Serving You under the Table

I serve.

I serve here, under this table where you sit. Can I serve you too? Can I kneel here, at your feet? Silent. Obedient. Waiting?

I wait for your sign, your permission to begin. The sign can be so many things. It can be the tap on the head. It can be lowering of the zipper or the hike of the skirt. It can even be the slight spread of the legs. But I always know when it is time to serve. I always wonder how they decide when they are ready for service. How did you?

You. You sat there, with a cold beer, and pretended not to know I could serve you. So I knelt at your feet, here under the table and waited. And in time you too were ready to be served.

You spread your legs and crooked a finger at me, already more direction than I really needed. After all, my purpose is to serve.

I ran one hand up your leg, over your dirty jeans, and rested the other on your thigh. I placed one hand on the half-hard lump at your groin and felt it stirring under my touch.

You squirmed in your seat as I rubbed. Bringing life to your cock, feeling it push against your pants. Straining. Lengthening. I pulled the button, lowered the zip. No underwear, I saw. Not that I have an opinion, I'm here to serve.

I looked up, into your eyes, and fished your cock out. You gave a sharp inhale as I ran my fingers lightly over the head. I held your gaze and licked my lips. Your beer bottle dangled from your hand. The noise around you forgotten, ignored. I have your attention. I own your attention.

I could have asked: how can I serve you? But to serve is to know what they need before they do, to fulfill their need before it gets from the back of their brain to the front. And I knew.

I bent my head, struggling to still keep my eyes on yours, and I licked. I ran the flat of my tongue across the head of your cock, turned 90 degrees and ran it down along the underside. I slid my hand in your jeans and cupped your balls as I licked. Holding. Cradling.

You lifted up and slid your pants down an inch. Enough for me to fish out your balls, so my tongue could continue its southerly path. Over your balls and further I licked. As close as I could get, with your jeans still on, to that special place between your testicles and your ass. And I pushed there with my tongue.

I'd lost sight of your eyes by now. But I could feel you stiffen. Feel the gasp, like a tremor through the body. I strained to get my tongue further and licked back and forth. Was that a small squeal I heard, or just a stool sliding on the slick floor at the back of the room?

As I came back up, kissing each ball and licking from the base, I caught sight of your eyes again. Yours were unfocused, mouth slack. As I ran my tongue around, around, around your balls and then licking the whole cock like a cat, I noticed the beer bottle was in danger of shattering across the floor.

I gently eased it from your hand while my mouth surrounded your cock. I could feel the condensation from the bottle run over my finger and I could feel your hot cock pulse and jerk in my mouth.

Sometimes cocks change in taste and texture as they go from hard to very hard. Like the hit of bitterness in a black iced coffee. Bracing but wanted. Its something that I like. That I look for. Yours did now.

My tongue rubbed flat against the underside of your cock head, while I bobbed up and down. Slurping. Sucking. Getting as far down as I could and then back up the whole way. To the tip. Saliva ran down my chin. Down your shaft. Down the seat. I resisted the urge to wipe it away and continued to suck. To slurp. Licking up the slick wetness and spitting it back on the tip.

You groaned quite loudly, and I realized I had gotten lost in the hypnotic repetition of sucking your cock. Up and down. Up and down

To serve is to serve you, not myself, so I refocused. I went back to the tip with my tongue. Around the head. One way. Back the other. Clear fluid leaked from the tip, which I caught as I passed with pursed lips.

The bottle, almost forgotten on the floor by my right hand, was still cool. I released your cock from my mouth with a "pop" and placed the side of the bottle against the side of your cock. You gasped and sputtered, but could form no words.

I bent my head again, re-warming your cock in my mouth. Up and down. Up and down. Stop and suck hard. Up and down.

Repeat. Once on the left, once on the underside, once on the right. Once right on the tip., sucking you in-between. Reminding your cock why I'm here.

Cool bottle or not, you started to squirm with that need I recognized. I set down the bottle and got to work in earnest. Sucking faster, sucking harder. The saliva increased and dripped to the floor. Now adding a hand to my task. Two fingers at the base as my mouth descended then following the mouth back up. Up and over the tip with a slight twist and a squeeze at the top. Up and down. Up and down.

And now two hands. One on your balls. Rubbing, caressing. Silently telling them to give up their cum.

I tilted my head a bit to the left so I could see your eyes. Now they were hungry, more focused.

Your hand, no longer encumbered with a bottle, reached down. I expected it to land on the back of my head, so you could better shove yourself into my mouth. But it continued down. You hunched a bit and grabbed at my breast through my thin top. Squeezing hard. Searching for a nipple, I think, through my bra.

I am here to serve, so I pulled up my top, pulled my tit from the cup of my bra. You held on tight as I sucked, giving everything I had to serve your need. To make you cum.

I pushed down, getting most of you in my throat. Willing myself not to gag. And I sucked hard on your cock, holding your balls in my hand, pulling them slightly away from your body. Your legs spasmed, kicking me slightly. Not on purpose. Not to hurt. But out of control like an electric shock.

And then you came.

You gushed.

You sprayed.

You erupted.

A torrent, in my mouth. Enough to spill out the sides, to land with a wet splat on the ground between us.

And now you held my head, my breast forgotten. Nipple cool in the open air. You held me on your cock. As if I would go anywhere else. And then, spent, you collapsed back into your seat with a shudder. Out of breath. Eyes closed and panting.

Then I let your cock go with a soft pop. I held you in my hand and carefully licked up and round. Lightly sucking on the head, cleaning you completely. I gently placed you back in your jeans and looked up into your eyes.

You looked down at me. And then down at the small pool of your cum on the ground between us. You arched your brow. I looked down at the wet puddle on the dirty floor and back up to you. You had a small smile now, but not kind. It didn't reach your eyes. You gave a small nod.

I am here to serve and did as I was bid. I bent to the floor, tongue preceding me. I tried to lick up your cum without licking the floor, but it couldn't be done. I just moved the cum round, but collected none.

I looked up at you again. There was no mercy in your eyes. The smile was wider, nastier. I dropped my gaze and bent again. I got my mouth on the floor and the cum in my mouth with a slurp and a fast lick. The floor rough on my tongue.

I could have swallowed there and then and been done. But I am here to serve. Instead, I looked back up, and opened my mouth, showing you your cum. Showing you what I am. And keeping my gaze fixed on yours I swallowed. Once. Twice. And I showed you again, mouth empty.

After that you quickly lost interest, turned to call for another beer.

And me? I straightened my clothes, wiped my chin with the back of my hand, and returned to my place to wait for my next chance to serve.