David & Lisa Ch. 01

David never tired of forcing a woman to submit to this act of self-abasement. As he claimed, he did have a lot of experience and he was very good at estimating exactly how much she could tolerate at any given moment. He knew the trick was in the pacing, keeping her so preoccupied with satisfying his changing demands that she never got a chance to think about anything else. Once she accepted that his need would drive everything, and that his demands would not come to an end until he was ready for his final satisfaction, she would go to the outer limits of her physical endurance, even passing out, before she'd dream of asking for relief. His pleasure lay in his power to make some women actually believe, for a little while, that they were no more than available orifices for a male's satisfaction. Many women never got to feel that kind of surrender. Lisa, he was fairly sure, would.

He used Lisa's mouth for almost half an hour--roughly, softly, lovingly, violently, but always in complete control, never permitting her jerks and gasps and noises to decide what he did next. The initiative was always with him. He varied his demands constantly, from soft, sexy, mutually pleasurable oral intercourse, to ruthless deep-throating, to rough commands to tongue his balls, to spit and drool on him, to wash his penis clean, to suck him like she meant it. Now and then he batted her cheeks hard with his member, and sometimes he threw in a few hand slaps. He kept his whip handy and occasionally paused to lash her buttocks to heighten her motivation. He completely controlled her head; the strength in his hands and arms never wavered.

When, finally, he decided that she'd had enough, Lisa was haggard and groggy, her cheeks and ass burning, her jaws numb, her lips bruised, her throat sore. Her hair was a medusa-like mess. Her scalp stung from his hair-pulling. Saliva hung in strings from her chin. Her neck throbbed from the unnatural position. She had completely forgotten her need to come. She was unconscious of her tattered underpants and the little-girl socks and shoes she still wore.

During David's humiliation ritual she had gone through stages of intense, cunt-flooding excitement as he slowly, rhythmically, fucked her eager mouth; then panic over not being able to breathe as his head began to reach her throat; then tired and aching jaw muscles; then wondering how long he could hold out (and, futilely, trying to make him come faster); then sagging weariness, especially in her neck; then wondering how long she could hold out; then near-despair; and finally, ceasing to think about anything at all except the imperative to shape herself to his next thrust. She knew she had taken all of his length, not only from her choking but because he ground her sensitive lips against his hair as he gasped with pleasure. She forgot time and lived for the instants of relief when he let her gasp for air and gulp down her drool. Sometimes the respite was so short she thought she would die. But the cock's needs came first; she never lost sight of that for a second. Do whatever he wants. Her whole world became his relentless male body and its limitless need for stimulation. As he sweated and leaked his fluid into her mouth, his taste and smell overwhelmed her. Toward the end she felt she had been turned over to a reeking, rutting male beast in a barn stall. She prayed for him to reach his limit and finally plant his seed.

When David finally swelled and erupted with a roar, emptying choking amounts of semen down her throat, Lisa gagged and fought for air, coughing his cum out and even getting it up her nose. From a great distance she heard him command, and she blindly sucked, licked and swallowed. Her whole world became the weird, salty, sweetish, sticky stuff that flooded her mouth. That was David's seed, and it was her responsibility to honor him by sucking it all down, as he wished. Then the tyrannical organ that had possessed her softened, shrank and disappeared. She knew her test was over. She awaited his judgment, but was too exhausted, really, to worry about that.

Leaving her hanging limply, cum and saliva dripping off her face, David rested for a few minutes. There was a small bathroom across the hall. He used it, tidied himself up, and drank a glass of water. When he returned, he released Lisa from her restraints and nudged her over so she stood on all fours. He snapped a nylon collar around her neck, attached a leash, and said, "Come along."

Letting her proceed at her own hesitant pace, guided by tugs of the leash, he walked her out of the room and over to the bathroom. He used scissors to snip the remains of her underwear off. He helped her up onto the toilet and told her to pee. She put her hand between her legs and pressed. Eventually her urine came down. She felt no shame. It seemed obvious David now owned her pee as much as he owned everything else about her. He guided her hand to the paper and watched her wipe. Then he gently removed her blindfold. Her soggy, reddened, shocked-looking eyes blinked stupidly in the light. He still wore his hood.

He wet a sponge and cleaned her face off. He had her sip water from a glass. She accepted his ministrations quietly, obediently, as if she were a patient in hospital. Each little act seemed equally important; he would decide each step, and she would meekly follow. The words Do whatever he wants were as meaningful now as they had been at the moments of intense fear and excitement. More meaningful. For now, at this moment, she had no will at all except to do his will. She had never experienced a state like it before.

He knelt at her feet as she sat on the toilet and removed her shoes and socks. It no longer struck her as absurd to have these stupid shoes on while the rest of her was stripped. David had wanted it that way, so it was right. It even seemed right that this hooded tormentor, who had just possessed her as ruthlessly and completely as one human being could possess another, now knelt before her as if he were her servant, gently slipping off her socks. Right, but still, very strange. She floated in a cloud of strangeness. He produced a small plastic pillow and put it on the floor near the toilet base. He had her lie down and put her head on it. He took off the leash, passed it in a loop around the toilet bowl base, and clicked it back onto her collar. He stood up and switched off the light. "Rest," he said. He closed the door and she heard it lock, leaving her in the small, dark, restful space. She had never felt so small and secure and peaceful in her life.