Cock Food

He called me "cock food," then he devoured me.

"Be naked on the bed when I get there. Fuck the collar, fuck the coffee; just have the Hitachi plugged in. Be using it when I arrive. I want you swollen. I want you a swamp. I'm going to walk through the door, fish my cock out of my pants, and stick it in you."

He called me on the way over, and I already had the Hitachi on, preparing myself as I had been instructed. I asked him to tell me a story as he drove... a dirty one from his past. There's a hell of a lot more "hot" in his past than in mine.

He told me about a split-roast he had attended about fifteen years prior, for a random woman who had wanted to make a video for her husband. I get off hard on his stories, even though I feel lecherous. I like that he has so much experience, and feel lucky to be the beneficiary of it.

The second he walked in, he stuck his cock in me, as promised, and pinned my legs back. I was slick and ready, but he went deep and hard right away, rutting at my cunt. I whined and twisted against the sharp pains deep inside, and he held me in place until I gave into them. Then I came.

Pulling away, he stood and began to strip. He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of him, and I scurried to take my place on my knees. His cock hung hard in front of my face, still slick and shining. Mouth open, I leaned forward to gobble him down, and was stunned by the pressure of his hand pushing my head to the floor. "Shoes," he corrected.

I unlaced his work boots, while he unbuttoned his shirt. Piece by piece, his clothing left him, until his belt was the only stitch left in his hands. I tried not to smile, knowing that he had promised me quality time with it.

He has a knack for moving over my ass and thighs, here and there, here and there, kissing them with his leather. Yet, he always hits his favorite spots with pinpoint accuracy. I've learned he has two of them; one on each cheek. He will give a brief reprieve, and then return to sensitize them further, over and over again.

He hit the small target on my right cheek, hard. Although I was bent over the bed, my legs jumped and straightened right into the air. My fists clenched tight at my side, with the effort of keeping my body in place. I yelped, but he didn't stop. And in between clusters of strikes, he fucked me.

I don't remember him moving to the sofa, and I don't remember how I got back to the floor, bobbing my head on his cock. "Who told you to rest your arms on the cushion?" he said, arching his eyebrow. "Put them back on the floor." He leaned back and raised his legs, reclining them on my shoulders like a foot stool, as I worked.

Eventually, he tired of having a living, cock-sucking ottoman, and we ended up back on the bed. He positioned me straddled on top of him, knees planted firmly on either side of his body.

This has always been his position for talk time. He can be candy sweet. But he'll also say the nastiest things I've EVER heard, while he's thrusting up from under me. I don't want to admit I like them. Frankly, some of them are disturbing.

This time, most of them were disturbing.

There was something about blindfolding me and running a train. There was something about servicing his uncles at family get togethers. Those were by far the cleanest things to come out of his dirty mouth, and the shame won't allow me to write the rest. The shame, however, only makes me wet. All of it does, really. That's how my pussy rolls, and he knows it.

I attempted to lean forward and bury my head into his shoulder, so that he wouldn't see me reacting; but my cunt ran with every nasty word, betraying me. I could tell he was smiling. "Fuck you," I said defiantly, cumming.

He moved us into spoon position, lying down on his side behind me, and held the Hitachi in magic places as we fucked. My body stiffened every time the simulation became too much, only to inevitably relax into another orgasm, and then repeat the cycle, again and again. I lost my mind long before he pulled his cock out and shoved his fingers in. The Hitachi continued to buzz, buzz, buzz. I don't know how many fingers there were. I don't care how many fingers there were. I just laid there gurgling; eyes rolling back into my head. Nothing else mattered, except for the all- consuming feeling between my legs.

The sound of the Hitachi stopped, as he gave me reprieve. He held me in his arms, and used kind words, and called me a good girl. He rubbed behind my ear, like I was his dog. God, it felt so good. My mind stayed blown wide open.

His finger continued to move back and forth at my ear. Somehow, it reminded me of the in and out motion of a cock... which reminded me that we'd just been fucking. That memory,coupled with the back and forth, back and forth, made me peak again. It came on just like that. Any other time, I'd have been shocked, but I was just so dopey. I stared up at him with big, glassy eyes. He called me his good girl again; his pet, and told me I am his favorite bitch.

"Go get the lube."

I stumbled out of bed. I think he enjoys watching me stumble out of bed. Everything looks bright and in contrast, and I can't find anything. I sort of wander about.

He asked me what position I wanted my ass fucked in. Still gurgling and partially mute, I stammered, "Whichever one pleases you," which made him smile. He chose on top of him, which forced me to fuck my own ass. I put my hands on the wall to keep my balance, and fumbled unsteady, up and down.

I honestly didn't think I could care about pain in the condition I was in. I thought my body and mind were beyond it, but I was mistaken. I didn't want to fail him, so I worked through it.

Knowing I was still sore from the week prior, he didn't let it go on too long before he asked me if I wanted to stop. Although I hurt, I told him I wanted to keep going. I told him I wanted to cum on his cock up my ass, while I hurt. There's a masochist for you.

He pulled me off the bed, bent me over, and gave me what I needed. Then he stood me up and directed me, stumbling again,towards the bathroom.

The bathroom is always an interesting journey, when he takes me there. I'm never quite sure what's going to happen, although I'm not naive to the rolodex of possibilities.

This time, I was his service girl; kneeling at his feet and holding him while he pissed. If I had any pride left after being used as a foot stool, and orgasming at the thought of being passed around after Sunday dinner at Uncle Joe's, it was gone. Shake, clean, flush.

He could have left me just like that, kneeling on the bathroom floor. Instead, he brought me back into the bedroom, where he made love to me, on our bed. After all that, he made love to me. My legs curled around him, and held tight, as we rolled about. He told me he loved me, but that words weren't what I needed. He said that he knew his actions would speak louder than his words could.

He kissed me, and I could feel his breath, warm, on my cheek, and in my ear. I was sore from everything we'd done, but knowing that he was the one who made me feel that way, gave me such satisfaction. I don't think I could have felt closer and more bonded to him than I did at that moment. His flesh, under my hands, seemed my own.

I told him how much I wanted him. I asked him to please hurt me as he took his pleasure. I wanted him to take whatever he needed, in order to feel as good as I did.

He answered that wanted to mark me; to cover me. He fucked me hard, letting himself build, and then pulled out and kneeled above me. I licked furiously between his legs, and back further, like his good bitch; excitedly awaiting.

"Close your eyes."

He marked all over my face and hair; in my nose, and in my eyes. I could hear his pleasure and his release, and then, finally, his exhaustion, as he collapsed against the wall, spent. I was so proud and grateful to be able to give him that. I was so happy just being his.