6 comments/ 22221 views/ 3 favorites Making Jam By: hoo_hoo_boo The day was far too hot to be making jam. She perspired, and I sweated, as the hot jam bubbled. It's a time consuming business; picking the apricots through to putting it in jars and sticking on the labels. After the apricots, we hesitated, and wondered whether we'd start the figs; or go to the city to count in the New Year with the crowd. Conscience got the better of us, we thought about the trading table and the cause. We chose to do the figs. We picked them, cut the ends off, cut them up; and hurried, so that perhaps we could do both. The heat continued into the evening; a forty five degree day into a thirty nine degree night. It was prudent to wear long sleeves, the hot jam bubbled and spat while we stirred. When it was my turn not to stir I opened my shirt to allow some air flow. Cheryl looked at me a moment in a coy kind of way, not meeting my eyes with hers, but with a lingering look she gazed at my chest before she busied herself with the stirring. When it was my turn to stir, she left for a moment, to return without her bra and all but the one most strategic button on her shirt undone. We'd met only two nights before at a quiz night sponsored by an environmental group and during a break we started to talk. I guess I had been attracted by her vivacity when she answered questions. There was no doubt about her being a woman. As we talked it was difficult to avoid being lost in her cleavage. She told me she was the president of an organization devoted to planting native trees in her district. We talked of global warming and of how our grandparents led lives that we should emulate; they kept things that we now throw away, like balls of string, and the pencils they used to the very last piece of lead. We also talked of making our own preserves rather than waste the world's resources transporting things unnecessarily around the globe. I told her of my apricot and fig trees, both full of fruit, but not enough jars and no recipe. It seemed that everything I needed she had, and we were both enthusiastic about helping the earth, along with ourselves, particularly as the trees were organically grown. She thought that selling jam would help her tree planting club. We swapped addresses and phone numbers and set the date for two days time, New Year's Eve. Perhaps we could join the revelers in the city to see in the New Year after the jam was made. She would bring a change of clothes. Jam making is always unexpectedly slow. At first the bubbling brew is interesting but the luster soon wears off as the boiling jam spits up on to one's hands and arms. Sweat was a problem as it gathered to drip off my nose and chin. While I stirred, Cheryl mopped my face with a damp flannel and the relief was wonderful. When she took her turn at stirring I did the same for her, the sensuousness of both giving and receiving was beautiful. The boundaries of my face seemed to extend with tender understandings after I took my shirt off. The flannel found its way around my neck and later included my chest and back until my whole upper torso was mopped. She kept her shirt on and I wasn't nearly as adventurous. I extended to mop her neck and gave an adventurous, quick stroke down her cleavage. We drank lots of fruit juice and water. Later, shyly, she raised her shirt so her back and belly could be mopped. Cheryl was surprised by my neighborhood of tall trees with lots of bird life and she loved the parrots and corellas she'd seen as she drove her little car up my drive. She was also surprised by the rain water tanks I had in my front and back yards, they were my effort to combat the prevailing drought, cope with a bush fire and keep my trees alive. Through the window, as we tended the jam, I showed her the trees I'd planted with a view to harvesting them for firewood. She asked if they were manna gums as I'd told her of the koalas in the area. We'd both seen the pictures of desperate koalas accepting drinks from people in the recent heat wave. So many concerns, with the economy crashing around us and the River Murray becoming a salt water trickle, we both thought that soon self sufficiency would be necessary. Happily, we were making a start. Best of all was that the recipe she brought had all natural ingredients with no cane sugar! I had to promise not to give the recipe to anyone. As we talked Cheryl became more confident. She talked with more animation and her hands were very expressive as they added to the meaning of what she was saying. She touched me, small touches to my shoulders and to my arms as she talked. Her tone changed too, becoming softer and she looked more into my eyes as she spoke. Cheryl wanted to know whether I had a spade. She asked whether I had experience in growing native trees from seed, and whether I'd be interested in joining her organization, it was free to join. In three years they had planted twelve thousand trees and next year they were hoping to more than double it. I've never talked to anyone like Cheryl, she was delightful and had a captivating giggle as she explained her organization's mission. There was more, I was sure, as she hinted at some things and left others unsaid. I wasn't sure what it was but I was interested. As the organization only had ten members she thought they'd done extremely well. They planted trees on farms and because it was a free service the farmers often provided food and weekend accommodation. Sometimes it was very rudimentary because they planted along fence lines that took them well away from the farm house; but it was ok because they had portable showers and slept in a big tent. There was no privacy but it was a lot of fun and the work wasn't forgotten. She said that they really needed more male members. Underneath the conversation was a comfortable tension of double entendre. There was also an unspoken understanding that we would deal with the jam first and wait to see what happened second. While I stirred the jam I watched as she moved around the kitchen; she tidied, prepared the jars and did other things. Her breasts moved under her shirt, they swung as she stooped and turned; it was hypnotic. That single button stayed closed and I wondered how it could, especially when she bent over and her breasts hung to stretch her shirt, strain that button and show her very deep cleavage. She didn't seem to mind me looking, it was impossible for me to avoid. At times I wondered whether I was being encouraged to look. Her nipples pressed their forms into her shirt and as they moved with her breasts, they left a trail of stretched fabric in their wake. I could see the shapes of the little bumps on her areolas too. Frequently she leaned over me to catch a little jam to test for set, with her hand gently on my shoulder and her soft breast pressed in to my back. It was tantalizing when she reached up to open cupboard doors; her shirt rode up and the sides of her breasts were exposed. I waited to see her nipples flash before me, but they didn't. At every opportunity we touched; it was beautiful communication as we touched for emphasis, for understanding, for a feeling that had developed between us. It was a feeling we both knew we shared and didn't want to damage through anything poorly considered. When we changed roles we rubbed up against each other and my cock sank into the soft flesh of her bum as she backed into me. Sometimes I was in front of her and felt the softness of her breasts on my back as we exchanged places. Neither of us moved the chair that took so much space and made it necessary for our passages to be so close. At half past ten we become concerned about whether we had enough time to go to the city. As we filled the jars with jam, I offered to finish while Cheryl went to shower. She went out to her car and returned with a change of clothes. It wasn't long and I heard the shower start. I hurried to fill the jars. A moment later she called for a towel. I took a towel and called to her as I held it out. The door opened a little and I put the towel in her hand. As she took it a breast came into view, her nipple large on a big areola. I resisted the temptation to take hold of her breast before it swung out of view again and she moved away. She didn't close the door and I wondered hopefully whether it was an invitation. I left to finish the jam. My cock stretched my pants in hopeful anticipation. All the jam was in jars when she returned to the kitchen with tousled, damp hair. She looked beautiful and refreshed. She told me to go for my shower while she finished the jam. I was quick, as I thought; half an hour to get there, half an hour to park and walk, it would be a challenge. After the sweat and stickiness of jam making it felt delightful to be clean, the clothes with their soft, washed texture felt luxurious against my skin. I went out to the kitchen and watched Cheryl put on the rubber bands, a difficult job because the jars were so hot. Carefully she held the jar with a towel, so she wouldn't get burnt, then with one hand she stretched the rubber band, caught it on the lip and pulled it over to seal the cellophane. For some reason, there was a quick, scraping noise as the last jar slipped from her grasp and boiling hot jam flew from it to land on her shirt. Very quickly Cheryl tore her shirt off, the jam had gone through it and as she moved to the sink she ripped off her bra. She leaned over the sink, as she ran cold water over her breast. I was horrified and for a moment stood, amazed that she should be so quick to start treatment. I eventually recovered my senses, found some ice cubes and wrapped them in flannels for her. She put them over her breast. "Stupid thing to do," she said. Her face was flushed as she looked at me. :Don't worry, these things happen," I said, "we don't have to go into town, we'll welcome the New Year here." "Still stupid!" She looked at me and I felt so inadequate, I tried to find something to say that would help. " As long as you're ok." She looked so vulnerable. I knew she wanted more than words. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Nothing needed to be spoken, words were meaningless. She looked up at me and I kissed her lips. Then we looked at each other; it was difficult not to look at her. I wanted to hug her tight and kiss her, but it was impossible while she was occupied and we both giggled with the understanding. She continued to clutch the ice to her breast and ran cold water over it at the same time. I found a towel, and a tee shirt that she could wear. I wondered if jam making for the trading table was worthwhile, surely it would be easier and possibly cheaper to simply donate the money. She held her breast up and looked for signs of a burn. It looked cold to me. "You think it's burnt?" she asked and I came closer for a better look. I could see her nipple, large and turgid, it stood up from the centre of her large, brown areola. I looked at the skin around the areola; milky, white with large blue veins that had seen little sun, inside a pale triangle surrounded by tanned brown skin. She held her breast up so I could have a better look. I asked if she could feel anything because I couldn't see anything. She held her other breast up for me and after careful comparison I said they looked the same, having discounted the effects of the ice cube treatment. I quickly kissed her lips. "I can't feel anything," she said. My hand shook as I ran a finger over her breast and felt for a raised edge; then more than one finger, the tips gliding over the soft skin, avoiding her nipple and its areola. "I can't feel anything either," I told her, my mouth was so dry I was barely able to speak. "Well, not a burn I mean," and she laughed. "I think it will be ok. Lucky I was quick!" She pressed her breasts together and her nipples and areolas swelled, then she grinned as she dropped them. I watched as they bounced to their natural positions. She indicated that I should dry her and slowly I patted the skin with the towel in my hands as I moved her breast to gain access. It felt strange as I dried her breast, I didn't think it would be so heavy and its almost fluid nature made it difficult to hold. When finished I quickly kissed the rise of her breast, held out the tee shirt, and her breasts rose as she raised her arms to put it on. Cheryl looked down at the tee shirt. It stretched to accommodate her breasts, her nipples clearly protruded and it being a white tee shirt we could see them and the areolas through the fabric. She raised a finger to the breast that had been at risk and touched it, then traced her fingers around, pinched both nipples and grinned at me. We both looked up at the clock. Three minutes to midnight! "Come!" I said and took her hand; we were going in different directions for a moment, but I led her outside and we stood away from the house. We stopped and listened. In the distance we could hear someone counting down. "Twenty three, twenty two, ......" I reached for her hand. She passed my hand to her other hand and stood in front of me. "Fifteen, fourteen, ........" She leaned against me and I reached forward to link my arms around her. The smell of fresh shampoo was beautiful and I inhaled deeply as I caught the scent and my nose tickled with the errant wisps of her hair. I kissed the back of her head and then the back of her neck. "Eight, seven, ........" She looked back at me; her face beamed. Her body was stooped a little and I felt the bottoms of her breasts, as they molded around my arms which were linked around her. "Three, two, one! Blast off! Have a Happy New Year everyone!!!!!!" We heard the shouts of Happy New Year, the whoohoos and merriment. I leaned forward as she leaned back and we kissed. She turned and our open mouths meshed together as our tongues explored. Her hands were on my chest while I caressed her breasts and felt her nipples. There was another noise in the distance and we both looked, she turned away and I held her breasts as she pushed back into me, my cock hard and erect, nicely nestled in the crack of her bum. I put my hands up under her tee shirt and fondled her breasts, felt her nipples, traced around the areolas, touched, kneaded and teased. With one hand I circled her belly and with each circle my hand descended further. I stopped a moment to slowly undo her belt, and reassured, when she didn't stop me, I continued with the feather touches which extended under her jeans into her pubic hair and further down until I felt her slit. I stopped, kissed the nape of her neck, and undid the button and zip on her jeans. She pushed her jeans and panties down out of the way and with high steps trod her way out of them. We walked to the brick edging that lined the garden, she stood on it and spread her legs. With her elevated on the bricks I had a lot more access. It felt so good, her soft lips separated and wrapped around my finger as it moved down the smooth centre of her sex. Cheryl was breathing quickly. She tried to reach behind to access me but after some fumbling she stopped and wriggled back to trap my cock in the crack of her bum. I found the nub of her clit and with one finger explored that, while my other finger continued to explore her soft folds. As I pushed her hood away and touched her clit she trembled. I caressed it separately and as I continued to stroke she began to breathe deeply, quickly, and her knees buckled. She started to moan; with both hands she covered mine and kept them in place. I kissed and sucked her shoulder. Her hips thrust forward, her knees bent further and I had more access to her wet, swollen sex. My fingers quickened their rhythm and extended their soft touch to tease, caress and explore her. Suddenly, from a few doors down the street, a sky rocket whispered its way up into the sky. She screamed. The sky rocket exploded. From nearby trees corellas were startled. She tensed and started to shake. The corellas screeched their protest. The sky rocket explosion arced out in a circle above us. The corellas, with a cacophony of noise took to the sky. Her whole body clenched and she shook with so much force I held her to stop her falling. The red orb of stars from the sky rocket grew larger and then began to dissipate. Thousands of corellas wheeled above us, their white feathers stark against the black sky and they screeched and flapped as they circled above us. Cheryl gasped for air and her hands held mine still as her body shuddered, her head was supported on my chest and as it lolled her hair, in its disarray, tickled my face. There was another whispered whoosh as a sky rocket raced into the sky to burst among the birds and then another, the two, one bursting over the other, were blue and yellow. The colors shone from the corellas with a green iridescence that was brilliant. I held her as the tremors diminished and her breathing returned to normal, as more sky rockets exploded to release their stars. I caressed her breasts again, kissed her neck and rolled her nipples between my fingers. Cheryl watched the sky in wonder as she recovered. Sky rockets raced into the air from many houses, into the swirl of the sky. "Talk about starting the New Year with a bang!" she said after a time and laughed. She turned, reached up and held my face to kiss me, she sucked my lips and her tongue parted them to sweep around inside my mouth. "Mmmmm," she said, "Beautiful man!" She let go of my face and withdrew from our kiss to stoop. I watched her pull at my belt, then the button and zip on my jeans and quickly they slumped to my knees. The explosions of color above us, mixed with the smell of cordite and the wheeling cockatoos, continued. With her foot she pushed my pants all the way down and as I stepped out of them her hands found my cock. On her knees she took my cock in her mouth and sucked as I watched; the colors of the sky rockets reflected in her hair and as she moved the colors moved around her curls. Then she stood and pushed me up on to the same brick edging she had been on and from behind she started to stroke. My cock was so hard it throbbed. The corellas continued to screech as they swooped and soared in chaotic patterns. Sky rockets shot into the sky to burst with a bang, their colors spread in circles of glittering stars, against the black sky and clouds of swirling grey smoke. The birds scattered again and wheeled, raucous with their protest while their white feathers reflected the colors of the fireworks. I turned my head to kiss Cheryl, she was watching too, and our lips lingered. "Cum for me," she whispered and changed hands to speed up her strokes and add more pressure to her velvet grip. My cock felt beautiful as she rifled the skin up and down the hard shaft with an insistent rhythm. I felt her kiss my shoulder and with her free hand she reached around to pinch one of my nipples. It felt delicious, my other nipple was pinched and I could feel her breasts bobble against my back as they moved with the rhythm of her strokes. She stopped a moment and I knew she was stripping off her tee shirt. I took mine off too. It felt primal, and so good to join the corellas with our nakedness, and our unspoken message of empathy for them. Crushed against me she started to pump again. I could feel her breasts and nipples dance on my back as she slicked the skin of my cock up and down and massaged my balls. Both of her hands were busy with their rhythms and quickly the pressure built. We could hear voices, people at the parties nearby who began to disperse, a car door banged as they started to leave. A couple on the footpath walked past, hand in hand, and between the explosions of the fireworks and the screeching of corellas we heard the young man ask if she'd sleep with him tonight. It added to our excitement that they would have seen us in the light of the fireworks if they had looked. Cheryl continued to pump me, as we waited and hoped to hear the young woman's reply. Making Jam We watched as she stopped and pulled him in behind the olive tree that was a feature of my front yard, not far from us. Hidden from the view of the street they were perfectly displayed for us; and if they had looked, we were for them. She reached up to kiss him, drew him to her and their arms went around each other, their kiss slow and deep. His hands reached up under her shirt, he fumbled with her bra and they moved apart as he sought her breasts. Her bra cups were pulled away as she unzipped him and pulled his cock out. She knelt before him. My hips thrust forward and silently I started to come, thick ropes jetted out, they glowed red with the reflected fireworks, and splashed the return of my fertility to the soil. Cheryl continued to stroke, more semen glowed blue in the light of a different sky rocket as it arced in the air and fell to the ground. We could see the young woman's head bob up and down as the arcs of my semen grew smaller. Soon Cheryl withdrew her hands and I turned to watch as she licked some of my semen off her hand. She grinned as she tasted it and then thrust her hand to my mouth for me to taste too. After I licked some from her hand she began to quietly rub the rest over her breasts as we watched. The young woman continued to suck and his hands held her head. Soon we saw his hips bend and we heard him stutter, she started to swallow and then coughed. Her hands went to his cock to continue the harvest, we saw a jet fly from him to hit her face and with her coughing controlled she went back to suck as his semen pulsed from him. We watched as she put a hand inside his pants, pulled his balls out and fondled them, as though trying to squeeze out the last drops. When the flow of his semen ended she wiped her lips and face with the back of her hand. She kissed his cock and held it in her hand as she stood in front of him. They kissed, as his hands pulled her shirt up to bare her breasts, he stooped to kiss and suck her nipples. His hand went down and lifted her skirt. We caught a brief glimpse of her panties. He slid his hand between her legs as she moved to give him better access. We could see her panties being pulled down her thighs and a flash of her hairless pussy. With one hand she helped him as she kept her grip on his cock with the other. She watched as he muzzled her and then she scanned around to look and listen carefully. I could feel her eyes search and suddenly they stopped. I felt Cheryl freeze, as I froze; but we'd been caught like naughty children. I hoped that she would see that we were both naked and somehow deserved forgiveness; but we watched as she pushed him away and pulled down her shirt. We heard her urgent whisper, "Come on!" Her panties were around her ankles, she stepped out of them and started to walk, almost run while he followed, confused and disappointed, saying, "What?" Both of his hands were busy as, hunched over and trying to run, he tucked himself away. Quickly they were gone and we reached for each other. Cheryl locked her arms around me as I cupped her face in my hands and we kissed. It was quiet, the corellas had gone and the air was acrid with the smell of fireworks. Puffs of grey smoke left by the sky rocket explosions hung in the still, warm air. The display had come to an end. "I want what she had!" Cheryl said with a giggle. "I want what he wanted" I said and we both laughed. "Let's go to bed! You don't have to ask me!" Hand in hand we went inside, past our jam factory to the bedroom. As we passed the toilet Cheryl said, "Wait for me," and she left the door open as she sat and peed. "It was good watching, wasn't it?" she asked, as the torrent slowed to a dribble and stopped. She wiped herself and we changed places. Cheryl watched as I peed. For me, watching each other gave a sense of wholeness; difficult to explain, but good. It was a first for me. In the bedroom, after having washed, we felt comfortable and ready to further our exploration. We lay on top of the quilt with our arms and legs spread in open invitation to each other. For a while we looked into each other's eyes as we enjoyed each other's company; before we kissed, long and deep, and I started to caress her with butterfly kisses, slowly, all over her delicious body. .............................. .................. Note: The corella is a large white cockatoo native to Australia. The koala is a marsupial, native to Australia which eats the leaves of some eucalypt trees, most notably the manna gum. River Murray- Australia's largest river. Making Joan Beg The first night I met Joan, she was at a party with her husband. Before long she was flirting with me, and soon after we were in a bathroom stall. I roughly pushed her to her knees on the sticky floor. Joan is a pretty woman, slender and smooth, sandy red hair that hung down to her shoulders. I held that hair tightly as I fucked her red-painted lips for the first time. Just as I started to cum, I pulled out and spattered her face. “I was going to cum in your mouth, but I thought you’d look better at the party like this,” I told her as I zipped up, washed my hands, and walked out. I assumed she’d be pissed. Most women would be. But she found me soon after. And within two months, she was broken in and well trained, my personal pet fucktoy. This one is for Little Joan>> It’s a quiet evening at home. Just you and me. I’m wearing khaki shorts and a white undershirt, like usual. And are nude, save the paint on your nails, also like usual. I like to keep you naked, exposed to me at all times. At this point, you know that your body is mine. Your pleasure comes from me and only me, and whether or not I give it is at my whim. You do your best to try and keep me happy. But I can be cruel. Your specialty is begging. Pleading. Supplicating yourself. We have worked with this, as you have a special deep-seeded desire to beg. And I, as it turns out, have a passion for making you beg. I am laying on the couch, you are sitting on my lower back, rubbing my shoulders and neck. I had been reading for a while, but was growing tired of it. “Off,” I say sternly, and rolled over. You try to get up off me in time, but I don’t give you very much time, and you fall against the back of the couch. I pull my legs from under you and push you back, so you‘re on your back. I slowly crawl up until I am over you, on top of you, pinning you down and looking you in the eyes. “I…” you start to say, but I hush you my pressing my lips against yours. I slide off your chest, so you can breathe a little easier. “Wrists,” I murmur, and you cross your wrists and hold them over your head. My hands are big, my fingers long, and I easily grasp both your wrists in one hand, and hold you steady. With my other hand I trace your jawline, then grab your chin and pull your mouth open. I kiss you deeply, exploring every spot in your mouth with my forceful tongue. I let my hand drift down from your chin to your left breast. I squeeze it, then twist the nipple between my thumb and forefinger. You make noises deep in your throat, unable to talk because of our lingering kiss. I love your moans. I devour them. I pay attention to your other pretty tit, flicking it a few times, smacking it until you squirm and I have to pull on your wrists to keep you still. I grab your thigh and jerk it open, then slide two fingers up your dripping wet cunt. You writhe beneath me, unable to move or speak. I know the inside of your pussy better than you do, at this point. My fingertips press against your g-spot, work it gently, but firmly. Your hips start to buck. I pull my mouth away, and you let a long, whimpering groan. I pull my hand away, and then jam three fingers inside you. I fuck you hard in-and-out like this for a few moments, holding your wrists tight. You look up at me, face flushed and hot, eyes full of devotion. I yank my hand out of your pussy. You let out a low, disappointed grumble. I smack your thigh. “On your knees, cocksucker,” I said softly. I make you struggle to get your hands free. You crawl over me and get down on your knees in front of the couch. You put your hands behind your back, tilt your head back, and open your mouth. And you wait in that position. I make you sit there for a little while. I look at you. I flick your tits. You keep your trained cocksucker position perfectly. Unzipping my fly, I pull my half-hard cock out of my shorts. This is the first time you’ve seen me naked today. You look at it hungrily, and open your mouth a little wider. I hold my fat cock by the base and start rubbing it around your lips. Your tongue flickers out to taste. I slap your cheek with my cock, smack your nose and make you whimper. I laugh and rest my cockhead on your chin. “You want it?” “Yes, sir. Please. Let me show you.” You extend your tongue and lower your head. Just as your mouth is kissing the head of my cock, the phone rings. I push you back and take the call. "Sit still, slut," I tell you. You sit and wait for me as I’m talking. Absently I grab your hair and rub my cock over your face. You stick your tongue out and lick, so I push you away again. I talk to my friend on the phone, catching up on current events, as you sit and wait. I haven’t spoken to him in months and we end up chatting for a while. You sit quietly, watching me, hands behind your back. You are waiting for some attention. I ignore you. I see you blush with embarrassment as you hear me tell him about some of our exploits together. I tell him about the first time I fucked your sweet, tight little ass. I tell him how your cried when you begged to lick my cock clean afterward. He laughed, stunned. I tell him the next time he is in town he should come by for dinner – and that my little Joan would serve us dinner in the nude, and perhaps perform for our entertainment. He thought I was joking – but you, you knew I wasn’t. Finally I’m off the phone. I see you are still in your cocksucking position. ”You want this cock, bitch?" I ask. You nod, staring at it hungrily. "You want me to fuck you?" You nod again. You are drooling. "If you suck it good enough, maybe I’ll fuck you." You try to take it into your mouth. I put my bare foot on your chest and push you back. "Not yet. I don’t think you want it yet... now beg for my cock, whore. Beg me..." You land kind of hard and sprawl out on the floor. It’s almost comical, and it makes me smile. I generously give you time to compose yourself and get properly repositioned. Your hair hangs down across your flushed face. You’re breathing hard now, almost panting like an excited puppy. Pushing it back, you lay down prone on the floor. You guess correctly this time – but I don’t praise you for that. It’s expected. I am pleased once again to see you lying flat on your belly, with your face on the floor just next to my feet. I don’t have to tell you, because you know how to beg properly. You know your place. Your ass is trembling. I reach down and give it a sharp smack, and watch it shake. You yelp a little. I like the way that sounds, so I smack it again. “I’m not punishing you,” I explain calmly. “I just want to spank your ass.” “I’m yours, sir.” I smack you again. “I know that, my pretty little whore. I wasn’t asking your permission.” “I’m sorry,” you say meekly. “Show me how sorry you are, little Joan.” I give you a little encouragement by slipping one foot under your face and letting you lick it. You didn’t waste time confirming your position here – at my feet, where you belong, and so very happy to be there. Then you start to sob very quietly, I could tell you are fighting back tears, even though you know I like to see you cry sometimes. Your tears are mine. "Sir, please forgive your little slut; I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to offer you because you already own me. ALL of me. You can do whatever you want with me, as you wish, and I know that." You stop to let out a sob and take a deep breath. All the time you’re talking, you’re rubbing my foot with your hands. Your tears roll across my skin, and yours. I’ve never been quite sure whether or not you have a foot fetish, or if you just know that being at my feet is showing your proper respect. But then again, I’ve never bothered to ask. One night you spent hours rubbing and sucking my feet as I watched a movie. I never spoke to you, never encouraged you, and would sometimes squeeze your bare nipple between my toes until you yelped. You don’t try to look at my face (you know better when you’re begging). Instead, all your attention is on that foot. Which it should be. How sweet. "But as your personal fuck-toy and whore, and I’m begging you to please let me taste your cock, and suck you until you’re tired of me. If you don’t want to fuck me like you said you might, I will still be the luckiest whore ever. I’m your property, and I know I don’t deserve it. I’m not worthy to even taste a little of your cum. Whatever you want to shove in my mouth -- your cock, balls, perenium, or even your ass, anything. But I’m begging you. PLEASE." With that, you lovingly kiss the bottom of my foot, (I saw your face and could tell you were holding in a big sob, but the tears were still flowing) You put your face back down on the floor and wait. “Anything?” You nod slightly. “Anything, sir.” I spit saliva on the floor. “Lick it up.” Whimpering, humiliated, you respond instantly, and lick it up quickly. I grab a handful of your hair and pull you up to your knees. You are still trying to find your balance as I fill your mouth with my cock. I pull your head forward until you gag and drool. I fuck your face for a while. Your lips are glossy red, dripping wet-glazed, and pulled thin and tight around my girth. Your cheeks puff in and out as I ride you. I pull my cock away from you, and nudge your head down. “Your deep throating still needs improvement, little one. Let’s see how you do on my balls.” Within seconds my testicles are glistening. Your tongue laps feverishly at my flesh; you are hungry for my flesh, thirsty for my seed. I can smell your cunt oozing from the floor, even as your eyes are still wet. You take each of my balls in your mouth in turn, sucking nuzzling gently and rolling them over your silky tongue. “That’s a little better,” I tell you. I stroke your hair. “Look at me, little slave girl.” We look each other in the eye. I pull my shirt over my head and throw it across the room. I take off my belt and slide out of my shorts, tossing them aside. You will pick them up, fold them, and put them away later. I will keep the belt, in case I want to hear you whimper again. I lay back on the couch, still watching your pretty, hungry face. I lean far back, and spread my legs. I hold one end of the belt in each hand, and loop it across the back of your head to pull you forward. You attentively, eagerly, start to lick my perenium. You are quite skilled at this, and it seems to be one of your favorite things. You are loving and tender, and you know to slobber a lot. That I am holding your head there seems to excite you ever more. “Better still,” I praise you, and jerk the belt hard to pull you in even tighter. You start to lick down until your tongue is buried in me. You slurp and drool as you rim my ass. I can see how flushed your face is, how low you feel you have your face buried in my ass. But you’ve never been more excited. You are serving me with such fervor, losing yourself in the moment. My cock is pulsing, the veins throbbing, the head turning purple as I watch you work. I let go of the belt, but you do not move your head, you keep using your magic mouth like a depraved whore. I lower my legs, grab your hair, and pull your face up to my cock. I do not need to tell you what to do, and you take my cock as deeply as you can into your tiny little mouth. Your lips are stretched to capacity – my cock is even harder and thicker than usual, and its more than you can handle. But you use your tongue, licking up and down the side, fluttering the tip over my cockhead with butterfly touches. I let you work your magic, watching the ecstasy on your face as you have let yourself go completely to your whorish inner urges. When I am close, I grab your hair and plunge my girth into your throat, then pull out and hold it steady. “Open wide,” I tell you. Your mouth is a hungry, moaning hole, your lips quivering, your tongue extended. I blast my orgasm across your face. The second spurt is thicker, and I drip it across your tongue before jerking my tool slowly and milking the rest of my load into your mouth. As you swallow it with a kitten’s purr, I clean myself off by rubbing my dick in your hair. I get up and walk to the doorway. You look up at me, still panting. “Come on. Let’s go to bed,” I say. You start to get up. “No, little cumslut.” You get back down and crawl behind me. I let you go in front of me, so I can watch your ass sway. So fucking sexy. Your cunt is so wet it has oozed back into your ass. Everything is glistening wet and inviting. I reach down and slide my hand across your pussy. “I’ve never seen you so wet, Joan. You must be so horny.” You nod, but don’t respond. I kick your ass playfully, lightly, and you continue on into the bedroom. You jump up on the bed, remaining on all fours, and look over your shoulder at me expectantly. I smack your ass, and push you over before rolling into bed with you. I set the alarm, turn off the light, and get under the sheet. “Come on. It’s late. I’m tired. We’re going to sleep.” I hold the sheet up so you can crawl under with me. You lay on your side, your head on my chest, one leg draped over mine. Your pussy is dripping against my leg. “You pleased me tonight, little one,” I say through a yawn. I kiss the top of your head. You are so wound up you are trembling. “Maybe tomorrow if you’re good I’ll fuck you. Good night.” I close my eyes. I can hear you crying softly to yourself. You feel so used, just a slut for me to play with. But your pussy stays wet, and your hands never leave the warmth of my skin. You have your greatest release in servitude.