Cock Worship

I'm on my knees, waiting patiently. I'll wait all day if that's what it takes, even though my legs are aching, the hardwood floor not a comfortable place to rest. It's worth it. You walk over to me, shirtless but your legs sheathed in denim and a belt wound round your waist. Bare toes stop just half a pace away from me.

"Ready?" you ask.

"Yes." I nod, in case the word wasn't enough, but I don't reach for you, not yet. I hold my position, waiting for explicit permission.

You pause, drawing the moment out, and I see a hint of approval when you smirk at me. "Go on."

Consent given, I lift up slightly and reach for you. My fingers itch to go right for the belt, expose you in quick, smooth motions, but instead I take a moment to run my fingers tips and the edges of my nails along the ridge your erection makes in your jeans. The denim is cool against my fingers, but I imagine I can feel the heat of you. Done denying myself, I quickly deal with the belt buckle and slip the button of your jeans free from it's hole.

Your underwear slides down your thighs with your jeans and your cock springs free.

I want to take it in my hands. Engulf it in my mouth. Ride it. Instead I lean forwards and press my face to it, inhaling the scent. Skin, Life. Maleness. I run nose along the shaft and then, when I reach the tip, flick my tongue against it. It bobs as your thighs flex, and I use their strength to balance against as take the head in my mouth and suck lightly.

I'd like to slide forward, go as deep as I can, test my still to be conquered gag reflex, but I don't want to rush, either. I draw back and run my fingers down it's length, slide gently around balls that are drawn up tight to your body. A gentle hand on my head reminds me that it's not just me and your cock, that's it's me and you. I glance up, smiling, then go back to my preoccupation.

I play with it with my hands: gentle, ticklish strokes with my fingertips, firmer pumps with my hand, both hands together. And all the while I watch, see the deep pink slowly suffuse to a deeper red, a teardrop of pearlescence appear in your slit, growing until I have to lean forward and lick it up with a dart of my tongue.

Once I've had a taste, I want more. I give a little moan and slide my hands down to the root so there are several inches exposed to my eager mouth. I lick, suck and swirl my tongue around, working harder and faster when your hand returns to my hair and grabs a fistful. Not guiding, just holding. Telling me wordlessly that I'm pleasing you.

I plan to take you to completion, have you release in my mouth and take it into me, but you pull away.

"On the bed. All fours."

I'm a little disoriented, but I scramble to obey, climbing onto the height of the bed and presenting myself to you without hesitation. I'm wet enough to be taken, and taken hard.

You put a hand between my shoulder blades and push my torso down until my breasts are cushioned by the comforter, my pelvis tilted to allow for a deeper penetration. Then you slide inside.

It's no harsh, crude thrust. It's a slow glide designed to make me feel every inch of you, to ensure I understand that I'm being pierced, invaded. Subdued. I feel you roll over my g-spot and my breath exhales in a juddering rush. When you press home, I can feel you everywhere. Behind me, over me, in me. It's overwhelming, and my inner muscles clamp down on you helplessly.

"All right?" you ask.

I make a little mewl that passes for yes.

And then I get my reward.

You shift back and power forward. I'm slick, lubricating your way, and still there's no getting away from the slight burn, the deep satisfaction, as tissues are forced to part way for you. I take it, holding position exactly as I've been placed. I've ridden you, and plenty, but there's something primal here, a claiming. It's your cock, taking me. Fucking me.

I hold still, but that doesn't mean I don't feel. The angle is hitting my g-spot hard, and I'm so turned on from sucking you that I know I'll detonate with just a couple of quick circles. I shift my weight to my right side, but pause halfway through reaching with my left hand.

"Go on," you tell me. "Touch yourself."

I do, my fingers going unerringly to my clit, but it's your cock that gets me there. Filling me, reminding me what I am. Female to male. Submissive to Dominant. When the orgasm rolls over me, it's your cock, moving in and out of me in a faultless rhythm, that extends and expands it. When the last of the shudders subside, I feel you speeding up, hitting me harder and faster as you move towards your own climax. It erupts in a series of hard slaps against my flesh, a rush of warmth deep inside. You rest there for a long moment, then slide free.

"Baby."

The single word is unnecessary. I'm already in motion, lifting up and twisting round. My movements are slightly clumsy not, the haze of pleasure still dulling my senses, but I steady myself with a hand on your hip and use my other hand to take your softening cock and lift it to my mouth, my tongue. Slavishly, I clean you, almost apologising for the sheen I've left on you. When I finish, you put a hand to my cheek, rewarding me for my dedication, my devotion. I stay on the bed when you move off and re-sheath your lower body in those jeans, taking your maleness away from me. Till next time.