by Bob Neils
“Good boy.”
The world came back with a shuddering wash of light and sound.
She continued to hold herself there, our two bodies connected by her flesh. “Pledge yourself,” she urged me. “Prove yourself.” Her voice softened, just a touch. “Please me.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I realized my ass was becoming accustomed to the feel of her inside me. There was still an awkward feeling of fullness that I knew I’d have to get used to, but the pain had subsided into a dull ache. She wanted more, and I was ready to give it to her.
And that’s exactly what I did.
I pushed out, forcing myself open wide, and lifted myself as high as I could, given our position. Three more inches of she-cock sank inside me. The feeling, the pressure, was incredible, but the sense of accomplishment was even bigger. I had done that. I had overcome my fears and taken her inside me. I’d fantasized about being a chaste little cock-sheathe for her, and here I was, fulfilling my destiny.
Mistress leaned forward and didn’t stop until my balls were crushed between us. Her breasts mashed themselves against my chest as she kissed me with a passionate intensity that told me more than words ever could. “There’s a difference between taking a slave and having him offer himself willingly.” Her tongue overpowered mine. She fucked my mouth with it, before pulling back into another kiss. “I would have had your ass either way, but this means so much more.”
She shifted against me, wiggling her cock even deeper, as she leaned to the side.
I was confused. This seemed like such an awkward place to stop. More than confused, I was hungry as well. Now that I had her inside me, I wanted her to fuck me. I must have mewled a bit as I shifted, because she cooed back and kissed me once more.
“I want you to always remember this as the moment your Mistress owned you.” She held the shiny black PVC collar I had admired that first day in her parlor. She pressed it against my lips. I kissed it, then felt her slide it down, over my chin, down my neck, and around my throat. “I have put more slaves into temporary bondage than I can count, but I have never granted one a forever collar, and never done so with my cock inside them.”
Slowly, with gentle movements, she began fucking me. The feeling of her cock sliding in and out, just an inch’s worth of room, was amazing. As she fucked me, she fit the collar around my neck. I should have been worried when I saw the needle in her hand. If there was ever an awkward position in which to do some sewing, this was it, and I knew the odds of getting poked were . . . well, almost as good as the odds of getting poked.
I should have realized Mistress was a woman who commanded every situation. “You can’t see it,” she whispered, “but I have stitched your collar closed with two small initials, standing bright against the material. You will forever bear my initials, in silver thread.” She leaned in even further and bit the thread so close to the collar that I could feel the heat of her breath on my neck. “You are my fucking property.”
With that, she raised herself up and smiled at me.
I reached up to feel the smoothness of the collar. The slight texture of her initials emboldened me. “No mercy, Mistress. Use me. Own me. Fuck me.” I swallowed, realizing what it was I was opening myself up for. “I am—”
I never got a chance to finish the sentence. She withdrew almost to the hilt, leaving just the head of her cock inside me, and then plunged deep. I screamed out, not in agony, but in utter and complete submission. It felt like, with that one stroke, she finished the stitching she’d begun at my throat. Before I could catch my breath, she did it again.
And again.
And again.
Mistress did indeed fuck me mercilessly. I never knew anything could feel that intense, or that good. I completely lost myself in her passion. I laid there, my hands clenched in tight fists, and watched the rapture on her face. She was enjoying this. She was enjoying me. I was giving her pleasure.
The sounds of our sex echoed loudly inside the glass solarium, with plenty of squelching, slapping, and sighing. The feeling of her shaft sliding inside me was indescribable, and the pressure of her head, continually carving a new, deeper path on the down stroke, was just about heaven. It was still awkward, and my head still wasn’t convinced, but I wasn’t thinking. I was just feeling.
When she pulled all the way out, it was as if my soul had been ripped from my body. I felt empty and bereft. “No, please!” I cried out without thought.
Her answer was to plunge back in, driving herself to the hilt again, with one mind-blowing thrust. That was it. That was all my body could handle. I felt this odd sensation growing from between our bodies. At first it felt like I had to pee, but then the warmth kept spreading, kept building. It began to feel like that moment of bliss where the cum begins its journey up your shaft, except it just kept on building.
“Mistress. What . . . what . . . what’s happening?”
She pulled all the way out. I cried out again. She plunged back in and I exploded.
That building sensation washed over me. It was like an endless orgasm, one with all the pleasure of the climbing intensity, but none of the cresting, and none of the fall. I moaned and writhed beneath her, feeling a damp warmth flood the rings of my cage. It was the single most incredible, most pleasurable thing I had ever felt.
“That’s how a bitch cums,” she told me. “I told you before that I would control your orgasms. I may have taken one away, but you will find I have given you something better.” She wiped her hand around beneath the bottom edge of my cage and then brought it to my lips. “Taste your first slave orgasm.”
There was no hesitation, no post-orgasmic sense of shame. I snapped my head up and greedily sucked my cum from her fingers. It tasted like it felt. Glorious.
“Fuck.” Mistress swore as fireworks began going off outside the windows. “So much for my timing.” She quickly wiped the rest of my cum across my face. “Now it’s my turn.”
Mistress began fucking me with an angry passion. She thrust hard and fast and deep, not withdrawing all the way, but making full use of my ass. It was so overwhelming. I had to focus on the bouncing and jiggling of her breasts just to retain some level of consciousness. She was destroying my ass. I’d gone beyond pain, beyond pleasure, beyond orgasm, into a state that was not so far removed from the floating bliss of subspace.
When she came, it was with a wordless growl that started as a fierce pressing together of her lips, but which quickly eased into a smile. I felt each jet of cum splashing inside me. It was an alien feeling, but it was a welcome one. I was taking my Mistress’ seed. She had spilled herself inside me. I’d heard men talk of being bred before, and now I knew what they meant.
She withdrew from my ass with a loud, wet pop that was clearly audible over the distant fireworks. Mistress walked up my body like the conquering Goddess that she was and stopped directly over my face. “Good slaves,” she reminded me, “always clean their messes.”
Still riding the emotional waves of shared orgasm, I lunged forward and took her softening cock into my mouth. It tasted very much like her ass had, and my mind tripped over from horror to hunger. It wasn’t that I didn’t care where her cock had just been, it was that I appreciated it even more for the fact. I took her entire shaft into my mouth, sucking and licking like someone who hadn’t eaten in weeks.
I was sorry to see it go when she withdrew, but her lips were a welcome replacement.
“I love you, Mistress.” I knew the words were a risk, but they had to be said.
“I have never told a submissive this,” she whispered, “but I love you as well.”
Sated and spent, we cuddled there on the floor and watched the rainbow arcs of fire high overhead signal our commitment to the world.
Our new life had begun.
###
About Bob Neils
I am a happy phallophile and horny semenophile. So, what the heck does that mean? Well, it means that in addition to being a breast man, a leg man, and an ass man, I am also a
dick man. While I have no romantic attraction to men, I do have a fetish for penises and an addiction to semen, which I find is best enjoyed through anonymous glory holes, cuckold creampies, shemale lovers, and fantasies of forced bisexuality and BBC worship.
It's complicated, I know, but the more I have come out to the community, the more I have found my straight cock-obsession is not as rare or as unusual as you might think.
Fetish and fantasy are what drive me, and I will never apologize for that. I believe that if something – or someone – makes you happy, and brings you pleasure, then there should be no shame involved. I am 100% NSFW, and far from politically correct. I use language and labels that arouse me, and with which my partners identify, regardless of whether polite society approves.
I firmly believe in sex-positive, fetish-positive erotica. It’s not for everyone, but if it’s for you, I would love to hear from you.
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