“Blow me,” he said.
I was cuddled next to him on the couch, watching the Super Bowl, which was admittedly good, even though I’m not a huge fan of NFL football. Except, of course, the tight pants. But that’s a given.
Without even thinking about it, I moved to my knees on the floor, unzipped his jeans, and poked his cock through to my lips. And I love that, for the record – feeling so submissive to him that I don’t have to think when he gives me a command. My mind was still on the game, playing in the background, until my lips met the head of his shaft. He wasn’t hard yet, but I licked him gently, slowly, and felt him grow in my mouth. He petted my hair and leaned back, still watching the game.
What game? There’s something about a thick, hard cock against my tongue that causes me to lose touch with the rest of my surroundings. The taste of precum was on my lips and my mouth begged for more…to taste him, drink him, feel him explode down my throat. I craved him, my pussy burning with want.
But I controlled my tongue, working hard not to get him too excited too quickly. I licked slowly up and down his shaft, using my hands to squeeze along the base and, reaching into his pants, tickle his balls softly. He let out a low moan from the back of his throat, but when I looked up at him he was ignoring me and still watching the game. I hesitated, pulling my head away.
Master looked down sharply and slapped my cheek. “I said blow me.”
I raised my hand to my face, open-mouthed and surprised. It had been a gentle slap, and slap for good reason…I just didn’t expect it. It did the trick though. While he watched the game, I sank onto his cock with my mouth. The tip of my tongue wiggled against the base of him while his head rubbed against the back of my throat, almost making me gag. I pulled him all the way out and then quickly deep-throated again, moaning with genuine pleasure to have him in my mouth. The moans vibrated through his shaft and I felt his hands in my hair, grabbing, pulling.
I began to pump my neck, slowly, letting his cock fill my mouth completely and sucking hard every time I backs off of him. He let out a series of low grunts as I began to bob faster, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat with every thrust. And then, suddenly, he couldn’t take it anymore. He stood, pulled his pants to his knees, pushed me so my back was against the couch, and began fucking my throat. He fucked my harder and harder, one hand firmly holding onto my hair to hold my head steady and the other gripping the couch’s arm. His ball slapped against my chin, hard, faster. My eyes began to water and my nose began to run and he thrusted into me again and again.
“Does my little slut like to suck that cock? Oh yeah, you love it don’t you? I’m going to cum down your throat, you little whore. Mmmm, you love that, don’t you?”
He pulled out quickly. “Don’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy what?”
“Yes, Daddy, please fuck my throat. Please let me swallow your cum,” I begged, looking up at him. My lips were chaffed and sore, and my tongue begged for mercy, but I wanted him. I wanted to lick up every last drop of him.
“Good. Girl,” he grunted, jamming into me again, my eyes wide at his sheer size. He pumped into me, and I reached behind him to grab his ass and pull him into my mouth more deeply with every thrust.
I felt his cum travel up his shaft as he exploded in my mouth again and again and again, finally letting himself go. He cried out as he came, and I kept my lips around him, sucking hard. I felt his legs relax and I suckled more gently, more slowly, until him pulled out of me.
“Touchdown, Patriots!” the announcers were yelling.
His cock traced down my chin and he petting my hair, my scalp aching from him pulling.
“Such a good girl. Come, let’s watch the rest of the game.”
“May I get a drink, Daddy?”
“Yes, yes, go get a drink. Grab me a beer?”
I did, and then reclaimed my place, curled up with my head on his lap for the rest of the game. It was a good Super Bowl on so many levels…