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It Sounds Like a Whimper

I'm trapped, it seems, beneath a waterfall. Hurtling, crushing water throws me spinning out of control beneath the swirl of my needs. Gasping for air when I can. Drowning when I cannot.

    Your eyes pin me against the wall. A single word, "undress," and I throw my clothes away. You leave me nothing but your predatory stare, devouring my embarrassment. Then your eyes slowly and deliberately lower, and my body responds, sliding down that wall until I am in a heap on the floor, my knees drawn up and spread open.

     I whimper.

     I try to say, "I need you," but it sounds only like a whimper.

My head arches back with an expression almost of agony. Shoulders braced against the wall and hips thrust out, grinding against my own hand. My eyes tell you I hate this, and that I will do this for you. You pull these uncontrollable animal sounds from me as my hand and inner thighs glisten with my cum. I smell my own raw smoky musk, and collapse to my side, pulling into a fetal pose.

You don't allow me this security. Your feet kick and shove at my ass until I roll to my belly and lift my behind up high, stepping apart with my knees.

    You do not choose to be gentle today, and your hands and feet and teeth play rough with me. You can tell that I am sinking very deeply into the pool of my surrender, and that if you were gentle I could not understand it anyway. You sense that my ability to understand or produce speech has abandoned me. Like an animal, I can only respond to simple commands: "Sit." "Kneel." "Heel."

     You speak to me for your own amusement, and your voice alone makes me shudder and cringe against your legs, kissing and licking your clothes.

     I amuse you so much.

    You pull my head up to face you, your fist in my hair. I whimper as I meet your eyes, and you slap me on the face, twice, holding me still by the hair. It surprises you that I shudder once more with cum, reaching for you, my eyes bottomless pools of love. You respond to my reactions to you, and force my face to your balls, beneath your raging erection.

     You understand that I need your cock, but that I will lick and grovel at your balls while my body burns white-hot.

     You choose to make us both wait.

    I am far beyond shame. How can you be so self-controlled while I, thrust into the furnace of my needs, can only beg to be allowed to crawl to you?

     You sit on a chair as you speak on the phone, not bothering to tell them to call later, and snap your fingers at me as you part your legs. The purplish hardness of your cock makes me moan as I scamper to you on hands and knees and bury my face into your crotch. I swallow you deeply immediately, your voice catching only slightly as you continue to speak.

     You watch as my entire body hardens and writhes between your feet. My mouth instantly overflows with saliva, reacting in tandem with my pussy. Saliva washes over your balls as moisture explodes deep inside me, my inner muscles spasming at emptiness as my tongue flexes and curls over your cock. You see I will cum again in a moment, and you reach down to twist my nipple cruelly, telling me, "No. Not yet."

When the phone rings you simply step over me and walk away to answer it, leaving me sprawling onto all fours, mewling my need pitifully.

    You point down to your feet and I flatten myself instantly to my belly, my hands crossing in the small of my back exactly how you like me to do.

     Why do I glow under these humiliations?

     I struggle meekly to pull your socks from your feet using only my mouth as you speak and laugh to the unknowing person on the phone. I am excruciatingly careful not to accidentally nip you, knowing in this mood you will tolerate very few accidents.

     My mouth finally finds your feet and I lavish them with heartfelt kisses, throwing my whole consciousness into my worship. At this moment there is nothing else in my world.

     I am dreadfully close to orgasm at every moment, but your command has stilled my ability to achieve it. So I hover painfully at its cusp, my cheeks dampening as my tongue cleans your toes and the soles of your feet. You push my face roughly away with your foot -- a chastisement for tickling. You step down between my shoulderblades with one foot, and grind my face down into the floor with the other.

     Is this as cruel as it sounds, when I thrive on it?

     You hang up the phone and finally allow me another chance. My
dog-like need to please you, as I begin washing your feet anew and drying them with my hair, feeds your soul, as you feed mine by accepting these lavishments.

But allowed to lie curled at your feet afterward, I am in heaven.

My pleasure sounds like a whimper.

By the time you finally do allow me that first, explosive orgasm, the only words I am still in command of, "Master! Master!" torn from my mouth, I still have not experienced anything that most people would call 'pleasure'.