Spit and Polish

I was always a squeamish girl. Encouraged to separate from my body and view it not as a friend but as a potential enemy.  So just how did I come to find my self lying on freshly laundered Egyptian cotton sheets. My hair fanned on feather pillows around my face, my mouth obediently open and looking up at Him as He fucked me? It had been quite a journey. Many hiccups along the way but those stories are for another day. Back to the hotel room…

I had been trained from our first meeting to keep my mouth open whilst serving Him.  If I forgot He would insert three fingers horizontally and twist them vertically to open my mouth to the required aperture.  Then He would motion me to my knees and insert His erect cock in my eager mouth to remind me of its proper use and I would suck and lick with glee over expertise. But I would focus especially on that place just at the front of His cock where nick of the blade had left a delicately sensitive nub that caused Him to jerk and utter a low noise from the back of His throat when I flicked it with my tongue. I adored that noise. It made me wet.

This day had seem this particular activity happen with my hands tied behind my back but I had been let loose of my bonds once He had thrown me onto the bed.  He liked to do this when I was blindfolded to further confound me.  The sudden push and my fall through the air discomfited me and left me breathless with the realisation of just how much I was in His hands at that moment. We refered to those moments as a ‘clunk’, like an engine engaging a gear and driving forward with renewed power. It signalled the realisation that another barrier has been dissolved and we were in deeper yet.

These ‘clunks’ can happen in many places; in a supermarket as I wander bra-less at His request and the hot combination of embarrassment and pride I feel as I see the eyes mesmerised by my erect nipples evince a ‘clunk’ of such mighty proportions that it generated a flood between my thighs and an itch that cried out to be satisfied as soon as I got home. Filled with thoughts of those I saw having ‘those’ thoughts about me and possibly having to satisfy them in the same way.  And perhaps more recently as I am asked to come for Him and the fantasy that takes me over the edge involves us having the use of another girl,  I watch Him fuck her and am tasked with bringing her to orgasm as He does so.

This is a specific girl and my ‘clunk’ here is an exertion of our ‘us’ in this place, and a exaction of sorts for me – I recognise the power play at hand and I note it and I return you to the hotel room where I lie exposed and ready, open-mouthed and filmy with the lust generated by our interactions thus far.

I raise my eyes to His, I rarely do this when we are having sex, His eyes are compelling and He veils them, controlling my access to their gaze in a deliberate power play.  It creates a desire to see myself reflected in them, and it is usually at the culmination of our time together as His cock pounds in and out of me and I shudder under its compelling rhythm, that I look up and see His desire focused so strongly on me that I am given my wings.  This time I see something I haven’t seen before, a withholding at this point and a challenge. His fingers enter my mouth, horizontally first and I suck at them hungrily, licking and smoothing them as if they were melting ice cream.  He turns them vertically and withdraws them and I gaze at Him wonderingly as He brings a blob of spit to the front of His mouth and launches it into my open maw.  The resulting rush of disgust, indignation and anger is transmuted by the insistent fucking of my cunt and I swallow, all of it, all of the squeamishness and indignation swallowed for Him and replaced by pride at His use.  I grin, and say ‘ You fucking spat in my mouth!’  and am rewarded by His answering grin as He comes and thrusts His cock into my still open mouth to clean Him up.

And I love it.

Another ‘clunk’

Another barrier dissolved by Him.


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