The Modified Slave Ch. 04

I reached down to touch my pussy, which was starting to throb with increasing intensity. I was met with... something that was not my pussy. There was metal--a lot of it, in my opinion, as I traced the crisscrossing chain keeping my slit shut. It seemed to be looped more for aesthetics as opposed to bondage. I could probably fit a finger if I wanted to, but I was more intrigued by how swollen and heavy everything felt.

I looked up at Blue, surprised he hadn't interrupted my exploration. "It'th-- It'th-- Heavy," I stammered. I didn't have another word for it. It was a weight that, once I had noticed, I couldn't ignore. My pussy was just... there, even though I wasn't doing anything other than laying down. I scrambled to my feet, and standing upright felt even better. "It feelth good," I said, trying to communicate like an actual human person.

"I didn't bring any weights," Blue said, thoughtful. He did have a lightweight padlock, small enough to fit through links on either end of the chain and apply an infuriating amount of pressure to my clit. The piercings I'd always fantasized about were decorative. A visual reminder of my lack of autonomy, not a literal function of it. Such an extreme method of control--making climax impossible with anyone who wasn't him--did scary, wonderful things to my insides. As long as he did make me climax. No orgasms was a hard limit. Sure, the idea of chastity was hot, but the reality sounded bleak.

"On your knees now, little toy, hands behind your back" he pointed to the floor, adjusting his dick with the other hand. It looked glorious, encased in his well-fitting jeans. It was his first outright expression of sexual desire, I realized as saliva pooled in my mouth. Finally, I thought, like an idiot. I didn't know why I kept falling for his tricks.

"Convince me you want it," Blue said, grabbing a fistful of hair and grinding my face into his pants. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with a mouthful of denim and a zipper scraping against my nose, and I ended up sort of suckling along the side of his cock with a few careful licks--I didn't want the barbell to get caught--here and there. A glance upwards told me my efforts were less than impressive. Fine, I was a problem solver. Most guys like blowjobs because the suction feels good, the undivided attention is an ego-boost, and it's one of the socially acceptable ways to unapologetically put a woman in her place--I wasn't going to get into the feminism of it all, I was literally here to be a slave.

More pressure, I decided, thinking about the shock of discovering just how aggressive men are when they jack off. I redirected my mouth to the head of his cock, wrapping my lips around my teeth and gumming at him with varying degrees of intensity before stiffening my tongue and attempted to use the tip of it like a finger.

Not more pressure, I realized after a couple minutes, More pathetic. Blue had humiliated me earlier, and now he wanted me to do it to myself. I just wasn't sure how to do that without it feeling like a performance. "Please," I said, making eye contact and trying to wipe my expression of anything except the raw, honest desperation I'd somehow intellectualized by overthinking. "I want it," I tried again, not even getting close to the plaintive purr in my head. For as much as I loved being on the receiving end of dirty talk, I'd never tried to do the talking. I was bad at it, apparently.

Finally, I pushed my face back into his crotch, nuzzling back and forth with an almost manic ferocity. I stopped trying to pleasure him--that obviously wasn't the point. If he'd wanted my mouth on him, it'd be there. I channelled more than the emotion of here and now, reliving the moment he'd stopped me from cumming last Saturday and all the unsatisfying and slightly shameful orgasms I'd given myself in the past seven days.

Forgetting about strategy or risk, I focused on the more. More everything, more anything. I opened my mouth as wide as it could go, tongue out to touch as much surface area as possible. They were jeans but they were Blue's jeans. I should worship them for the place they had in his life, not resent them for getting in the way of what I wanted. I wanted what Blue wanted. Right? "Please," I cried, this time sounding pitiful, voice muffled and broken.

"Good girl," Blue growled, hand on the back of my head tightening.

I can't explain the elation I felt, the rush I got, from those two simple words. "Please, please, please, please," I begged, and he chuckled. It was a talent, how many different chuckles this man had.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"No," I wailed in despair, finally understanding. I wanted Blue's cock in my mouth more than I wanted to fucking breathe, but I didn't deserve it. Not because I hadn't earned it--although I hadn't--but because I simply wasn't worthy.