I Pay the Price Ch. 04

Author's Note: I've received some requests to continue this storyline, even though I thought it had come to a natural conclusion with Ch. 3. Being a man and therefore completely unable to resist most female requests (especially if they're reasonable), I've tried to oblige. I'm not sure if it will be as well-received, but I did enjoy writing it and it's another ultimate male fantasy! Any feedback you may have, positive or negative, is always welcome.

I was here again, just outside Mr. K.'s door. But this time, I was here of my own choosing, not because I was being blackmailed. The realization I had come to after three 'sessions' with Mr. K. was undeniable. I was ruined for regular sex. He'd changed something fundamentally in me. It had been over a month since I'd been given 'parole' by my boss – and a more tortured, confused and miserable month I can't remember.

I spent a week recovering from his third sexually focused punishment. I spent another week in a mental fog, analyzing hopelessly my situation, but knowing deep down that I was trapped in my new paradigm. I'd spent the following two weeks discreetly trying to convince my boss to 'punish' me again – without success – the guy was OBTUSE.

I'd smiled shyly at him. I'd tried to make myself as 'available' as possible by often going by his office for trivial things. I'd tried dressing properly, but provocatively at the same time. He never so much as asked me how my weekend was – just like he'd always been, before ruining me for normal sexual relations – all business, never giving me an opening to introduce my desires naturally.

It looked like in this respect, Mr. K. was like every other man (that I'd known, at least) – he didn't have a FUCKING CLUE. Did I have to spell it out on a highway billboard for him? How could a successful businessman (and someone so sexually dominant as well) have NO intuition in this regard? Unbelievable.

I considered briefly finding another man to carry this through with (wouldn't that serve him right!). But I knew he had the goods in the bedroom – and I didn't have enough experience in this new realm to know whether any guy could do it for me, or if it was something inherent in Mr. K. that drove me over the edge. Plus, who knew how many psychos were out there – my boss was psycho enough, but at least I hand confidence in the fact that he wouldn't permanently damage me.

So finally, frustrated to the extreme, I went to his office and, embarrassedly, laid it out in front of him. Again, the conversation didn't really go as planned.

"What do you need?"

"I want you to treat me the same way you did...before"

He was nonplussed. Evidently, he STILL didn't know what I was talking about.

"I want to come over to your house again...like when I did before...and I want you to use me like you did...before."

A light came into his eyes and he looked thoughtfully at me (FUCKING GENIUS – I only had to spell out 99% of it to him).

"Have you stolen from me again!"

"No - nothing like that. I just want to come over to your house again. I want you to use me like you did before," said shyly, uncertain – I had no idea what his reaction would be – he was so unreadable.

"You mean that you want me to treat you like my own personal sex-toy...do whatever I want."

Exactly. Eureka. Wow – was this guy dumb.

"Yes, Mr. K." was all that I said.

Now the business persona that Mr. K. always had on at the office dropped. He looked at me frankly...and very sexually, appraising me now as an 'object', rather than as a person. I immediately felt warm.

"Say it, Miss X," he spoke in a measured tone, "Say – 'I want you to make me into your own personal sex-toy.'"

His tone brooked no refusal. I didn't want to refuse anyway. This was my new paradigm. This is what I needed. "Mr. K., I want you to make me into your own personal sex-toy. Please, do anything you want with me."

"Be at my house at 1:00 pm on Sunday," he said with a note of dismissal and turned back to his work.

Sunday! That was three more days away! I'd have to get through all of tomorrow at work and then Saturday as well. I didn't say anything, though. I had what I wanted. I gave him another shy smile and I got out while the getting was good.

I knocked on his door. He opened it and led me into his house.

The TV was on and blathering some sports nonsense. Mr. K. was dressed in his usual garb - a pair of slacks and a collared shirt. Of course, I was dressed in my 'Mr. K. special' – a short skirt, blouse, panties and bra and a pair of fuck-me heels.

"Good, you're on time. The game's about to begin."

The game? What was he talking about? Here I was, ready to go, ready to get spanked and fucked and whatever else he wanted to do to me...and he was talking about a game? But Mr. K. had already sat down on his couch, looking at me expectantly.

Sensing my confusion and uncertainty, he offered a longer explanation. "It's Sunday. The Raiders are playing and I plan on enjoying the game with my new sex-toy," he said – and smiled.

Now it was my turn to be nonplussed. I continued to stare at him stupidly.

"Miss X, I didn't ask you to come here. You asked to come here. You're free to go, but if you'd like to stay, then you need to be over here and on your knees before kick-off."

"This wasn't what I had in mind," I said.

"That's unfortunate for me, although not necessarily unexpected. I'll see you back at the office then...Oh, and please refrain from saying that you want to be my 'personal sex-toy' in the future when you don't really mean it."

There it was, in black and white. He'd taken me at my word, when I didn't fully realize what my word had meant. It was just like Mr. K. to turn the tables on me like this. He had kept me jumping in my first three encounters with him, never knowing what to expect next – why should it be different now.

Of course, faced with that statement, no further words were necessary. I immediately assumed my now-familiar position, on my knees, between his legs and unzipped his fly. As my mouth sank down around his semi-rigid shaft, a welter of emotions and thoughts ran through me. Of course, it was terrible that I'd be sucking my boss's cock as he watched a football game! I should have his undivided attention. On the other hand, I had to give him credit for original thought. He'd made me repeat back to him at his office that I wanted him to make into his "own personal sex-toy." I think I'd even added a phrase to the effect that I wanted him to do anything he wanted with me...and here he was, doing whatever HE wanted with me, not whatever I wanted him to do to me.

The familiar taste and feel of his bigger-than-average fuck-muscle growing inside my mouth served to transport my thoughts even further into a submissive frame of mind. It was kind of hot, after all, to suck the cock of a man while he was watching football. It made me feel kind of wanton and sluttish to know that I was servicing a guy clever enough to maneuver to the point where he could watch football, consume beer 'n pretzels (today he'd switched from his usual gin 'n tonic) and have a young, nubile woman on her knees with her mouth on his cock all at the same time! Sure, the lamest of male fantasies, but I had to give him credit – he was living it out!

As the game started behind me on the television, I settled in for a long session of cock-sucking. I knew from experience that Mr. K. had unusual control and, with the game as a distraction, I had no illusions that my lips would be numb by the time I felt my boss's cum erupt from his cock on its short journey from his balls to my digestive system (and I had no illusions about where his jism would end up – he was pretty predictable about that, at least – if not predictable in the way I'd like him to be – cum-tasting, not to mention, cum-swallowing was not my favorite activity).

The steady rhythm of my head bobbing up and down on his member put me into a semi-trance like state. I found my concentration zero in on a very small number of things – the feel of his shaft sliding remorselessly, tirelessly, in and out of my mouth; the bumps and ridges along his member, now rock-hard, now a little bit softer and how they felt sliding along and across my lips and tongue; the movement of my head back and forth; the placement of my hands – one at the base of his shaft – the other cupping and fondling his balls.

I got into a cock-sucking zone, so to speak. It was like Mr. K. was disembodied from his cock. He was watching the game and I was sucking his cock. I gauged my progress by monitoring both my nemesis and my best friend – his cock became my whole world. When it was semi-hard, I knew that his cock was distracted. When it was hard, I knew I had his cock's attention. When it was rock-hard (a condition only slightly different, but nevertheless noticeable), I knew that his cock, at least, wasn't distracted at all.

Suddenly, there was a loud cheer on the television. Mr. K. grunted in disgust. A bunch of excited, meaningless sports chatter and after 30 seconds or so, I heard "...and the extra point is good. We'll break now and come back for the kickoff."

At that, Mr. K. grabbed my hair roughly and pulled me up and over his lap. The first swat of his hand against my panty and skirt-covered ass was HARD. I oommphed in surprise. The next several spanks were just as hard, and not accompanied by any soothing massage between spanks.

"Get your clothes off and get back on my cock," was all he said as he ended my spanking after just a very few strokes. Hopefully for you, they won't be scoring any more touchdowns.

As I disrobed, prior to resuming my oral chores, I glanced quickly at the television as the game came back on. It was Raiders-0, Some team with a bird on its helmet-7. Naked now, except for my heels and panties (which he told me to keep on), I again took his cock into my mouth. I was pleased to see it still standing stiffly at attention. I pushed my mouth deeply down onto his prick, taking as much as I could, short of actually stuffing it into my throat (we'd get to that soon enough, I was sure).

Suitably chastened (and smarting a little bit), I continued sucking my boss's cock for another indeterminate amount of time, again losing myself in the moment, making little observations about tiny movements by Mr. K. – and their possible meaning. Did the fact that he was reaching into the pretzel bowl mean anything? Did the fact that he sent me to the fridge for another beer signify anything? Did his fiddling with the remote (why did all men have to constantly fiddle with the remote) mean he was bored with me? In truth, I was totally concentrating on my boss while he was only half-concentrating on me (if even that!). He must have been getting immense satisfaction out of the situation, watching a football game, whiling away his Sunday afternoon and interrupting his blowjob just long enough to send his 'girl' off for another beer.

What's worse, I knew that plenty of men would jump at the chance to shower complete attention and affection on me for just the hint of a promise that sometime in the future I MIGHT go down on them – but here I was, going down on a guy paying little or no attention to me at all! ...and I'd asked him to do this to me! These and other thoughts ran through me head at breakneck speed as I pistoned his dick in and out of my mouth, servicing him, nearly naked, on my knees, while he held a beer in one hand, and watched the game over my bobbing head.

Then it happened, another score for the 'bird' team. Another commercial break and another hard spanking, but this time on an ass protected only by my panties (really, no protection at all), instead of fully clothed. ...And the spanking was longer this time, though not the extended session that I'd experienced in previous meetings with him.

Now Mr. K. was agitated as, my second short spanking concluded, I sank my mouth back around his cock. I could tell he had lost some interest in the game, what with his team SUCKING and being so far behind. Whether this was good or bad for me, though, remained to be seen. He fisted my hair in one hand and really drove me down hard on his cock, keeping me there for several seconds. So, my ass red and smarting from his two harsh spankings, knees sore and slightly rug-burned and mouth getting numb, I endured this new indignity.

I was, upon reflection, perversely, happier. Even if he was being mean to me, at least he was paying attention to me. I sort of got off on the humiliation of giving a blowjob and fetching beer for 'my man' while he watched football. But I got off more when he concentrated on using me full-time, even if it meant that, physically, it was harder on me.

I became the oral cunt that I'd experienced before, being driven up and down, ever deeper and deeper by the strength of Mr. K.

Time slipped by as Mr. K. fucked my mouth, gradually, but remorselessly, harder and harder. As he forced me deeper and deeper down on his cock, frustrated at the progress of the game playing behind my back, I felt strangely exhilarated. I knew that soon he'd push me down far enough that the tip of my nose would kiss the skin of his groin at the base of his dick and then I'd be fully impaled – he'd be able to force me down no further – and I'd be completely dominated, as I had in the past with him. I felt the moisture between my legs acutely.

Surprise struck me again as I heard another cheer from the televised crowd. Evidently, the Raiders had scored this time. The extra point followed and they broke to a commercial.

He drew my mouth all the way up and off his cock. I looked up in surprise. "Climb up here. Climb on top of my cock," he ordered.

I eagerly mounted him, spreading my knees on either side of his lap, guiding his stiff pole inside my wet cunt (Yeah...I was wet – I was always wet when I was around him, it had gotten so that I was getting wet just thinking about him). As I sank my pussy down onto his cock, I sighed in contentment, relishing the feeling of being full.

"Now – I'll let you have seven strokes – don't take an eighth – or it'll go hard on you. Then I want you to get that wonderful mouth of yours back on my cock," he ordered.

Seven strokes? Why seven? What the hell was going on? Just then, the game came back on and the sports idiot on the TV said that we finally had a game here at 14-7 and I had the answer to my question. Mr. K. was giving me seven strokes for the touchdown.

Bastard! I think he was taking this football thing a little too far, but I was in no position to argue. And he did say that I had a wonderful mouth. I think that's the first compliment he'd ever given me and it nearly turned me into melted butter.

I think I also had the most intense seven strokes of my life (up to that point). As I lifted my cunt up and down on his cock for those seven precious strokes, I made certain to take him all the way in, relishing the feeling as I seated myself firmly onto his lap, savoring the greasy slide of his cock against my tight pussy – feeling every inch of his stiff pole as it slid along my hungry walls – both in and out. I didn't come to orgasm. I didn't have enough heat built up inside me for that. But the anticipation, the desire flooding through my body, the knowledge as I counted in my mind from 7, then to 6 and on down to 1, that I'd have to pull out and suffer intense disappointment, stretched those seven strokes out into a near-eternity for me – yet they were over so soon.

On the last stroke, I stayed firmly planted against his lap, grinding my crotch into his crotch, feeling him planted so deeply inside, not wanting to let go. I was begging him silently to let me keep him inside me. I didn't want to let his cock go. He could still watch the game, I'd do all the work – I just wanted to keep him inside me.

With a firm pat to my ass though, he let me know that fun-time was over. Back to oral service, back to my knees. He was in charge. I could only obey. I went back at him with renewed fervor, determined to prove him right that my mouth was a 'wonderful' place to be for his cock.

Mr. K. must have been affected by our short interlude as well, because his prick was at its rock-hard level of stiffness as I took it back inside my eager mouth. He immediately put one hand back into my hair and another on my shoulder as he took a more active role in this now-extended blowjob – paying more attention to me than to the TV.

The combination of the two short spankings (7 and 14 spanks I realized, in retrospect, for the single touchdown and then the second touchdown scored by the bird team), the blowjob, the short, but intense fuck, his compliment, his rock-hard pole and the taste of my own juices on his prick as I took him back into my mouth had me in a haze of lust and wantonness. I kept one hand massaging his balls, which were not tight – not loose - but moved the other down to my cunny and started fingering myself in hopeless desire, matching my body's arousal to my sexual arousal.

He noticed as I slipped my fingers down inside my panties. "Now...Now...I haven't let you take your panties off yet. If you can't help touching yourself, you'll have to do so from the outside of your panties, not the inside."

Bastard! I mumbled in irritation (around his cock) as I slipped my fingers outside of my panties and started rubbing myself through them. He always (mouth pulled up by Mr. K.) had to have (mouth pushed down) things his way (up), even if it didn't (down harder) really matter (up) to his enjoyment (down really hard). What did he (up) care if I (cock-speared) fingered (up) myself (impaled)? I was still (up) sucking (down hard again) his cock (up), wasn't I (down all the way!)?

As he pulled my head back, his eruption inside my mouth surprised me, but was enough to send my body into its own intense, but brief orgasm, as I fingered my clit through my sopping panties. Thus, his first two pumps were inside my mouth and there was a LOT of it. Immediately, before I could manage to swallow those two liquid torpedoes, he shoved his prick deep into me, back to my throat, blocking me, by the obstruction of his dick, from swallowing what he'd just deposited, but shooting his lesser final sprays straight into (and down) my throat. As he held me against the roots of his prick, not allowing me to collect myself and swallow his cum like a good girl, I could feel the un-swallowed jism begin to leak from the near-vacuum seal I was trying to maintain around his manhood. But he was just a little too big to keep a complete seal.

As the seconds ticked by, I became frantic about his cum. I don't know why. For some reason, I didn't want any of it to come out of my mouth. That had never been part of my oral service to him, other than when he humiliated me the last time by purposely squeezing out a drop onto his hallway floor. But there it was, I could feel it leaking out of the area between my cheeks and his shaft as he kept me planted deeply on his prick. All I could do was try to keep my lips sealed around his shaft and wait for him to sate himself inside me.

When he finally let me up for air, I quickly swallowed what was left inside and then immediately went back down on his softening prick, licking him clean of the leakage, making sure none of his jism was left uneaten or unswallowed. He grunted in satisfaction and let me go about my work. I heard the announcer on the TV saying there were ten minutes left in the first half.

He made me get up on the couch, lying down on my stomach with my head in his lap. With one hand, he massaged my back and shoulders (it was heaven) – he was so tall that he could reach my ass with ease and massaged me there as well. I spent this time kneading and caressing his cock and balls with both hands, licking him, every once in while taking his now-limp, but still blood-filled and engorged cock back into my mouth for a gentle sucking, trying to coax some life, minute by minute, back into Mr. K.'s limp and unresponsive tool.