“Get over here and suck my cock.”

I don’t hesitate.  A slow, soft, embarrassed smile crosses my lips as I strip the clothes from my body and sink to the floor at your feet.  Indian style.  Always Indian style.  With my hands resting on two of the spoke-like protrusions that house the wheels of your chair and my breasts tucked between your knees.  How I still manage to be so modest with the things you’ve put me through – the things I’ve put myself through! – is anyone’s guess.

You said suck your cock, so I ignore your bare legs and wrap my warm, wet lips around your already ramrod member.  And I whimper when I see Rubberella has found her way to your hand.  But I don’t move when I see her fly through the short distance between your hand and my back.  Except to grip the chair harder.

Your rhythm, ever changing in strength and speed, almost always sticks to fives.  And if I have the presence of mind to count, I can count my way through the pain.  This time, though, all my concentration is on sucking your cock.  On letting the pain wash over me in waves while keeping my mouth and tongue in motion.  On conquering the urge to spit you out and back away.

My fists move from spoke-like wheel housing to arm rest, and back again, and every frantic grip turns my knuckles white.  But my mouth never stops moving.

Your voice whispers in my mind, deep and full of lust, a faded memory from a months old scene, “Look at me.  I want to see the suffering in your eyes.”  And I open my eyes and lift them to yours.  Cerulean and mahogany meet and sparks ignite.

An electric shock traces my throat, wells up in my ribcage and shoots down to my cunt leaving gentle, delicious aftershocks along its path as I realize you’re looking back at me.  Our eyes never leave each other as Rubberella falls again and again and my tongue glides sloppily against your balls.  There is no doubt you are enjoying my suffering.

Between groups of lashes, your head falls back and your eyes close.  Your mouth falls open and soft, gravely moans escape your throat.  I watch a myriad of emotion dance across your face as I pull myself closer and bury my nose in your pubic hair, hungry for the musty, sex-filled scent of you.

My throat closes on your cock.  You hold me there. 

And then your hands are in my hair.  Your hips bucking ever harder at my face.  Fucking my lips as though they were the opening to my pussy.  Until you rip your cock from my throat, yank my face sideways and spurt your hot, salty-sweet pleasure all over my face and hair.

“I suppose, now, you should go fuck yourself with one of your new toys, whore.”

I stand up and smile again, that soft embarrassed smile, as your cum drips off my nose and my juices dribble down my thigh.  And I walk to the bedroom to decide which one I want.

I’ve been trying to convince myself that the first one I received would be the first one I tried, but, almost instinctively, my hand closes around the puffy pink velvet of the padded bag that came with the Rainbow Nubby.  I slip my fingers inside, pull out the purple satin bag that encases the G-Spot Wonder and drop the pink bag on the bed, the Nubby forgotten.  And as I poise myself on the edge of the couch, legs spread wide and cum drying on my cheeks and tits, I push the bulbous head between my throbbing lips.

I gasp, the ease and ecstasy of insertion a complete surprise, and try to slowly, gently fuck myself.  But the ribbons of glass twisted around the shaft combined with the probing massage of the head prove to be too much.  I’m more than ready to cum after just a couple strokes, and my thrusting becomes frenzied.  My moans frantic.  My hips gyrate in time with my thrusts and I slide further and further down the couch.

My eyes lift to you as my attentions briefly shift from the incredible things going on in my cunt and I notice you staring at me.  And just then, Rubberella rears her head again.  You beat my tits and stomach and inner thighs and mons.  I whimper and slam my legs together, my hand stilling, my body going rigid.

“Don’t stop fucking that cunt, pig.  And open those legs.”

Harder, faster, longer with shorter breaks from thighs to tits and back again.  And my other hand slips between the folds of my labia and begins its frantic race to the finish line.  My eyes lock on yours again and you find Rubberella’s thud.  A thud I thought didn’t exist.  And each swing of her falls leaves me feeling like I was just punched in the chest.

Which only adds to the warmth building between my legs.  Climbing.  Growing.  Spreading.  My toes go numb.  My eyes slam closed.  My existence explodes in a twinkling of colors behind my eyelids as I cry out my petit mort and curl up on my side.

My body shudders and my teeth chatter and I gasp in breath after ragged breath as my hand slows and circles the twitching, throbbing nub of nerves and flesh between my legs.  And I smile up at you.  That slow, soft embarrassed smile.

“Go clean up, pig whore.”

Mmm…

<3
~pig whore