Next to last

Shaking, breath rattling in your ears, your chest.

The slick feel of sweat on your neck, as you rip away the rope.

She told you not to do it without her.

But you could not wait.

Ever since she first choked you into submission, you need it.

So you think.

*

Riding you, late one night in your, during the heavy rain.

Suddenly her hands blocked your air, made you dizzy.

When the lightning hit the tree by your window, you thought it emanated from your sac, not the sky.

As your senses steadied, you saw the world with new eyes.

But truly, she blinded you. Took away your sight, replaced it with flickering images.  A mirage of falsity.

But like all things that cheaply shimmer, it caught your imagination.

*

You asked her to do it more often. And then each and every time.

Because it was new, it felt good. Because…because…

Because it got you off in a way you never expected.

She became angry. Chastised you.  Punished you.

So you hid your hunger. Like a petulant child.

*

Moving the small table to the side, you threaded the rope through the hook in the floor.

Taking the lush ivy down, already hard and leaking pre-cum, putting it out of harm’s way of your kicking feet.

Looping the rope around your neck, pausing to lean against the wall, so great was the rush of anticipation.

And finally, sliding the end of the rope through the ceiling hook.

Eyes closed, trembling like a pilgrim in front of a shrine.

Pulling, adjusting, stroking.

Rope, tension, cock.

Until right then.

Yanked it tightly.

Releasing, world exploding into a trillion pieces in your head, silence booming in your ears.

This is cumming, oh yes, this is cosmic.

But panic sets in.

You are losing consciousness, as your fingers struggle, lose purchase.

Somehow, you manage to stand a bit straighter, get 3 fingers under rope.

Air, blessed sweet air, pours in.

In the same manner the semen poured out.

*

Sinking to the floor, you began to cry.

Scared, relieved, ashamed, excited.

How much breath do you think you can stand to lose?

Accumulated

Your mouth opened in surprise when he told you the order for the day. Leaving you no time to prepare your mind, you were forced to your knees and quietly you began.

First, as always was his. The one you are used to and adore. He fills your mouth and your tongue knows every vein, every inch of the velvet pear skin of his shaft.

You cannot ever serve two masters. His cock leads the way, is your lodestar.

Then was the series.

One. You will remember him, for he used a honey almond soap and the smell wafting into your nostrils from his trimmed bush helped you not to cry.

You do not want to do this. But he says do it. And you do.

Two. His cock was weighty, it felt in your mouth you were holding two in mass, not one. You think of him as heavy water.  He must be more than the 5 grams that naturally occurs in us all.

Three. He bruised the back of your throat, for you are not used to suck ing such length. Your think of him as a redwood, growing higher than most.  Your ars burned just as brightly as the red leaves blowing past your windows.

Four. The shame grows.

Five.

Six. Your heart quails.

Seven.

Eight. Your soul has folded upon itself.

Nine.

Then nothing.

Except the labored breath of them all, pulling on their cocks.

Looking at you.

Your eyes are rooted on Him.

He nods.

That tiny nod is your anchor.

You hold onto it, that anchor, as the strained sighs turn to moans which transmute to cries of release.

The lids of your eyes are shutters, covering the world in red filtered light.

Each grunt falling from a pair of lips seems to precede of spurt of hot semen across you face but you lose count of the order.

You imagine the ropes of cum, etching you like glass in an artisan’s workshop.

Finally, your ears pick up the strained breath of final release.

As he forces your mouth open, to take his seed down your throat, you go from feeling dirty to feeling fresh, unsullied.

Your face is coated with the seed of strangers, all for the pleasure of him. Dripping slowly off your chin like candlewax, settling to pool on the upper slope of your breasts.

His murmured praise washes away your worry that he sees you as soiled.

It is enough.

Is it enough?

Reaching

Fasted.

Cleansed.

Prepared.

Presented, gag in your nervous right hand.

Bowing your head, sighing as the buckle is tightened across the back of your head.

Kneeling, for the sweet tight weight of the leather cuffs on your wrists.

Repeated on your ankles.

Struggling to your feet.

Falling onto the bed, face-down. Gasp flowing like melted oxygen from your mouth, dripping, as the plug goes into your eager ass.

Nestled in the soft crushed velvet sheets.

A jewel nestled in a gift box.  A choice handmade chocolate in a display case.

Left there, to complete your devotion.

Alone but not alone really, fluorescence of your thoughts and pleas ringing around your head, sugar plum prayers.

Seeking.

Waiting, as the sensation ebbs from  your joints. The stinging replaced by a laden nothingness.

Hoping fervently.

Seeing God.

See.

See…

Regressed {stage 1}

Barely awake, still holding on to my dream, I feel your hands, tugging, pulling at me.

You are hungry, aching for nourishment.

Undoing my buttons, you push he material of my nightgown aside, until the soft, full flesh is revealed.

My nipple-erect, ready-glistens with a bead of milk, in the barely seen light coming into the room.

With a pang that reaches from your mind into your soul, you latch on.
Sucking, drawing form me, you settle into the peace that you only have found in your most quiet fantasies.

Until I chose to bring you from there to reality.

Regressed{ in stages}

Stage one:

Shaking, you look up at me. Flushed, sweating.

Your eyes, heart and soul form one word, which breaks the barrier of your lips.

Mama.

Like your dreams solidified, the haze burning off dawn, I caress you face and offer you comfort.

My tits-heavy, full,engorged-leak precious pearls of milk.

Erection throbbing, you scramble to catch every prismatic drop.

Mouth open, you strain to catch every bit that drips.

Past speech, past coherence, you latch your mouth upon the right, cradling the weight of the left in your hand.

You were denied, so your mouth floods. Eyes rolling back in your head, you brain pops.  just like your tight nutsac, which erupts hot ropes upon my boots.

Pulling, suckling, murmuring. Lost in the rhythm of your lips and tongue, coaxing forth your sustenance.

Your mouth is full but I hear your unspoken adoration.

I am the Mother you seek, The Goddess that hardens your cock, the Logos of your prayers.

In your belly, milk splashes.

In your soul, truth is revealed.