Tonight, continue your mouth awareness. Think about the foregone opportunity, the waste, the absolute injustice of your tongue, your lips, your cheeks being used for any purpose other than sucking me off. Ponder the insignificance of any words, sounds or exhalations emitted that are not cheerleading, or otherwise part of the task of eliciting my ejaculation. Feel me, taste me, hear the sounds of my pleasure. A smile? Meaningless unless it comes from your joy in having provided exactly, perfectly and only what I want. Tonight, let all other organs, sections, parts and systems of your body be jealous, for it is your mouth that is given the honor of actually receiving, touching, serving me.By this time, I was not much more than modeling clay in his hands. Warm, moist, modeling clay.
little moans...And then:
tiny sounds, wasted perhaps, but emitted unconsciously as i read your words, my Lord.
i've tried to come up with words to describe how i feel right now, my Lord, but the sensation is beyond pinning down into anything as definite as words. it is all sensation... a purity of sensation... all focused towards serving you as you demand and expect.
you are my Master.
you are my Universe.
everything else is peripheral.
my lips are parted, my mouth open, my tongue moving, licking, fondling the tip of your cock, which even in your absence is always in my mouth. my tongue is moving of its own volition, like a finger under the chin of a kitten, caressing the underside of your cock just below the tip.I don't usually dispense with capitalization like that. But when I'm feeling extremely submissive, it just happens. So I don't fight it. And the sadist accepts it for what it signifies.
i don't know why that's what my tongue is doing. it just is.
my mouth loves your cock. if it could, it would carve that into the trunk of a tree. but perhaps it doesn't have to. tongue, lips, teeth, cheeks, they all declare their love as they serve your pleasure.
and you hear it, my Lord.
you feel it.
i know you must.
their service may not be perfect, but it is i who should be punished for any lack of attention to details. not they. these dedicated body parts were created for nothing but this, and they rejoice in the service to which they were born.
This time, it signified that my brain was a bowl of mush.
And oh, that felt so very good!
Tomorrow, a new body part.