Yours
The cold floorboards dig into my knees as I kneel at before you, yet I make no move to adjust. All I do is look down at your feet, clad in leather shoes, and try to control my rapid heartbeat as I wait for your next move.
It's been several minutes of you standing above me, watching me kneel for you. The air is tense around us, but I know you like that. Making me wait. Making me show my submission to you, quietly and silently up until the very moment you decide you've had enough--and not a second before.
You casually take a swig of your whiskey glass, which I only notice due to the sound of you swallowing it down. It's that quiet. I can hear my own heartbeat, and I know damn well you can hear how shaky my breathing is as I try to keep still.
After a minute, I hear you placing the glass on the nearby table, shortly followed by the warm touch of two of your fingers beneath my chin. You guide my face up and up, past your black slacks and crisp white shirt, until my eyes meet yours, and I nearly melt at your intense, heated gaze. You give me a soft, reassuring smile, and damn it if that doesn't make me smile right back at you.
"Such a pretty girl," you mutter, just loud enough for me to hear. Still with your fingers under my chin, you lean over to the table and grab your glass again. You play with it for a moment, letting the small amount of liquid remaining swirl around the glass. "Who do you belong to?" you ask, looking at the glass and not at me.
Slightly humiliated, I feel my cheeks flame. You still don't look at me as I give my response, yet the words somehow manage to come out clear and confident, "You, Sir."
Finally, your eyes meet mine, but you don't say anything for a few long seconds. Once I'm all but squirming on the floor, your grip on my chin moves to my hair, gripping it firmly. "And I can do whatever I want with you, can't I? No matter what it is?"
I immediately nod, cringing a little at the way it makes sharp pain shoot through my scalp. "Yes, Sir. Anything."
We both know it's not
literally
true. I could utter my safe word right now and we'd end the scene for tonight. But we both also know I don't want to do that--not unless I have to, and right now, with your piercing blue eyes locked with mine, I can't find it in me to do anything but obey you.
"Good girl," you praise, and the sound makes shivers run through my entire body. Your hand travels from my hair back to my mouth, and you press the pad of your thumb against my plush bottom lip. I automatically open for you, allowing you access to my mouth as I swirl my tongue around your digit, still while looking at you.
The way your eyes light, at the combination of my submission and my tongue on your skin, makes me clench. I'm only wearing a short, tight-fitting dress, thankfully with panties on beneath it, but I still feel practically naked as I feel myself growing wetter beneath you.
After a minute, you withdraw your thumb, and I nervously swallow. You lightly stroke my flaming cheek with the back of your hand and say, "Such a beautiful little girl for me." The praise warms my veins all over again, and this time I can't hide the way I shimmy and clench my thighs. You track the motion, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "Open your mouth," you demand.
I obey before your command has even registered, my mouth gaping and my tongue sticking out of my mouth. I expect you to unzip your slacks and let me worship you, so when you make no move to do so and instead toss back the rest of your whiskey, a frown etches between my brows.
But when you lean down, I realise what you're doing. The strong, bitter drink pours into my mouth as you spit it out into me, and I would gasp if I could. You grip my cheeks in the next moment, squeezing lightly in warning. "Don't swallow it yet," you tell me, and I try my best, letting the bitter liquid rest on my tongue until you tell me otherwise.
I keep my mouth open as you look into it, a muttered curse leaving your lips as you watch me swirl the liquid around my tongue. After a moment, you surprise me by leaning forward and kissing me, hard.
At first, I don't know how to react, but it doesn't take long before I'm kissing you back just as hard. Our mouths open, and our tongues move around each other as the whiskey still rests in my mouth. I moan into your mouth, and you nip at my bottom lip as you pull away just half an inch.
"Swallow," you demand in a rushed whisper, and I obey, swallowing the whiskey down my throat. A moment later, you kiss me again, equally as intensely. Your hands roam my face and my body, squeezing and kneading whatever you come into contact with--my hips, my breasts. A little yelp escapes me as you squeeze a nipple between your fingers, but you quickly absorb the sound with another kiss.
After several minutes, you pull away, coming to standing again. I catch sight of your erection straining in your slacks, looking almost painful and begging for attention. I only realise when you quirk an eyebrow that I'm staring, and that in our kiss I've crumpled to the floor a bit. I quickly right myself, kneeling like I did before--knees together, head bowed, and hands folded in my lap.
My pussy is aching, throbbing and pulsing and desperate for you to touch it, yet you remain patient as you stand above me. You place a hand on my cheek, angling my face so I have to look up at you again. "You look so fucking beautiful when you submit for me, baby," you say, and I smile, nuzzling a little into your palm.
Your hand withdraws, and I nearly let my disappointment show on my face until I see your hands moving to your zipper. Slowly, with my eyes locked to the tent in your slacks, you bring your zipper down and within moments, your thick cock springs free.
My mouth waters, and I silently beg you with my eyes to let me touch it. To kiss and to lick it. "Please?" I finally ask, voice surprisingly steady. I wring my hands in my lap as you don't respond, silently telling me to use my words. "Please, Master," I continue. "Can I suck your cock?"
"Good girl," you praise. "Go ahead. Show me how good and eager my girl can be."
I don't need to be told twice. I start by placing my tongue on the underside of your cock, licking a long, sloppy path up the entire length of it. Once I get to the tip, I lick the salty bead of moisture off, humming at the taste. I wrap my lips around the head, sucking gently and swirling my tongue around it, and we both moan. The musky, masculine taste is addicting, and before I know it, I'm taking your entire length into my mouth.
I gag when it hits the back of my throat, but I try my best to not let up. Your hands rest gently at the back of my head, and when I instinctively try to move up for air, you hold me down, preventing me. I choke on you, eyes watering and begging for reprieve, but all you do is groan and keep me down. My throat constricts, and by the time I'm about to tap my safe signal on your thigh, you finally release me.
I cough and heave for a second, but you don't let the break last very long. Your hand grabs my hair tight--so tight I let out a sharp yelp of pain--and you look down at me. "Did I tell you to stop?"
"No, Sir," I push out, shaking my head despite your tight grip on my hair.
You guide my lips back to your cock, this time taking charge yourself. You're slow, yet firm in fucking my mouth. In and out, leaving me drooling and unable to resist. I'm aching between my legs, and all I want to do is beg you to let me touch myself and come, but your cock muffles every noise I make. Every plea for air or for mercy or God knows what sounds like incoherent mumbling, but after a few minutes of this torture, you finally pull out.
You watch me for a few moments, still gripping my hair tight. I feel drool dripping down my chin and into my cleavage, yet I make no move to stop it, knowing how much it turns you on to make me messy.
"Bend over the counter," you suddenly order, pulling me up by my hair so quick I can't keep up, making more pain shoot through my scalp. As I turn to obey your command, you give me a quick slap to my ass, and I yelp.
The counter is the size of a bar top, separating the kitchen from the living room and coming up to my waist. As I bend, my cheeks flame at the way my short skirt rides up, exposing my ass to you, but you make no comment on it.
Instead, you round the counter until you're right in front of me, and it's only now that I notice a length of rope between your large, veined hands. "Give me your wrists," you tell me, and I extend them in front of me. You make quick work of tying them together, shortly followed by tying them to the counter itself, forcing my hands to stretch out in front of me. Next, you grab a ball gag from somewhere off to the side, shoving it between my teeth and silencing any pleas I could make. And finally, you give me a small metal ball to hold in my hand, so if I need to safe word, I'll just drop it on the floor.
It all feels too much, yet not nearly enough at the same time. And when you round the counter again, coming up behind me and brushing your cock against my ass, I nearly crumple then and there.
I lay my cheek on the cool countertop, trying to remain calm while you move just inches away, looking down at me. From your angle, I'm sure you can see everything, despite my panties doing their best to cover the way my pussy weeps for you.
I almost think you've walked away entirely, but then I suddenly feel your nose pressed right up against my panties. I shriek a little in surprise, the sound muffled by the gag in my mouth, but I groan softly when your hands trail up my legs. You grip my thighs, spreading me slightly and allowing you better access. The way you inhale deeply--the sheer shamelessness and depravity of it--makes me clench and spread myself even further, and within moments, your teeth have hooked into the thin elastic of my panties. You pull them down, only releasing them once you're sure they'll fall to the floor, and you quickly help me step out of them, leaving me bare beneath my skirt. And before I can even take my next breath, your tongue and your lips are on my pussy.
