Weekly Erotica. READY.

“I want you ready.”

He knew what ready meant, and answered with a salute in his voice, “Yes mistress. My pleasure.”

He finished the dinner preparations and put the lasagna in the oven. Then he took a shower and shaved himself clean. His owner enjoyed quite a bit of oral. Reciprocally, she was the best he’d ever experienced and over the years he’d learned the art of cuntilingus. 

He found it ironic he’d bow, scrape, and literally serve and service a dominatrix. He wasn’t a submissive, at least not by pathology, but he’d now protect, defend, and yes even kill, for the female who claimed him as hers. He’d certainly endure pain, and he thoroughly enjoyed pleasing her. 

Sometimes she let him take over, sometimes she liked him to assert, but he was never certain where her cravings would lead. She was a sadist after all, and being in control, or the illusion of control, was what she most desired. He was not a sadist, and before would not have identified with the heading of, masochist. He could however take quite a bit of pain and over the years learned how to harness, turn it, and use it. 

Perhaps now he was changed enough to say he was a masochistic submissive. His role wasn’t as populated with men as it was with petite, helpless females, but in the world of fetishes, bondage, sadists, dominants and submissives, nothing was off limits, and all the roles were celebrated. 

After all, one cannot flourish without the other. 

What he never anticipated, and if told, wouldn’t have believed, was the amount of power the submissive actually held. It was an indescribable dynamic within this anything-but-vanilla relationship. For all appearances, it was her who held all the cards and wielded the whip, literally. But as the one enduring, and pleasing, and surrendering, it was he who was exalted, praised, and almost worshipped. She continually commended him for his strengths and fortitude. He was her second, her other, her best friend, protector and lover. 

Their communication was always therapeutic, never mundane. They were more open with each other than a therapist and patient, and it went both directions. She never belittled him for his role, and years into the maturity of their pairing, she still praised him for everything he did to make her life easier; never once taking him for granted or growing bored with him.

In return, she gave him immense pleasure, one could even say, ecstasy was her game, and pleasing her quickly turned into his favorite sport. 

In most respects the situation worked out perfectly. He’d learned how to become a bit of a domestic emperor and in return she provided them with enough financial security they lived well. He drove a Tesla and they ate like kings. He wanted for nothing and for the first time in his thirty plus years, he was sexually satisfied. Sometimes, more than. 

He was provided time to work on his physique and follow his passion of becoming a fitness model. Well-honed male bodies, rippling eight packs and tight V lats were all the rage. Women were finally granted permission to objectify the male gender in the same way’s they’d endured. The only thing was, men loved it. He loved it. 

He was now exactly as nature intended. A sex slave and physically perfect specimen able to keep up with his mistress’s needs. If he’d lived the traditional dynamic and worked like all the other mundane men, he’d never have had the passion, energy or desire to fuck for hours on end. 

The cooking classes were a gift, but soon turned into a new talent. When the mistress closed her eyes and moaned around a mouthful of something he’d created, he realized it was yet another way of making love and giving pleasure. Now he was quite the culinary expert and he knew what was simmering away in the oven, was one of her favorites. He’d paired it with a Syrah from the cellar and was expectant for their meal later. No doubt it would be eaten after the first round of activities, and no doubt they’d partake naked, she might even ask him to feed her, which he loved doing. 

He double checked his scrotum for any wayward stubble and then quickly finished his bathroom ablutions. She would be home soon, and he needed to be in the dungeon, and ready. She often surprised him, enjoying the foreplay and fluffing required to get him to full hardness, but tonight her sparse communication was all he needed to know she didn’t feel like preparing him. 

He left the dungeon door open and spent a few minutes waking up his muscles. He did push-ups, squats and a few pull ups before planking for five minutes. Then he went to work on his cock. 

When she first approached him, she had no idea he was so well endowed. Their first encounter was as vanilla as they come, apart from her being the aggressor and asking him out. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Modern women were like that and he’d been approached before. He was a very attractive man.

Once on this first date, he’d played the traditional male role. At least at the beginning of the night it was that way. She’d appeared somewhat aloof during dinner, and then over desert, she’d confessed her predilections. He’d initially laughed, but then considered when she mentioned some of her cravings. 

She might have been a few years his senior, but she was a stunning female. They’d gone dancing, and he could, which impressed her further. 
By the end of the evening, she’d let down her guard, and they’d ended up back at his place. 

Her tone had been dominant, not pleading. “I need you in my mouth.” 

Who was he to argue with that request? Most of the women/girls he’d been with, hadn’t liked or even offered; not that most of them could get in more than the tip in anyway. 

She’d insisted on undressing him, taking her time as if she were unwrapping a gift. He’d been in perfect shape back then, but his body had yet to harden into the kind of maturity he now possessed. She’d left his boxers till the last, admiring all of his other attributes before. He still remembers the look on her face when she freed him. He’d been statue erect and throbbing ready. His crown had glistened and his balls had felt like heavy weights.
“Oh dear lord. You are him.” 

He hadn’t fully comprehended her meaning until a few weeks later. In the interim, she pursued him with a vigor to rival the hungriest of men. She was a potent female and she always got what she wanted, and she’d decided on him. Despite the protests that he was his own man, and had no desire to belong to a female, let alone in a non-traditional role such as she was requesting, she never faltered. 

His friends warned him, and yes she did appear a bit obsessive, but they didn’t see the whole picture. It was when they were together and alone that he saw the truth. She wasn’t mentally ill, bi-polar, OCD, or a stalker like his friends all perceived. No, she was genuine and simply had a much larger appetite than the average human; man or woman, it didn’t matter. She was more than everyone else in all situations, and she required someone willing to sate her insatiable appetite. 

Apparently he could. God knows, at that point, he was more than willing. Never before had he been with a female who wanted to fuck more than even himself. 

She’d licked her lips and begun slowly. She paused long enough to insist on a moment of eye contact. “You do not have permission to come. Is that understood?” 

Again he’d chuckled, thinking she’d have a difficult time getting him too. The only curse of such a large dick was the extended time it took to actually find release. He’d nodded and grinned and then jerked his throbbing organ until it tapped against his groin. He’d inadvertently dared her, something he later discovered you never do with a Sadist Dominant. “Good luck. Takes more than a lick to get me off.” 

It was a rare moment for his usually stoic mistress when she grinned and lifted her eyebrows, obviously accepting his unintentional challenge. There were no words after that, at least not that he could remember. She took control in a way he’d never imagined, and within a few minutes his knees were shaking and he feared falling down. 

Her hand massaged his balls as her mouth, her luscious, cavernous, wet, warm insistent mouth, took and plead and played him like an instrument. She was a musician of the highest order and she took all of him. She slid those luscious lips ever farther to the base, amazing him as she seated him deeply down her throat. Playing him with her muscles and vibrating the tendon with her tongue until he screamed in anguish, trying his hardest stop the rapidly approaching ejaculation. 

He’d never practiced holding it back. All the girls he’d ever been with had either not been able to take all of him, or had grown sore and tired before he could complete. Now though? Oh my god, now this alien woman was paradoxically insisting he give her his seed, but had yet to grant permission. Her left hand gripped his ass firmly, digging in her nails and insisting he stay there with her nose buried in his groin. Her lips, her mouth, her tongue and her throat all persisted in extricating the one thing he’d been ordered not to do. 

Thinking back, he realized even then he’d felt a kind of surrender to her. A need to obey and please. He was her soldier and she his general. She was right, he was meant for her. He just needed to be taught, and she was more than happy to oblige. 

He stayed himself as long as he could, and then strained through the confession. “I…I can’t hold it!” 

She’d increased her sucking, stroking and massaging. Almost angrily, but she’d not stopped, and when he tried to pull away, she’d hurt him with her nails, insisting he come in her throat. When he did, she swallowed him as if he were the cure. But then, as he was uselessly twitching through the biggest release of his life, she freed him from her mouth and bit his inner thigh until the skin broke. That was the first time he realized what pain could do to his body. 

He’d fallen to the floor, screaming in agony and attempting to push her away. She was strong and skilled and he was useless against her onslaught. She pinned his arms under her knees and then bit his right nipple, even harder, again leaving broken places. “Bad boy. You disobeyed.” 

“FUCK!” He screamed. 

She laughed and then pulled off her dress in one fluid motion, revealing her utter nakedness. He was still harder than he could ever remember being, let alone after already coming like a fire hydrant. “Now I’ll fuck you and this time you do not come until I say.” 

He yelled again when she sat on him, sheathing all of him in one fluid roll of her hips. He could feel where he filled her up and where he hit her cervix, but she loved it. Taking every inch of him and throwing her head back in abandoned, rapturous bliss. She rode him hard, pumping her sex over him and rolling her hips as he gave into the act. Within seconds and he was more than a willing participant. 

“Harder! Harder!” She keened. 

He grabbed her at the swell of hips and thrust himself as viciously as he’d never been permitted to do. Over and over he punished her with his huge, hard cock, and she only asked for more. Her body tightened around his, squeezing him as she flushed bright pink and her nipples tightened down to tight little nubs. 

She clutched his chin, again insisting on eye contact. “Come for me.” The words caught and stuttered out of her mouth as she seized. Then she slapped him, hard, hard enough to startle, but still he didn’t come. He couldn’t. He had to watch her. It was as if a goddess had chosen him, a lowly mortal, and he had no choice but to watch her ascend. 

She was in control enough to slap him again and the look she leveled him with seemed to travel directly to his throbbing shaft. He came again, and then again and by the time he was finished, he was certain his legs had vanished.
It always worked. He was more than ready now. He stood as per protocol. Fully erect, legs spread and hands behind his back. His cock throbbed in anticipation. Delicious scents wafted from the kitchen. The staccato of her heals down the marble hall was his only warning. 

“Hello my love. I see you’re ready. You please me immensely.”

~Too be continued. 

Flash erotica fiction from ~Payne Hawthorne

Weekly Erotica

Seventy Two Hours

   You’ve fed me. It was the best omelet I’ve ever had. I like it that you’re not afraid of bacon. I’m enthralled with you, I love looking at you. I think you’re incredibly handsome and I adore your natural masculinity. 
   You know, we weren’t wrong, it is you/us—time stood still and everything lined up the way I feared, suspected—was too afraid to admit. The funny thing is, I don’t even know if I believe in this shit anymore. It all seems much too fairy tale to be something I would ever experience. My life has not been fairy tale in the slightest. 
   But I digress. The food was perfect, the white wine crisp, and the electrical connection with the chef beyond my wildest dreams. Moments of fear stab through me; what if he isn’t feeling it like I am? What if I’ve lost it and he doesn’t even like me? What if I’m too soft, too fat? Not fat enough? 
   Your tone changes, you’re letting out Master, he wants to play, “Come sit on the countertop for me.”
   My heart picks up a lope behind my ribs. Hello Mr. Adrenaline, nice to feel you again. Go with it, go with it, you got this. “Sure.” I’m so nervous my legs are shaking. Fake it, just fake you’re strong, pretend you’re fine. Be confident, you got this. Oh shit, that smolder in his eyes. It appears he’s into me. Oh thank god. 
   You spread my knees with your hands and insinuate yourself right up between them, digging your thumbs into my upper thighs. My exhale is wordlessly expressive. The counter is an ideal height. Jerk of my hips; oh shit, I might have just peed a little. You’re so hard already, and big, god, you’re incredible. Oh shit, I’m shaking. 
   Hands on my jaw, eye smolder in full effect, you hold my face and ask my lips, “Consent?”
   A short laugh bursts from my lips, “Who talks like this in real life?” I blurt, then quickly add, “Have you been reading women’s erotic fiction again? You realize it’s not real, right? Nobody is like that in real life.”
   “I might be,” you say with a sly smile curling half your mouth. “Kiss me and shut up.” My lashes flutter, your mouth is right there. It’s been so long since anyone kissed me. I’m shaking again. “Tell me you consent. You’re mine now. Tell me you’re ready.”
   My, “Oh god yes,” is way too breathy to be anything but my raw confession of; I’m ready for you now. “Yes, yes, I consent.”
   “Yes, it’s the same for me. Yes, time stood still. We weren’t wrong.”
   “No, but were we right?” I joke.
   You chuckle, “Let’s just be in this moment and stretch it out as long as we can. Agreed?”
   Our lips meet. You can feel my tremble as my heart stutters. Your hands travel to my back and you hold me steady. Your assuredness soaks in as your mouth insists I respond further. I do, and part my lips, inviting your tongue to travel in and meet with mine. 
   I mutter, “Is this really happening?”
   You pull back and glue your gaze to mine. Our eyes are locked, your strength is enveloping me in a blanket of belonging. Dare I say I feel as if you’re claiming me? And although very few words have been spoken, I am home. I am safe inside your embrace. You flicker in and out of my vision as my eyelids flutter without permission. 
   “I need,” You pulse your jaw once and it’s the only time your gaze wavers. You let your eyes travel to where our clothed bodies are pressed together. Your words are almost apologetic as they fall off, “I need to be inside you.”
   “Yes, please…me too,” My voice is thready, but I can already feel how wet I am. Slick, shiny, heated and ready. There is no hesitation as I spread my legs even farther and press the damp spot in my thin cotton leggings directly to the fly of your jeans. “I’m ready for you.” 
   You swallow roughly and grind against my mound. You’re cock is straining and rigid, seeking to escape the captivity of denim. I flood with wetness and gasp as my belly clenches and my insides begin a low hum. 
   “You are my ideal,” You growl at my ear and travel your lips down my long neck. “You smell of lemons and honey and…you.” You nibble your way down my jugular and then back up the other side. “I’m already addicted.” Your actions take on more urgency as you pull down my pants. The counter is cold and I utter a tiny squeal. “Inside you…more later.” Now your abbreviated words are all the foreplay I need. 
   I’m all too receptive as you drop your jeans and boxers to pool around your feet. You fist your cock and guide yourself to my very wet pussy. You trace the tip around, making it shine. We both watch the pornographic display. We both make sounds of intense arousal. I puddle in preparedness. I can’t believe how beautiful you are; your cock is impressive and I’m mesmerized as you continue to spread all my lubrication around, teasing at my entrance. I moan yet again.
   “Can’t wait,” You mutter.
   The sound I make is pleading. You respond by sliding in just the bulging crown. You seat yourself partially inside my body and we both hold our breaths. How could this feel so good? My exhale is in staccato rhythm. 

   You rumble down low in your belly and pull me to sheath over you completely. I am now your scabbard. I melt around your heat as you pierce my body. Now I can’t breathe. Your heart is inside me. Your length joining us. Time stands still. All I can hear is my pulse behind my ears, and your grunts of pleasure as you begin to slide in and out, taking your time, making sure I feel every inch of you.
   I hold your head and begin a continuous whimper of pleasure. You grit your jaw, your fingers dig in and you use me like a doll. What started slowly, takes on more urgency. The slapping of our bodies grows louder as you advance with a thrust that unseats me. Only your hands keep me from falling backwards. Then you slide away, retreating before another pillaging onslaught. I hold on, you grip tighter. “Oh god yes. Yes!” I scream.
   You whisper at my ear, “Cum for me.”
   I have no choice. I obey, and in a flashing moment of scorching need, my body seizes and I scream. I bury my head in your neck and I twitch through a massive climax. I do cum, and it soaks your cock. 
   You mumble, “Fuck.” Then your body lets loose. 
   “I’m not done with you yet.”
   “Um, okay.”
   You lead me to the bedroom, with the enormous bed. “Naked, now.”
   I do as you wish and strip. I’m shaking again. I desperately want you to find me attractive,and I’ve lost most of my self-worth as a sexual entity. I’m sorry. Confidence is non-existent. You help me though. The appreciative perusal is a bolster. The fact I just saw your cock slightly fill and lift, an enormous boost. 
   I pause and stare at you. Even your partial is a work of art. I suck in escaping spittle as you fondle your balls and stroke your vein encased girth. I forget to hold my drool captive. You grin appreciatively. “Present yourself.”
   I lick my lips. I’m terrified, but I also know that anticipation, fear, whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s all part of this dance and the best aphrodisiac available. I tell myself, just ride it. Use it. I roll to my stomach, pull my knees under my body and press my forehead to the bed. Then I slowly slide my knees apart and roll my pelvis. Here you go, clean shaved pinkness just for you.
   I hear you swallow, then you climb up on the bed behind me. You pet my pale bottom. I hear you fist your cock again and stroke yourself. I’m soaking wet again. Glistening for you. “This is going to hurt.” You warn, but I know its all part of this dance. I smile against the comforter and drag my fingers down until I’m holding on, ready for whatever you might do. 
   The volley of spanks sounds like the rapport of a machine gun as you punish my posterior. I scream until you command, “Not a sound.” Then I gulp it back, and I try to be quiet, but I continue to cry as you bruise me with your hand. You stop long enough to run your finger up through my cleft. “You’re so wet.”
   “Mmmm-muh,” I mumble.
   “That was just the right cheek. Now they must match.” 
   I whine in resignation as you begin with the other cheek. It feels as if you poured hot wax all over my bottom and it’s burned. It aches and is on fire. When you’re finished, you again pet it, caressing it gently, cooling it with your touch. The affection rattles my insides, I moan again and arch my back, pushing my butt against your palm. I love the caresses after you’ve hurt me. 
   “I’m going to take you again, right now.”
   “Yes what?”
   “Yes Master?”
   “Good girl.”
   You mount me, guiding yourself to my entrance, but teasing me with entry. I try and push into you, to get you inside me again. You laugh and slide your hips away. I whine. 
   You flatten me to the bed with a hand between my shoulder blades and your body follows as you wrap a massive hand around my neck. Your hips pin mine as your cock skids against my folds. I roll my pelvis just right and there you are, the tip of you knocking.
   You choke me lightly. It's an incongruous violent gentleness that feels as if we startled a covey of quail. I choke on my severed breaths and those normally land bound birds take flight in a burst of fluttering wings. 
   You wait for me to cease thinking about penetration, then you stab into me, finalizing my rapture in a startling, shocking moment, "Oh...oh fuck..."
   We’re both exhausted from the physical and emotional overflow. You drag me into your arms and we nap. We’re sticky and smell like sex, damp linens and wine, but we don’t care. It’s us together and its bliss. “I’ll no doubt snore, and will certainly drool,” I say. 
   You laugh and kiss the top of my head, “I’ll poke you if you snore. The drooling was a great compliment.” 
   “Not so much when I’m asleep and I feel like a wet bowling ball pinning down your arm.” 
   “I can deal.” You kiss my shoulder and use my fleshy mound to fuse our bodies together. You’re flaccid at the moment, but I can feel you instantly begin to fill again. You gutturally whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this... You.”
   I push my butt up and roll my hips, “Me either.”
   We languish in the land of skin to flesh, soaking and marinating in each other. Even in sleep, we make sure we’re touching. Night has fallen at this point, but it’s early. You mumble sleepily, “I need more of you.” 
   “We have all weekend. Use me however you see fit. I’m yours.”
   “Good girl.”
   You get up, but leave the room dark. You return with water, a glass of cold milk, and a gourmet, dark chocolate bar. We indulge without words, only sounds of satisfaction. “Round three?”
   I grin, and then wince, “I’m kinda sore.” 
   You move away the wrappers and give me a look. Without thought, a whimper escapes my lips. I lay back. You drag my hands above my head, pinning them together with one of yours. You lay on me, smashing me to the bed. 
   I gasp and moan, “God you feel good.” You kiss me. Your cock is filling again. I wonder silently, how can he again? I say to your lips, “You’re fucking amazing.”
   There is something different about you now. You’re probably a bit tired, the edge is off, you’re methodical in your movements. You kiss me again, your free hand travels to the swell of my hips and you hold me steady as you effortlessly slide inside. “Home,” you growl.
   “Heaven,” I whisper on a ragged exhale.
   You roll your hips, taking your time so I can feel the terrain of your body and your cock as you move against and into me. Deeper and deeper, insisting I take every spec of you and then more. We both break out in a sheen of perspiration, but you remain steady, almost careful. 
   I find your lips with mine and strain to stay there, with more of you inside me. Your tongue, your cock, if I didn’t know better it’s as if our souls are touching. I can’t even think it, let alone say it, but, but, are you making love to me? I don’t even have a reference for what I feel in this moment. 
   I undulate with you as you retreat and advance, and leave me only to reenter with a surging need to go deeper. You push up and away, grabbing the backs of my thighs and folding me in half. I give to you in a rubbery acquiescence.   
   You whisper, “I need to see you.” I reach for the lamp and click it on. You don’t need to say it again, but you do, “Good girl.” Then your eyes travel back to my spread pinkness, glistening in the dim light. I don’t even think you realize you say it out loud, “Perfection,” but what that one word produces in my belly is shocking. 
   You begin fondling your rigid length with one hand and manipulating my clit with your other. My thighs vibrate and I know my pussy is now a visible twitching mess of need. I plead, “Inside me...please?” 
   “Beg me.”
   I am so desperate for your penetration I do beg and begin to move so I might kneel before you. You stay me, and your expression is all I need to resume my knees at ears position. “Please let me take you inside...um,suck on you. I need you inside my body.” 
   “Beg me.” 
   “Master, please fuck me. Take me. Use my cunt and cum inside me. I will do anything to feel your cock inside me again.”
   “Anything? Any hole?” Your tone is amused. 
   “Yes, any hole. Please Master. Please!” I almost wail the last word. All this time you've been viciously vibrating my clit and petting my soaked folds. You've also been keeping yourself statue erect. My own wetness is dripping down through my taint and I’m feeling a level of unrivaled desperation. “Please fuck me. Please... inside me.” My body rattles as you increase the pressure and rotation. I gasp and clamp my eyes closed. I know I can’t orgasm until you say. I wordlessly plead with my eyes. 
   “You do not cum until I say.” 
   “Yes Master.”

Payne Hawthorne

My Newest Release, AVERY


I just released my newest short story, (3 hr. read). Its only up for a short time and then being included in an anthology.  Get it now from me 3 months before official release.

Avery is a recent divorcee who has lived an entirely vanilla life. She has no idea men like Joshua exist in this world, but she’s soon to discover what it means to be recognized by a dominant. Joshua’s only problem is now convincing Avery she is his perfect submissive counterpart.

Get it here: Kindle US or Kindle UK


Weekly Erotica

I’m shooting for one short erotic piece a week. Stay tuned and please let me know if you like.  These will also be  compiled on this PAGE–Flash Fiction/Erotica


     I’ll be home in twenty.
I know what that means, and I rush to the shower. Master is on his way and I must be ready for him. I thoroughly clean myself and make sure I don’t need to shave, but I don’t, I was waxed a couple weeks back and so far, all smooth and pink down there. He likes a clean playground. He spends a lot of time there.
I braid my hair back and out of the way. Just a silk robe. I’m naked underneath. My breaths are already coming quicker. I can feel him thinking about me. Or rather, about what he is going to do to me and how he plans on satisfying both of us. I can usually feel him when he thinks about me. He’s an incredibly powerful male and I’m a bit empathic. The connection we have though? That’s something otherworldly and no amount of testing could confirm the invisible yet undeniable tether between us.
No makeup. He likes me as natural as possible. He also likes me softer throughout my body than I used to allow, but my shape is alluring and feminine now. I hear the low purr of his car and I stand at the top of the stairs, waiting. I’m unsure where he will want me. His drink is sitting on the sidebar, also waiting. The ice cubes look as if they’re suspended in solid amber. I suspect he will wish to shower first, but I never assume.
His eyes find mine immediately. It’s as if he can see for the first time as he scorches me with his gaze. My lungs tighten. I blink, he doesn’t. He scans me from head to toe and offers a small nod and look of approval. His suit jacket is removed and carefully folded as he picks up his drink, loosening his tie. His hand lingers on the silk fabric and something flashes across his expression. He removes his tie completely but leaves it to dangle over his chest. The buttons on his shirt are next.
I descend and pause at the last step. He is considerably taller than I, and I know he likes to kiss me before anything else. He sets his glass back on the table, the cubs chime against the crystal. He takes the three steps to reach me, his belt is freed from loops. He offers it to me, folded carefully and set on my upturned palms. I know he expects eye contact, and I hold the connection without wavering. The leather of his belt is warm. I begin to tremble.
He holds my chin between a meaty thumb and forefinger. My lip quivers. I glue my gaze to his despite the fact I feel tears well. His power overflows all around me. His attention is that of a sniper on a target. I am the objective. I fight to remain upright.
The stubble of his beard is scratchy as he methodically takes my lips. He tastes me, savoring the moment with incredible tenderness. His tongue parts my lips and he severs the last of my air with his mouth. I respond, dancing my tongue to his and a moan rumbles up through my belly. His other hand goes to my jaw and neck. His grip grows more insistent. This is when my pussy floods in preparation. It takes very little for my body to be ready for his entry. He’s trained it well.
He murmurs to my lips, “You’re such a good girl. You please me immensely.”
My moan erupts and I swoon, almost dropping the belt. He steadies me with an amused chuckle. I blink at him, and I swallow roughly. “What do you need Master?”
“Just you.” He kisses me again, his lips incongruously soft and demanding within the same moment. “All day, just you. All day I count the moments to now.”
As he kisses me again, a lone tear escapes and traces down my cheek. To be loved the way he loves me is beyond all imagination. I respond the best I can with a sigh and slight whine.
“I need to serve you,” I whisper.
He picks me up and carries me to the bedroom. He sets me on the bed, lifts the belt from my hands and sets it next to my thigh. My robe is next. Gooseflesh prickles across my exposed breasts following the path of his thumb. He cups and lifts the weight of me, holding it in his palm. His eyes have drifted and so have mine. He’s growing; my mouth waters.
I lift my gaze to find him right there, “Please?”
One small nod is all he offers. It’s all I need. I free his manhood, letting it escape the confines of fine linen to find my waiting palm. He’s already hot, and rapidly filling. His masculine rumble of need fills me up like a subwoofer, affecting my insides. He is heavy in my hand.
He pushes into me and I open my mouth. The silky smooth crown gives way to the ridge of his helmet as I glide my lips over the terrain of his girth. His veins interrupt my progress, but only in a pleading kind of way. I continue onward, taking in more and more of his heat and weight. His scent envelopes my head, making me dizzy. I breathe through my nose.
His length is considerable, but my body is warming and my heart is slowing to meet with his. Soon we will synch up, becoming one, with his pulse between my lips.
My throat opens, my hand grips and I continue to drool and gag, but only in the sweetest of ways. I must take all of him, I must devour what he offers me; this is my directive—please him. I grip his firm ass cheek, pulling him tighter to my face; I need to tie us as one. Past my tonsils he bursts, down into the cavern of my neck; I gag. We both still, his heart rockets between my lips; my throat relaxes. He is in. He is home. We are one.
My muscles play his length, milking him. My hand massages his heavy scrotum and my nails dig into his muscled cheek. My face is watering with tears and saliva; this is my sacrifice and it’s the sweetest ever.
His huge hands hold my head and I begin to draw on him, pulling, sucking; pleading. I unseat him, again and again. He enters like a battering ram, hitting my insides. His hands grow insistent and he holds my head. More, harder, his hips buck; I cry and attempt to breathe, but am barely able. My vision pricks. My fingers on his butt dig in, insisting he continue. He does. It’s violent and fierce and the sounds erupting convince me he is an animal never to be tamed.
His issue is molten and earthy. He thrusts as he comes, the hairs of his groin, crisp against my nose and lips. He fills me as his fingers close around my hair. I swallow all of him, reluctant to part.