“Okay.” He exhales. “God, I wish you could see your nipples under your dress right now. They’re like little bullets. So fucking sexy.”
I lick my lips.
“Hey, why don’t we get some music cranking?” he says. “That’ll help loosen things up. Hang on.”
I remain on my knees in the blackness, my cuffed arms dangling in front of me, wondering where the hell he’s taken me.
After a brief moment, an old-school funk song fills my ears.
I feel Josh’s body heat next to me again. “‘Thank You For Letting Me Be Myself,’” Josh says. “Sly and the Family Stone—greatest funk band ever.”
I’ve never heard this song before, but it’s definitely got a great groove—my body’s already involuntarily pulsing to the beat—and I can’t imagine a better song to kick off our mutual sick-fuckedness than a tune called, “Thank You For Letting Me Be Myself.”
I hear the sound of Josh’s fly unzipping. “Open your mouth,” he grunts.
I do as I’m told and warm flesh unexpectedly whacks me in the mouth. I flinch out of surprise.
“Lick my balls,” he growls softly.
I smile. That was an extremely porno-y thing to say, especially with this awesome bow-chick-a-wow-wow-music blaring around us. And that’s exactly what I wanted—to star in my own porno. Hell yeah. I stick out my tongue and do as I’m told—well, as best I can, anyway—I must say, without the use of my eyes or hands to help me with my task, licking and sucking on balls feels a bit like bobbing for dangling apples—but after a few minutes, I get thehangof it (snicker) and really start delivering some seriously excellent ball-licking-and-sucking, if I do say so myself.
“Good,” Josh says after several minutes, his voice ragged. “Congratulations. You’ve just earned the right to suck my cock.”
My clit flutters. “Thank you, sir,” I purr. I open my mouth. It’s watering with anticipation. Being Josh’s slave is turning me on every bit as much as I fantasized it would.
I feel the sensation of Josh’s wet tip resting against the subtle cleft in my chin (surprise!), followed by his shaft sliding into my open mouth, all the way to the back of my throat—so far, my eyes bug out behind my blindfold. Holy motherfucking shitballs. Good lord, that’s a lot of dick all at once.
My throat closes up and I gag.
“Relax,” Josh coos, running his hands through my hair. “Take a deep breath and relax your throat.”
I breathe through my nose and focus on releasing my throat muscles, and sure enough, my throat opens up and Josh’s cock slides farther into me. Holy Big Dick, Batman, Josh is so far inside mythroat, I can’t do a damned thing but sit here like a blowup-doll. This ain’t no Katherine Morgan Ultimate Blowjob Experience, folks—this is nothing but Crack Whore Blowjob. I’m just a warm hole, for crying out loud—no skill or finesse required for this job. I can’t suck or lick or swirl my tongue or finger or massage or do any of my other tricks. I could be anyone, really. Anything. It’s demeaning, I tell you—dehumanizing.And I love it.
Josh lets out a particularly sexy sound and my body begins clenching furiously in reply—but my throat is so filled up, I barely make a sound.
He’s rippling in my mouth. He’s gonna blow. Oh my God. This is so effing sexy.
But, nope. He doesn’t come. He pulls out of my mouth, instead.
I cough and sputter, trying to calm my raging throat muscles.
I can hear Josh breathing heavily. “Since you sucked my dick so well,” he says, his voice ragged, “I’m gonna reward you by taking off your blindfold now.”
“Thank you, sir,” I squeak out in a scratchy voice. Oh my God. My throat is throbbing.
Josh’s fingers slide into my hair and then, suddenly, the blindfold is off.
“Holy shitballs,” I say, looking around and blinking in the soft light. “What the... ?”
“This is mylair,” Josh says, obviously trying (but failing) to suppress a huge grin.
Oh my effing God, we’re in abona fidesex-dungeon—a glittering, gleaming BDSM dungeon like nothing I’ve ever seen or even imagined. I knew places like this existed, but this place is... well, out of a fantasy.
It’s a large, windowless room with black marble floors. The walls are painted a deep chocolate brown. Gold and crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, along with an eye-popping assortment of cages, harnesses, whips, chains, pulleys, racks, and other suspended contraptions I couldn’t identify if my life depended on it. There’s an X-shaped, padded rack in the middle of the room. A system of pulleys in the far corner next to a bunch of studded leather straps. A neatly arranged assortment of leather riding crops and feathered rods sits prominently in the middle of the room. Oh, shit,what’s that spherical cage-thing hanging from the ceiling? It looks like a birdcage for a very, very large canary.
“Come with me.” Josh pulls me to standing and drags me across the room to a harness-looking-rack-contraption. Wordlessly, he unlatches my soft cuffs, strips off all my clothes, and straps me into bindings, spreading my limbs out into a four-pointed star. Oh my God. I’m completely opened up in this position—his for the taking, any which way he pleases.
My body is jolting with excitement.
