Last Job of the Day

When she had stopped coming and her climax had completely subsided she looked at my chest with a look of real glee and pride. She reached forward and ran her middle finger in the pool on my chest and then sucked her own juices off her finger. She closed her mouth and slid the whole length of her finger inside her mouth, sucking very hungrily at it. Then she opened her eyes again and stared at me with a new look in here eyes. "Taste me", she said. She stroked my wet chest with the palm of her hand, covering it in her juice and then rubbed her hand at my mouth. I knew by now that there was only one acceptable response so I licked and slurped noisily and what I hoped would sound greedily at the juices on her hand. She rubbed the juice from where it still clung to my face into my mouth. I sucked and licked and slurped and swallowed her for a minute or two until at last she seemed to have had enough of feeding me.

"Well now I guess there's only one thing left to do, isn't there?" she said. At last, I would be released. But instead of reaching for the cuffs or a key she wriggled herself, still on her knees back down the bed so she could take hold of my cock again. She held my cock very tight, the skin drawn down painfully and the helmet fully exposed and she lowered her mouth to it. She stared up at me as her tongue flicked onto my cock and then she winked and slid her mouth over me. It took less than thirty seconds as he wanked me very hard into her mouth. She never once took her lips from my cock. And when I came I could feel myself shooting harder and longer than I had for years deep into her mouth. But she still just kept wanking me but more slowly now. And her lips tightened round my shaft as the grip of her fingers loosened a little. She continued until my cock began to grow limp in her mouth. She hadn't let a single drop of my come escape from her mouth.

She let my cock go and with her mouth shut and smiling she looked straight at me and pointed at my own mouth. I didn't know at first what she meant and with a mouthful of my cum that she clearly didn't want to spill, she couldn't really tell me. But holding her head back so nothing spilled out she pointed again and kind if mumbled, "Open your mouth!"

As she crawled up my body towards me I couldn't think of how to avoid what was about to happen. My mouth opened and she locked her mouth on mine, letting all my come spill out into me. Her tongue followed, ensuring that she pushed every drop from her mouth into mine. And then she kissed me and leaned back, placing a finger onto my lips as if to tell me to be quiet.

"Now drink it all down like the good and naughty boy you are," she said. I shut my eyes and with one large swallow I drank all of my own hot, salty come. It wasn't the taste that was bad, just the thought of what she'd made me do. But I managed to avoid gagging or retching and I swallowed again and again to try and remove all the taste from my mouth. She kissed me again, very lovingly on the lips.

And then it was over. She released me from my handcuffs and gave me my clothes and my beekeeper suit and torch. As I got dressed she reminded me, as if I needed it of the photos and the e-mails and her friend Luis awaiting his signal that all was well. And then I left.

For a week I thought of nothing but how I could get some kind of revenge without having her send out the photos to whoever she chose but try as I might I could not come up with a single strategy that seemed like it would be successful. Short of murder I realised that there was nothing I could do. And even that was not a guarantee of success -- just a remedy for revenge!

But eventually I found that my ager was replaced by curiosity and then -- although it took me a while to admit it to myself -- with a kind of longing. I was beginning to look back on my escapade with a strange kind of feeling. I was starting to admit to myself that there were parts of it that I had actually liked. Once the shock and the fear were gone and I had only the memory it began to become quite dominant in my daydreams and not in an angry or hateful way but in a sexy and lustful way.

About a month after I'd first visited the house I returned late on afternoon and knocked at the door. She answered and didn't seem surprised at all to see me.

"I wondered if I could have the photos now," I said.

She looked at me as if weighing me up for a second or two and then opened the door and beckoned me inside. "Wait there," she said.

She went into a downstairs room while I lingered on the welcome mat inside the front door. She returned within seconds with a pen and a pad of paper and handed them to me.

"Write your e-mail address on there and I'll send you a copy of them if you want. But I'll be keeping the originals. Don't you think that would make most sense?"

She smiled at me. "If you were me?" she added.

I wrote my mail address on the pad and handed it back to her with the pen. She glanced at the page. And then she opened the front door for me to leave and as I did so she said, "Who knows? Now I've got your address I might even write to you if I ever need some more work done. Wouldn't that be nice?" And she arched one eyebrow and smiled again.

"Yeah," I said. "That would be very nice."