fuckhole

I grin, my cock twitching in your throat as you gag. My eyes are shining down into yours lustfully, while you hurt as  force your face into my crotch by your hair, your nose squashed against me so you can feel my cock-hair teasing it.

I love the way you look up at me at times like this. Your eyes simultaneously seem to beg me both for mercy and the opposite. I grin at the need I see growing in my barely dressed and fully exposed fucktoy. Your hands are caught behind your back in those pretty little pink cuffs and are moving helplessly in a futile attempt to somehow reach the visibly creaming cunt displayed to me between lewdly spread legs.

“Purr for me, pretty little she-animal” I order, grinning with the pleasure of knowing how even though it will spend precious air my perfect whore will eagerly do so anyway. The moment after I’m groaning, my head going back against my chair, my crotch pushed even a bit more into your face, my fingers tightening in your hair, hurting.

“God you’re such a pathetic little fuckhole” I groan, my voice thick with pleasure and sharp with the truth of what I’m pointing out. The moment after I’m pulling your hair painfully, jerking your face up and down my cock making you gag again and again as I bring myself off on you, pulling you painfully against me as I shoot deep in your throat once more pointing out what a beautiful little cum-chute you happen to be.

I allow you to keep on sucking and teasing my limpening tool while I go back to my reading, your own need saved for when I’m once more inspired to make you hurt. 

Hands

I turn around to see you after I let the leash attached to your collar fall. The end of it now hangs somewhere between your legs. It's the only thing partially covering your naked smooth sex.

Even though your eyes are covered by the blindfold, I can see your nervousness when I let the leash fall and break the connection between us. Suddenly you are alone, even more blinded and helpless than before.

I put my hand on your shoulder. Your skin is soft, smooth, warm with the situation, with your exposedness, with your need. I feel the relief of once more being connected with me, when I touch you - but also the shivering excitement right beneath your surface, and then the humiliation when I order you to spread your legs to let yourself be seen. My order confirm to you what you must already have sensed: that here are others in the room.  The moment you realize that I sense the sweet humiliation - the moment of resistance and 'this cannot be true' melting away as you resign yourself to being exhibited, embrace the fact that you're exhibited, powerless - that goes through you as a slight shaking from your core and all the way to the tips of your toes.

‘Much better’, I smile - even though you can only hear the smile in my voice. I caress you slowly with the side of my finger, I let it run over the softness of your skin along your upper arm while I enjoy the look of how your slender figure is enhanced and displayed by the dark corset, by the collar that makes you mine, by the nipples that are lifted above the corset, presented, naked and rock hard.

You sense the men in the room around you, their nearness, warmth, breath and then... after a nod of me, your owner, hands all over your body.

Love comes in the strangest forms

I do not know what I enjoy the most: The creamy soft feeling of the inside of your thigh or the look, the redness and humiliation painted on your face as I violate what used to be your most private place.

Although I love you, I am not making love to you now. Even so you might say that the way, that I reach my hand up under your skirt, is an act of love. That the way my hand brushes up your thigh, My girl’s thigh, is ultimately because I love you. You may also say that the way you first, reflectively, start closing your legs just a bit and then open them to me, the way you submit to my violating caress, is an act of love too; that your need to feel, to be, owned, is love more than anything. Love comes in the strangest forms.

The laughter in my eyes, the delight with the situation and the power you give me, that we share, transform to a chuckle as my fingers grace My slut's cunt, finding it both naked and drenched even though you have just been among strangers. Somehow it is abundantly clear to us both that – even though you are naked under your skirt on my instigation, even though I have not exactly shielded you from things to make your cream your cunt – it is you who is the slut; it is the most natural thing in the world that it is only you who is blushing with sweet guilt. Perhaps it is the unfairness of it, of My putting My poor love in such a predicament, or perhaps it is rather the opposite, the fact that we both know I’m right to make you become what you already are, that makes it so delicious.

“Fuck my fingers… I know you want to” I smile, enjoying the utter humiliation on My whore’s face as my fingers have already found her opening greeting my finger with the need to be filled. And it is filled, and you only realize just how wantom you have been bearing down on me, after I am inside of you to my knuckles as you are already bending your knees to fuck my hand – not even allowed a cock, a caress, anything more than my fingers acting a surrogate for the throbbing bulge in my pants, to take care of your need. Yet we both know already that they will do just that; that you will have to bite your lips in your orgasm in an attempt to remain quiet, flushing in humiliation and the fear of being heard, while your greedy hole spasms around my fingers in orgasm.

After that I think my slut will have to serve my need with her mouth. After all it is she who got me so hard and it would be undignified going out in public with such a hard on. I think I will have my slut kneel on the floor while I empty in her throat and make her lick my fingers clean of her juices. I will be leaving her thighs covered in her juices though, leaving her marked with what she is, her cunt bare and seeping under her skirt as I open the door from the public bathroom and discretely lead you out, back in the crowd, your identity as slut secret – or perhaps now not quite as secret – among normal people.