Music

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This work may not be published or shared without appropriately crediting the author. This work may not be altered, modified, or used to endorse a product or individual under any circumstances.

All characters over the age of 21

--------------------------------

Do you know what my favorite sound is?

It's not the dripping of water off freshly rained tree branches. Nor is it the caresses of ocean waves against an empty beach at dawn. It's not singing birds, and it's not piano music either.

Truthfully, dear reader, my favorite sound comes from Alison.

I suppose I should introduce her.

She's my pet girl who obeys every order without question, comment, or complaint.

All the sounds I get out of her are phenomenal... The echoing smack of my firm hand on her ass. The movement of her pleasure's fluids when I shove my tongue inside her. Her slutty moans and godly screams as I make love to her in every way possible.

But my favorite sound that she makes -- the one that reminds me why I collared her in the first place -- the one that brings hot, potent heat to my cock -- is the sound of her begging.

And begging for what, you ask?

Begging me to let her cum already. That's what she's doing at this very second, after being denied an orgasm for a week.

That's it. A single week.

But the creepy little pervert that she is, Alison is refusing to accept my decision.

Can you imagine being so slutty?

This is what happens when you spoil a submissive girl. Only a month ago I used my fingers, my tongue, and my cock to make her cum every single day. And now, after just one week without orgasms, she's already a mess.

And I'm not punishing her, by way. She's a very, very good girl.

The reason I forbade her orgasms is that it's fun to fuck with her. Simple as that.

All the vibrators in the house are connected to an app on my phone. So even when I'm not around to keep an eye on her, I make sure they're all turned off.

And now she's begging me. In her gold negligee, kneeling at my feet.

But she's not begging in English. No, no, no. It's not fun to hear my submissives beg in English. She's begging in a language much prettier than that. A language more romantic than French, Spanish, and Italian combined.

She's speaking gag talk.

Oh, I love it. That sweet jazz of submissive, muffled nonsense that comes out when a ball-gagged pet tries to tell you something.

It's the sound of my own power, really. A reassurance that I have permission to be coherent and she doesn't. She's trying to tell me to please please please please please let her cum. But all I hear is an endless string of "mophe mop moe moph, mopp ma, moff mupp muh mump."

She just keeps begging and begging and begging. Even when I don't give her what she wants. Even when she makes a mess drooling on herself. Even when I pay her no mind at all.

She's begging to cum as I reach under that nightgown and squeeze her nipple. She's begging to cum as I take out my favorite book and read it. She's begging to cum as I tell her to get on her hands and knees so that I can rest my heels on her back.

She just can't stop begging to cum.

And I say nothing. I've already decided not to satisfy her tonight.

I don't care that her pussy is tight as hell. I don't care that her tits are so stiff they hurt.

I really don't give a shit.

I've made my decision, and that's final.

But I'm certainly not hushing her, either. Her doomed, incomprehensible attempt at persuasion flows in gorgeous crescendos and decrescendos, sometimes shooting up or down a whole octave at precisely the right moment. My handsome ears are satisfied by the music of her commitment.

And I'm a man of such high taste that I insist on hearing my favorite sound as I read my favorite book. If my record player won't behave itself, at least Alison will.

She's not a bad replacement for those Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis albums I used to listen to. Her wonderful screams make it easier to settle into this novel on my lap.

That's what I think of Alison.

That's what her desperate, slobbery, gagged plea to feed her sexual appetite sounds like to me... background music.