I’m not going to lie. I did not want to do my job last night, not one bit! And my job wasn’t as easy as simply opening my legs like it normally is. My job was to give my husband a mind-blowing, cum-extracting blow job. It’s his payment for bi-monthly spray tans he gives me, he says, and I’m supposed to pay when services are rendered, and he doesn’t accept credit of any kind.
Generally I get right to work just as soon as the body paint is somewhat dry, but this time was different. I lay in bed feeling the need to be seduced. The swirl of giddy horniness I had from the afternoon writing session had worn into a neutral blah, and I needed to be jolted out of my head and back into my body. I yearned to be re-introduced to my femininity.
I told him about my dilemma too which annoyed him on the surface. “I’m waiting,” he replied impatiently. “You can’t say you’re not in the mood. That’s not our deal.”
“Really? Like really, babe?” I spout off. His reaction to my truth annoyed me. We were in a full blown blow job stand off now.
I turned over and decided I’d just sleep and we’d miss our daily sex committment. Whatever. I can’t control everything and with my husband becoming stronger and more dominate by the day, my direct control has lessened. Conversely, my power is greater, I’ve found, because my radiance is everything. That’s how the feminine gets her way, she retracts her light leaving her man alone in the cold, dark night. He can’t stand it.
It worked, of course.
My husband nestled up behind me. “Your body feels like heaven, sweetheart,” he purred into my ear wrapping his arms around my chest, cupping one breast, and pressing his erect dick on my butt. He was begging in his own masculine way and had all but given up his blow job battle from moments before. Any pleasure is better than nothing, I could hear him saying to himself. “Are you mad about not cumming yesterday?”
“Not at all, I actually really liked it.” I could feel my back arching slightly in response to his warmth and desire that was pulsing thick under the sheets. “I don’t know why I’m that way, my king.”
“It’s because you’re a real whore, Stella, which is exactly what I need. And you need a strong man like me. We’re perfect for each other.”
The seduction was in full affect and my pussy tingled with delight. After a spray tan, I routinely wear my special black pajamas. They cover my body top to bottom leaving only my feet, hands and neck sticking out to keep as much of the fresh tan off of the pristine white goose down comforter. For practicality purposes, my husband tore a hole in the crotch, a hole that has been wallered out with use. It was through this opening that my husband’s hand was able to reached down and touch my pussy.
His dick slid in and at once I felt the change. I was connected to my missing piece like he’s my sword and I’m his sheath. My earthly shell broke away leaving my real self, my yummy submissive nymph self, exposed and ready to devour. Gasps escaped me and landed on his pride. He dove deeper, penetrating every layer of feminine friction to discover the river of increasing reward that was beneath the one before.
“I need you, my king,” I chanted over and over again rocking my word in unison to the rhythm of his strokes. I was on my side with my top leg suspended a foot in the air giving his body room to access me. He held my neck with one hand and my leg with the other. “I need your cum inside of me,” I whispered into the night.
It completely inthralls me that it’s the end of February and my husband has not masturbated this entire year. I have honored every drop of his holy liquid making sure it’s absorbed in my body instead of being wasted on some dirty shirt or wash cloth. This is the kind of love I’ve secretly craved my entire life, the kind that is fiercely free yet unapologetically dependent on the other’s raw devotion.
My husband pulled out and placed me on my back spreading my legs slowly and staring into my pussy like a hawk scanning his prey. His expression was that of tender dominance. Mine was unbreakable vulnerability. I can’t and won’t even try to hide my submission. It oozed from every pour on my skin and out through my crevasses like oxygen. My pussy lay open and ready for whatever he wants to do with her.
Our eyes met. We are one. He’s half of our complete circle, helping me relax into the importance of my side. He’s lighting the way for me to embrace being the vivacious ying to his rambunctious yang. He’s slowly getting me addicted to the pleasure of surrender. I’m so tired of being masculine. I think most modern women are.
He paused a moment to toy with me, making me want his ravenous connection more. And when he finally gave it to me, I returned to that space of wholeness with myself feeling like the whore I really am, the whore I’ve always been, the whore I was many many lives before now, the powerful courtesan of giving pleasure and while awaiting rapture.
“Do you want to cum, Stella?”
“Yes.” It was true. My pussy was weeping with need, but she wanted more than an orgasm. She wants something more, something she’s never admitted to her man in such a direct way. “But I want you to deny it. I need you to tell me no.”
My body relaxed at the truth as is flowed from my soul and into his. Nothing more needed to be said. I’m beginning to understand this is why I’m always powerless in my fantasies. I derive the most pleasure by being withheld from it, by giving pleasure, by being pleasure, not forcing it upon myself.
“Then you can’t cum. You can’t cum until I let you.” He declared. “Your pussy is going to do her job. She was made to get my dick off.”
Fuck, the intensity took my breath away and I think I went somewhere I’ve never been before. My husband, my ruler, my lover and king assumed a new dominion over me.
We’ve skirted this topic before, even played with the concept of denying my orgasm for a day or two, but it generally wears off. My husband loves to hear me scream and watch me quiver with excitement when I cum, so to deny me the climax is to also deny him the satisfaction of knowing his wife is pleasured. It became a short-lived cycle.
Something about this was different. My husband saw the pleasure in my eyes and knew I could climax at any moment, he was in complete control. A maturity poured over him as he measured the scene and made a decision.
He pushed my legs wider, placing my knees into my underarms which perched my pussy up perfectly, and pounded my juicy hole. Apparently he surveyed my body and determined all I really needed was his cum. That would make me all better. And he was right.
“Can I please cum,” I whined again sweetly thinking he might cave seeing the desperation in my face.
“No. I like fucking a horny pussy. Your pussy is best when she really wants to cum. It’s just the way you were made, sweetheart.”
I opened wider and connected to women everywhere, women who know the similar sensation of being screwed at night in the cover of darkness by a rough man with a raging dick who only wants a wet slit wrapped tight around his dick, a warm sock for his cock, an available dumpster for his daily load. It could be any pussy, anywhere but hers requires the least effort. Without a word, he mounts her lifeless body and tears her pussy up trying to get his dick off. He doesn’t care if she’s enjoying herself or even if she’s comfortable. He drips sweat all over her face while he squirts his release in her hole. It’s a feeling of being simultaneously vital and utterly useless.
And in my world, that feeling brings me more pleasure than an orgasm ever could. Perhaps it’s the evidence of evolutionary necessity, my pussy doesn’t need to cum to make a baby, but his dick surely does. Maybe God planned it this way. Yes, a woman can and should orgasm, but she’ll get more cum and have a better chance of having a baby if she doesn’t reach an orgasm as often. It’s like a biological trick, a built in reward for those who can self-discipline. She maintains her vibrancy, creativity and attraction when she collects his daily load of cum while holding in her own.
Of course, this wouldn’t work if my husband disrespected me or used me without my consent, but he doesn’t. He’s a jerk only when he knows it’ll drive me crazy. I’m his queen on a pedestal, his golden goddess, the most important woman in the world, and discovering the depths of our sexuality is important. We want to go as deep as we can, uncovering all of the nooks and crannies of our bodies to see how far it take us.
So when he denied my orgasm a third time and instead injected me with a thick dose of his special intoxication sauce, I groaned loudly feeling the instant union with my ancient sisters. It’s the yummy pain of surrender like being shooed from the cookie jar because indulging too much will make you fat. Being thin, you know, will give you more long-term pleasure than any short-term sugar high ever could.
He rolled over to catch his breath, and I panted the same grabbing his hand and placing it on my pussy. Wet and aching, she welcomed him into her sloppy world of seduction. He played with my clit for just a moment then stopped.
“No more.” My husband slapped at my pussy like he was discipling his new little bitch dog who clearly lacked training. He pushed my legs close. “Good night, Stella. I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He cuddled next to me and fell deep asleep.
The desire swirled in me for hours last night. My vetoed orgasm mixed with the heat of his big approved one created the perfect storm of creativity and passion. Ideas sprang forth in me and answers to year-old prayers flooded my mind. I wish I’d been prepared with a notebook on my side. I was delirious with clarity, ripe with peace and feeling like the most perfect version of myself. Is this what sex should do to me?
That’s the girl who woke up this morning feeling needy yet pacified by my surrender. There was a spring in my step, a rose color in my cheeks, and an authenticity in my sassiness. I’ll cum when he lets me, but I don’t have to be happy with it.
He disrobed me and signaled for me to mount his hard dick.
“No.” I pouted trying to pull away.
“Yes,” he demanded opening his arms and taking me into his world. I melted once the head of his dick knocked on the door of my deepest divinity. I’m home again.
“Bet you wanna cum, my little whore, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whimpered feeling submissive.
“You need my cum. That’s what you need. That’s what you were made for, getting the cum out of my dick.”
His eyes shifted from my luscious breasts to my pussy lips riding tight on his dick as I squatted up and down bouncing with the rhythm of my primal job. I love him more than I ever thought possible.
He abruptly pulled my body down as his dick pulsed with force releasing my morning medicine. “Awh, that’s good,” he sighed reaching in for a quick kiss. “You’re a good girl.”
I blushed feeling that rush of drunk obedience.
“Now go on,” he said motioning for me to dismount his body. “I can’t play with you anymore. I have some money making to do.”
He left for work, and I left to go downtown for coffee, a brisk walk, chatting with friends, a laugh, a compliment, a song, a book, some flowers, a high of what life can be when I honor who I really am and not what I think I should be.
Cum dripped out of my pussy and into my panties reminding me of my real job, my passion, and my growing horniness. I can’t hide it, it’s all over my face. Men stared at me. Can they smell my surrender? Do they want to experience it for themselves? The world is mine.
I can’t wait to pleasure my man again and gobble up my sacred tonic, the elixir of my new life. Fuck the cookie, I like being thin and sexy and pleasure-in-the-flesh in every moment. I don’t want to touch my evil little clit again. She’s keeping me away from my truth. Orgasms from now on should come on their own when my king approves it. I can’t think of anything more delicious than this.