My head spins. My boyf- fiancé is so ruthless in his dirty talk, so condescending. My stomach feels so funny and so tight.
“Doesn’t it, Lizzie?” he repeats and pinches my left nipple between his fingernails.
“Ahh! Please! It makes my whore slit happy, Dylan,” I gibber, “Please, don’t- not so hard-”
He gives an amused scoff. “What does, Lizzie? Tell me.”
I cringe when he switches to the right breast. “When- When you pinch my nipples, it–it makes my… ah! God- my clit-”
“Your clit?” he asks evenly.
“My — uh! Oww! Please-”
“Your clit, Lizzie?”
“It makes my clit — and, and my slit — ha… happy when you abuse my nipples, Dylan! It makes me ache, and it makes me so wet. Please, stop!”
He abruptly does and I sag against him, breathing heavily. When I try to grab my breasts to soothe the pain, he snatches both of my hands away and hugs my arms close to my belly from behind. I have no choice but to endure the sore throb of my flesh, hunching my shoulders and gulping breaths.
“This is one of the methods my docent recommended to me.” Dylan’s quiet voice reaches me even through the haze of whirling sensations and the sound of rushing and pounding blood in my ears. “He explained that the wanton slut must learn that her bodily sensations will not belong to her wild urges anymore. She shall feel that her husband — or even her husband-to-be — is working to wrest her physical responses away from the depravity and licentiousness she has allowed into her life.”
My tits, my nipples ache. My clit and pussy ache even worse. I angle my pelvis and drive them down into the too-soft mattress that doesn’t afford me the pressure that I’m craving to feel there.
Despairingly, I snob and sniff. “Dylan, I… You’re… I think it’s too much.”
“Nonsense,” he chides gently and kisses my earlobe. “We have only started. I won’t allow you to give up at the first lesson. I know you, Lizzie. You don’t really want to live your life constantly having to indulge and satisfy your filthy slit.”
When he says it, my filthy slit tingles. I exhale shakily and nod in defeat.
“The second lesson for tonight will be about learning your limits, and about redirecting energy and attention.” He nuzzles my ear with his nose. “I think you’ll like it, given how naturally it comes to you.”
With that, he pushes against my upper back until I fold forward and am forced to use one hand to prop myself up against the mattress, and I pull my legs wide and around so that I’m on all fours almost all the way at the foot end of the bed.
Dylan gets up and walks around to me, stands in front of me.
His crotch is directly in line with my mouth.
The bulge there is big and clearly outlined against his right thigh, with darker stains in the fabric where his tip is. As I stare, it twitches.
“Put my cock in your mouth, Lizzie.”
I look up at his face — so he thinks blowjobs come naturally to me? I gulp, feeling just a twinge of indignation — then reach out to the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Did I tell you to touch me with your hands?” Dylan suddenly asks sharply, then repeats, “Put my cock in your mouth. Now.”
“But-”
“Now, Liz.” His expression is so stern, I almost feel… a little scared.
“Ohk… Okay, yes,” I whisper, and then lean forward to nuzzle my face against him. I use my lips and my teeth trying to pull his sweatpants down, but the fabric is too heavy. I can’t get a grip. Also, it’s a little bit gross — cotton that’s moist with saliva, and the chemical taste of fabric softener on my tongue.
“I can’t do it like this, Dylan, I’m sorry,” I admit defeat after the tenth attempt. My gums are hurting a bit.
He smirks in that gracious way of his. It grates against my ego, and I know he knows it does.
He reaches down and pushes his pants down. His cock springs free, ruddy, curved, veiny. His erection is so solid that it points firmly upwards all by itself in spite of its own weight. The head, already unsheathed from the foreskin, is glistening with pre-cum. His glans is shaped like a scoop, with a prominent ridge on top and a wide V of wrinkles that merge into the frenulum underneath. Dylan’s balls are plump and hang low. His dark brown pubic hair is thick but not long — neatly trimmed. From the shape to the color to his scent — he is a mouthwatering specimen of a man. Accordingly, my mouth waters.
“What did I tell you to do, Liz?”
Put my cock in your mouth. I don’t want to repeat it, so I just do it. I have to angle my face a little awkwardly to catch the tip between my lips, but once it’s done, I slide my mouth over his erect meat — just an inch at first — and start bobbing and sucking and tickling his frenulum with my tongue tip.
The taste of his precum is… interesting. A little bitter, musky, so manly. I suckle and flick and nibble, always mindful of my teeth.
“Put your hands behind your back and grasp opposite elbows,” Dylan instructs, and I hesitate to follow. I don’t want to topple forward. “Do it. I will hold you up,” he promises as though he can read my mind.
It takes a little bit of energy and an effortful huff — my core muscles are not particularly impressive, yet they are suddenly tasked with holding me in balance on the squishy mattress, no less — but finally, my left hand cups my right elbow and vice versa behind my back. It’s straining. My chest is arched, and my shoulder are already protesting. All the while, I don’t let his cock slip from my mouth.
Dylan grasps both of my lower arms in his big hand — I sigh with relief as he takes the strain off my thighs and abs — and grabs the hair at the back of my head with the other, then pulls me mostly off of his erection, until just the glass-smooth tip is on my lips. “Breathe in,” he says as he shoves forward as he pulls my head towards himself and spears my skull with his cock.
I gag and convulse fiercely. My stomach seems to crawl up towards my neck.
“You’re gonna be my good girl, Liz. Take it.”
He does not let up. Instead, his pelvis rams forward, pushing his erection deeper into my mouth. The head jabs my soft palate. I cough and choke around his hot flesh, and my mouth floods with thick saliva. He groans at the sound and provokes it again. And again. And again. The fingers of his one hand grab my hair tightly and guide my head around at his leisure. The fingers of his other hand grip more tightly around my arms where he holds me up when I attempt to free them. As he takes a half-step backwards, I feel myself teetering dangerously, wobbling forward, which drives my oral cavity even more fully onto his cock.
I am helpless. I am moaning. Tears, sweat, snot and saliva are streaming down my face.
I am dripping down my legs.
“Oh, fuck, your mouth… You’re so hot and- ungh- tight- Oh Liz, you filthy whore, your mouth-” Dylan rambles in a low voice as he uses my mouth to get himself off, telling me that he’s going to teach me to take it all the way down my throat, but that he wants me to always keep my gag reflex because it makes him so fucking hard to hear it, and to feel my throat constrict around his tip, and that he’s going to buy a spider gag so that he can stick his cock in my mouth however long and hard he wants.