pulls my head down so I’m curled up next to him with my head in his lap. Then he unzips his trousers.
His cock springs out, as pale as the rest of him. The shaft is thick and white, veined like marble, while the head is smooth and faintly pink. Clear fluid beads at the tip. I want to taste it.
“Suck it like a popsicle,” he tells me. “Gently. Don’t scratch me with your teeth.”
His cock is bigger than any popsicle I ever put in my mouth. But I want to try.
I close my lips around the head. I lick it with my tongue, tasting the sharp spark of salt from that leaking fluid. More saliva floods my mouth, and I’m able to run my lips and tongue smoothly over his cock while I suck gently.
My head lays in his lap, my ear pressed against his thigh. Only part of his cock fits in my mouth, but Dean doesn’t force it any further. He lets me suck on the head while he strokes his fingers in my hair.
His touch is incredibly soothing. The sucking and his strong fingertips against my scalp put me in a trance state.
Dean takes the pins out of my hair so the curls are loose. He runs his fingers through the hair in slow, lazy swirls, sometimes with pressure, sometimes with light swoops.
Warmth floods through my body. Every muscle relaxes.
He’s petting me.
And I like it.
I keep sucking his cock.
After ten or twenty minutes, Dean reaches down between my thighs and rubs my pussy. He rubs me in time with my sucking. The harder and faster I suck his cock, the more pressure he applies against my clit.
I moan around his cock, grinding my pussy against his hand.
The dual sensation of his warm flesh in my mouth and his warm hand against my clit is phenomenally satisfying. I want to keep sucking and I want to keep grinding against him.
I feel half asleep, floating in this erotic dream-state where I’m a good little pet earning my reward.
After all, is it so bad to be a pet?
All it means is that someone loves you. Someone’s taking care of you.
I’ve always been a good girl, eager to please . . .
Maybe I needed a master all along . . .
Dean’s breath is speeding up. He rolls his hips, pushing his cock a little deeper into my mouth. He thrusts his hand into my hair, gripping the back of my skull, manipulating the angle of my head so he can push his cock further in.
Now I’m gagging a little and it’s harder to keep pace, but he’s still rubbing my pussy with his other hand, pushing his fingers inside of me while he pushes his cock down my throat.
I’m starting to feel that building pressure again, that ball of heat expanding in my belly. My mouth is extraordinarily sensitive from all that sucking, my lips and tongue and even the soft flesh of my throat all engorged and throbbing like the inside of my pussy. My mouth is as erogenous as my clit, and the dual sensation of penetration, orally and vaginally, is bringing me to climax.
I start to cum, waves of pleasure flowing through me with each thrust of Dean’s fingers. I moan around his cock again. The vibration of my throat tips Dean over the edge. His cock begins to twitch, and thick, warm spurts of cum hit the back of my throat, coating my tongue.
Dean lets out a long, tortured groan, a sound so primal that it scares me. And yet . . . I like that, too. I like having that effect on him.
His cum is slippery and hot. It startles me. He holds my head down, ordering, “Swallow it. Every drop.”
I gulp and swallow, trying to obey.
The taste isn’t bad—it’s the volume that makes me struggle. He keeps cumming, at least five or six spurts until I think I’m going to drown in it.
At last he releases my head, and I sit up, wiping my mouth on the back of my arm. My whole body is loose and warm, suffused with shivers that pass over my flesh without warning.
Dean leans back on his elbows, his eyes heavy, his body drained.
I’ve never seen him so relaxed.
I’m waiting for his judgment. I want to know how I performed.
He looks at me, then takes my chin in his hand. He pulls me forward so he can kiss me, not giving a fuck that I still have his cum in