel of a woman, capable of such complete acts of submission, so free of ego, giving herself to him so abjectly, but when she took his sex into that pocket of heaven that some loosely call a mouth, her true power to bend and shape reality became evident.
Her tender caresses pulled every nerve ending in the lower half of his body into the shaft of his turgid cock and tortured them individually.
He gave up long ago keeping count of the climaxes she gave him this way. Opting instead to expend the energy exacting the strict discipline she so craved.
Her usual level of proficiency with this was as brutal and exacting as the training methods he used to teach her. Not that he was complaining... not that he even could right now. His swollen member was trapped and she was forcing it to disgorge itself. Her unerring skill got him to this point and now she wrapped her arms around his waist and gripped the back poles of the chair to prevent escape. Now, she was ready to use her most impressive weapon, her very throat.
Over the past few months they spent many hours developing this particular skill, one that would make her any master's prize possession, a slave worth killing for. Through practice and concentration she had learned to contract the walls of her throat. And the muscles surrounding her throat were strong and well controlled.
She had also learned to feel the blood pulsing through his stiff member. And to demonstrate her desire to stay in locked-step with master, she would tense and flex her throat to the beat of his cock and he would spasm helplessly in her grasp, a victim of her orally induced dementia.
As inevitable as the tides, and with the same intensity, his quickening was at hand, and sensing his imminent fall, she plunged him to the back of her mouth and latched herself to the tower base allowing him to release directly into her throat. His entire lower body tensed violently as his shaft pulsed on final time and then released a slippery pearl bolt of juice into her opened and waiting throat. With each successive convulsion she held him down and maintained her grip on his prong, anticipating his jerking and holding his waist and caressing him in such a way as to say, "...it is going to be alright, master. It will be over soon, my lord."
In his subconscious mind (the only part working properly at this point), he took great comfort when she would hold him like this during his throes. And that feeling greatly increased the ease with which his cream flowed into her gullet.
As she suckled and hummed, he continued to feed her his milk for what seemed like minutes. He always came heavily when he was with her, a definite point of pride for her, and usually after one of their sessions she would actually feel full as if she had just eaten a modest meal.
An apt pupil, she had learned her master well, and instinctively knew when the last few drops of his essence were safely inside her. And now was her favorite part. Giving him one last tight squeeze, she slowly dragged his rapidly softening staff out of her torture chamber until she held only the head in her mouth. Savoring the last vestige of his cream on the tip of her tongue, she began to caress her stomach, as if to will it into staying there forever. She would rub her stomach many times in the coming days as a conscious reminder that he was with her even when she was in her everyday life away from him.
Slowly, the world began to regain meaning for him as his climax subsided and she finally released the member, spent and inert, as she had left it so many times. It made a moist thud against the chair as it fell from her soft red lips. It caught her eyes and she marveled at its beauty briefly as it lay there glistening with her spit and his remnants.
"This one has emptied you, my lord..." she said, business-like and rather matter-of-factly. Statements this obvious were a source of great humor to both of them when they were in public together laughing, reveling and anticipating what would happen once she was in her collar; kneeling and naked before him.
She said the words ... ...knowing they fell on deaf ears connected to the mute tongue of a man who was all at once her cruel taskmaster and tormentor, her zealous protector and ardent defender, teacher and, right now helpless victim.
She peered at his still absent eyes, felt his seed seep into her with satisfaction and no small amount of pride that she suppressed as she slid easily back into her supplicant pose, head held high with eyes cast downward.
His was a formidable weapon, and she craved and feared it with equal passion. For he had used it many times to quicken her as a reward for her good and faithful service. And he has used it in every orifice her willing and supple body had to offer.
But the size of it was just enough to offer her pain if used improperly. And she knew this to be true from experience. She could remember every wound it had ever inflicted upon her and still she desired it above all others, rubbing the places the pain had been on the nights they were apart.
Fate had made him her master, size and skill made his tool her fearsome desire, yet he was far from invulnerable, as she was not without her own arsenal. Her orifices were more of a threat to his dominance than he would ever let her know. For as her master, he must show confidence, compassion, concern and correction, but NEVER weakness.
Her natural fluids haunted him. They were at once his nectar and poison. And she was full of them.
She was as the rarest and deadliest orchid of the Amazon. Appealing to all of the senses, but deadly toxin to ingest. Her saliva, sweet in his mouth to taste, weakened his resolve and drove him to distraction when they were apart.
