Previously: She watched him in the small screen on her phone, and drifted off into a soft haze, thinking about what she’d be doing with that mouth next.
She woke up from half sleep to the sensation of his tongue gently circling her ass. There was an appreciative murmur before she reluctantly raised her head and looked back at him. The words written on his stomach slipped in and out of view, and her eyes narrowed.
“All right, you can stop now.” He slid to his knees at the end of the bed, watching her as she rolled over onto her back, yawned and stretched, and sat up. She rolled off the bed and scratched the smooth skin under her breast, then frowned. “Ugh, I need a shower, and you need to keep working on your list. Take the sticks off your face.”
He slid the rubbed bands off the ends of the wooden rods keeping his tongue out of his mouth, and pulled his tongue back into his mouth, breathing hard and enjoying the sudden freedom. He was working his jaw and running his tongue along the roof of his mouth when she clamped one hand on his jaw, pried it open, and slipped the o-ring gag behind his teeth.
He exhaled as she buckled the strap behind his head, his jaw forced into another unnatural shape. She walked out of the room and came back with the small mirror that hung in the hallway. It went on the desk while got the marker out of the desk drawer, and started to write.
“Turn around, I need to see what you’ll be for the foreseeable future.” He rotated around his knees until he was facing her, and she nodded in approval and went back to making big, block letters on the mirrors surface. “Boot-licker. Cunt-licker. Piss slut. Hole. Slave. Cum dumpster.” She sang the words in a high voice, then sighed happily and went over each letter again, darkening it.
She put the mirror on the floor in front of him. “Hands and knees, please.” He leaned forward, and drool slid out of his mouth onto the mirror, coating his reflection in spit.
“Clean the mirror, and think about what each word means.” She frowned, and then pursed her lips. “Hm.” She reached over into the drawer and found a plastic drop cloth, which landed by him with a thud. “Put this down, I don’t want you getting ink on the carpet.” She stood up. “Meanwhile, I’m going to take a shower. Be finished before I am.”
He tore open the plastic packaging and worked the drop cloth under the mirror, making sure he had plenty of room to rest his hands. She walked into the bathroom and he heard water starting to run. His reflection stared back at him, “piss-slut” written over his eyes. Drool poured out of his mouth, and he moved his head back and forth across the mirror. He balanced on one hand while he used the other to smear the spit around, getting it on all the letters, letting them soak up the moisture while he started working on the first letter of the first word.
Boot-licker. His reflection stared back at him as he worked his finger along the first letter, scrubbing it away. Of being down on his knees, working his tongue along the leather. The slightly acrid smell, the taste, the deep blackness shining back at him. The warm, soft feeling of having a task to complete that he enjoyed. His tongue slipping into his mouth just long enough to kiss the toe of each boot before he moved to the other. Of her, being there, taking in and accepting his act of obeisance, of loving him and creating a place where he could do this and feel safe.
Cunt-licker. Tasting her. Pleasing her. Working his tongue against her body until she lost control and came with thunderous jerks and starts. Breathing through his nose, focusing on her pleasure until she came, working his tongue against her, the feeling of he legs wrapping around his head and jerking him closer.
Piss slut. Being on his knees with his head tilted back, waiting for her. Her grinning face above him, teasing him, pulling her labia apart and positioning her hips perfectly. Letting her piss spray across his face until it found his mouth, saturating his taste buds. The sensation of consuming her, of swallowing her piss, of feeling it slide down his throat until there was a horrible warmth in his stomach. The knowledge that some part of her was seeping into his cells as the piss flowed through his body.
Hole. Violation. Things entering his body. His mouth and ass stretching, his throat convulsing. She loved his triggering his gag reflex, the wet choking sounds that came from him as she worked a dildo further into his mouth, pushing it as slowly as she could and trying to pinpoint the exact moment his muscles would convulse and retching sounds would pour out of him. The intimacy of changing his body and invading it, of penetrating him, of testing his mental strength as his internal organs were pushed and rearranged.
Slave. The warmth of trust from letting control go. Not worrying, not knowing, obeying and being rewarded. The joy she radiated when he loved her enough to let her make decisions for him, knowing she wouldn’t hurt him. Permanently, anyway.
Cum dumpster. The disgusting sensation of his semen sliding down his tongue, working its way into his throat until he grimaced and swallowed. Knowing she would love him after even the most degrading acts. Doing those things for her, the little murmur of appreciation, the way her fingers twitched a little when she was excited, urging him to clean his mess up off the floor or lick it out of a dog bowl. Of her forcing him just a little further than he would go himself, of taking him to a part and chaining him to the glory hole, inviting the guests to spray hot, sticky semen in his mouth. Of her helping him put himself back together when he was done.
The words were gone from the mirror, and his reflection stared back at him. It was slightly distorted, the mirror still wet, traces of magic marker still on its surface. Drool continued to seep from his mouth, and he shifted his hips to catch it in his hand.
He jumped as he noticed her feet, then leaned back and looked up. She was wrapped tightly in her robe, hair still wet, and looking down at him. “It’ll do, until I get you some glass cleaner. But it wasn’t done before I got back, so I’m afraid you’re going to have to suffer. Just remember who wrote ears are for hearing orders on their list during this next part.”
Preview: Ears are for hearing orders. And making ear wax.
Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.