Serving my Purpose for Master Ch. 01

Quiet

I awoke with a start, had I slept in??

But the tickle on my thigh was not the brush of master's hand or any other. It was just my silent alarm, strapped to my nude leg, buzzing away to coax me into consciousness. I breathed a sigh of relief, but made no sound--master was still asleep after all.

Blinking my eyes awake, sleepiness was replaced by excitement as I surveyed the room. White walls, sparsely populated by delicate, serene paintings. Deep hardwood floors, unobstructed other than the doggie bed I now kneeled on, and a select few pieces of furniture. Two luxury nightstands with elegant lamps perched on top. Nearly empty but for the digital clock, rolex watch, and phone on the right one. Sandwiched between the nightstands, a king sized bed. Sandwiched between the covers, a king--my king, and my master. Everything was as I had left it the night before, but for the soft glow of the soon-rising sun.

And one other difference. Though my master lay still exactly where he had fallen asleep, his form had changed, almost imperceptibly. Just below his navel, covered by a soft white duvet, was a slight bulge in the sheets. I felt my pupils dilate and my head become light as I stared, losing myself in the thought of it. I always woke up hungry, and thirsty. In the middle of my stomach a knot was growing, of tension, of anticipation, of longing. I felt arousal through my whole body, but held myself still. My alarm had buzzed me awake at 7:56; it would not be time to do the same for my master until 8:00 exactly.

I felt like I might pass out, not from fatigue but intoxicating excitement. I counted the blinks of the digital clock between each minute. It was 7:59 and 32 33 34 seconds. I bent down from my kneeling position, onto all fours, ready to pounce. 48 49 50 seconds. I heard myself quietly panting, tried to silence my own breath. 57 oh my god. 58. It felt like this every morning, but oh my god. 59. Fuck. As 7:59 became 8:00, I bounded towards the bed, silent as a cat on a hunt, my hands and feet making the softest thuds on the hardwood floor. My thigh buzzed again, reminding me it was time but I never needed that second buzz.

As I reached the bed, I parted the sheets just widely enough to slip between them. The rest of the bed was still as I carefully made my way through this dark, silk tunnel. The smell of soft laundry detergent and master's cologne packed the claustrophobic space. But also the smell of him. The smell of his throbbing, the smell of this invitation waiting for me, just two more feet through the tunnel. I made my way carefully although I could feel every blood vessel in my body pulsing, into a crescendo and towards an atmospheric climax. But I held those floodgates, there was work to do.

Carefully, I nestled myself beside master's left leg, making sure not to disturb him. I watched intently, for the hint of evidence that I had already woken him up, too early. But he lay still, he was a deep sleeper after all. I closed my eyes and let one more sigh escape my lips, this time completely silent, as I prepared myself. When I opened my eyes, the tension of anticipation finally broke and I moved in. My hand glided lightly above his pubis, not making contact but forming a bubble within the sheets. As I lifted my hand to make space, I caught my first, dim glimpse of it. Dark and veined, standing perfectly upright. Each morning, its size surprised me. Comfortably longer than my hand, from palm to fingertip, at least 8 inches and still slightly soft, with room to grow. It heaved slowly back and forth as master breathed, its girthy weight giving it the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock.

I knew better than to start with my hands. I knew what master wanted, and I gave him exactly what he wanted every morning. Holding the sheets up with my right hand, steadying myself on the bed with my left, I lifted my head up over top of his. Head is the perfect word I thought, as I looked at it, purple and engorged with desire, the most important part of the body. I curled my lips around my teeth and slowly lowered my mouth. As I got close, I felt the heat of it, rising between my lips. The smell was stronger now, and my eyes fell out of focus in pleasure and abandon. I lowered the last inch and my lips met his skin.

A shiver ran up my spine, and I felt his body shift, ever so slightly; the building pressure within his body, the will to explode, was finding its mark in me. I allowed myself one flick of my tongue across his tip, the skin overwhelmingly hot and supple, before I got to work. Master likes it to the point, I am an object to him, like any object he owns. His bed holds him while he sleeps, making sure he is rested and ready to dominate those around him. His phone keeps him connected to clients, entertains him when he is bored, lets him speak to his wife when he desires. HIs watch tells the time, and signals his status to everyone around him. Like his watch, part of the reason I am here is for status. To let those around him know that they do not deserve to even look him in the eyes, all people should cower at his feet, they are nothing before him. But mainly, my purpose is to make sure he is always satisfied, never waiting, always drained, never thrusting into empty space. Wherever his cock is, erect, so is my mouth.

And so finally, as I do every morning and many times every day, I served my purpose. Holding myself as smooth as possible, I slid my mouth over my master. Quickly, I hit my limit, his tip having brushed my lips only a moment ago, now at the back of my throat. If his size had been clear in the dim morning light, it became even more apparent in my mouth, filling the empty space with warmth and the beating of strong, masculine blood. I closed my eyes and my body shook slightly, out of my control. Again, pleasure coursed through my body, from the excited knot in my stomach to between my legs, and down to my toes. Again, I fought back the climax that wanted to escape me. Master comes first, and only.

As he rustled finally underneath me, I knew he was waking up and I no longer needed to be careful. My right hand let the sheet down from above me and I grabbed the base of him. There was ample room for my hand--while I love to take my master down my throat, it was all but impossible from above, and so I settled for taking the top half of his substantial body in my mouth. With a firm grip on him, I began in earnest.

I raised my head up the shaft of him, letting my lips only reach the base of his head. The thought of losing physical contact broke me, but more importantly master liked me to keep him in my mouth the whole time. My knees clenched together as I slid him back inside of me, fighting the nervous sexual energy inside of me, I began to find my rhythm. In smooth, arcing motions I came down on him for one second, and moved to release for one second, one one thousand. Some men like it fast, they like to fuck a throat like an animal; like everything else in his life, the way master comes is elegant. That's not to say he is not like an animal, but he is like a lion who knows he is the king, he has no reason to stoop. His heavy muscled legs could pin me in an instant if he so chose. Hell, he could hold me down with one arm and do whatever he desired with the other. And because he knew this, he had no reason to rush, to even acknowledge my existence. From his perspective, he woke up to an orgasm every morning and that's just as it should be.

I kept up a constant pace. In the morning, he usually came quickly, after only 5 or so minutes of my work on him. I have no doubt he could hold out as long as he pleased, but his first orgasm of the day is simply to satisfy a need, to keep his immense sexual power in check. And it was lucky 5 minutes is what it took, as I felt the pleasure building inside of me. My job, besides taking everything he gave me, was to be nothing. Other than my mouth on his cock, I did not exist. The whimper and momentary interruption of an orgasm would be existing.

I felt his legs tense slightly, pushing my eyes back into my head. It was about to happen. On a down stroke, one of his hands landed on the back of my head. His fingers roughly grasped me by the hair, and his huge, strong hand held me all but still. Under his grip, I continued moving my head up and down as best I could, rocking back and forth against the pull of my own hair. And then he came.

I held his tip at the back of my throat, letting him paint the inside of me, and feeling him fall down my throat. It took every ounce of my strength not to join him; for me it would have been ecstasy, but for him this was just a morning release, a small moment in the day. He grunted quietly, and his deep baritone voice vibrated me. My tongue vigorously wrapped around him, making sure he was completely clean before he left me. He always was, and I would not waste a drop of him. I strained to swallow his thick seed, clearing out more canvas for him to paint. His final volley landed in me, and I wrapped my tongue once more around him.

As soon as he finished, I slid myself off of him and slunk out of his way. He rose from bed without looking at me, without a second though, and walked into his ensuite bathroom. He did not even close the door, being seen by me is not being seen at all. I was like his Roomba, whose only plot of carpet to vacuum is between his muscular thighs. I did watch him though, I always watched him. For the hint of a need. I could tell from his size this morning, he was full of energy and seed to paint the inside of me today.