Click here to start with Part 1
Previously: She shrugged. “I just wanted to see you sweat, and it worked fine for me. Go dump this in the toilet, and meet me in the bedroom. I think I have a use for your tongue.”
He frowned and trudged to the bathroom, holding the red cup of cooling piss in front of him. He swished the contents a little, trying to figure out if it was his or not. He poured the noxious yellow liquid down the toilet, rinsed the cup in the sink, and tossed it in the trash.
He turned and caught his reflection in the mirror. The words written on his stomach in big block letters stared back at him. Boot-licker. Cunt-licker. Piss slut. Hole. Slave. Cum dumpster. All words he had asked to have written on his body, all things he had begged her to turn him into. He exhaled and caught a whiff of his own breath, making a sour face at the acid smell of urine. “May I please rinse my mouth out, ma’am?” He shouted the question across the house, and awkwardly swallowed.
Her nose crinkled as she tried not to imagine the smell. “Ugh, god yes, please do.”
He used his hands to scoop water into his mouth, swished it around, then spit it out. He tried it again, then finished with mouthwash and walked back to the bedroom. He stood in front of her, and she raised an eyebrow. “Knees.”
He dropped to his knees, looking up at her. She was still naked except for the socks and boots she had pulled on earlier, and his eyes wandered from her cunt up to her tits to her face. She let the eyebrow drop, and nodded. “Tongue out.”
He stuck his tongue out, and she grabbed it with one hand, pulling on it until it was out as far as possible. She used her other hand to put bamboo skewers on the top and bottom of his tongue, against his mouth. She stuck her own tongue out and waggled it at him, then laughed. “Its tongue doesn’t belong in its mouth, now does it?”
“Nuh if dozent ma’uhm.” He mumbled the words, too many consonants and not enough vowels rolling off his trapped tongue.
“No it doesn’t ma’am.” She sang the words back to him, pronouncing them carefully and clearly. “Because its tongue doesn’t belong in its mouth, its for licking boots, cunt, and ass.” She paused for a second, enjoying the sight of him on his knees, his tongue stretched out just for her, the bruises and lacerations on his legs, the words written on his stomach. “Well, get started.”
Drool ran out of his mouth as he scooted back and leaned down to run his tongue across her boots. The wet skin crawled across the black leather slowly, starting at the tip until it reached the laces. He switched from foot to foot, more drool falling out of the corners or his mouth, squeezing down further on his knees to push his tongue harder against her boots.
She took a step back, then another, making him chase her around the room, crawling on his hands and knees with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. After a few steps she let him catch her, take a few desperate licks, then stepped away again. She moved faster, and he crawled faster, keeping his head down, trying to reach her boots as quickly as possible.
She stepped away and spread her legs, making him shuffle from boot to boot. “Is your tongue getting dry?” His answer was an unintelligible growl, a tangled mess of consonants and grunts, which she took to be more or less an affirmative. “Head up, look at me.”
He gave her boot one last lick and pushed himself up so he was on kneeling, looking up at her. She grabbed his chin with one hand, and leaned over. Carefully, she spit on his tongue, letting the saliva drop from her mouth onto the protruding flesh. With one finger she worked the puddle of spit in a circle, rubbing it down the length of his tongue from the tip to where the chopsticks sank into the muscle and forced it to remain out of his mouth.
He dropped back down to his hands and knees and started running his tongue over her boots again. Working along the sides, chasing her around the room like an animal, smashing the side of his face against the carpet to reach the soles when she rocked back on her heel and raised the toe.
She let him lick her boots until she could see the tension slump from his shoulders, until there was no hesitation between her moving and his following. Until they were connected, until they felt like one person moving, reacting to the same impulses.
She let it go on for awhile, until it was time to push deeper. “On your knees. That tongue has other uses.”
Author’s Note: Hi all! I am slammed this week, so this will be a two-parter. That way you get something, and I don’t have to be behind on the things I do to make my Benjamins.
Preview: Mouths are for being grmrmphhged.
Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.
Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.