Shutting Me Up

"Oh God, you made such a mess. Naughty slut." God, I wish you'd stop calling me a slut. "I'm going to clean this up with a damp cloth," you peer inside again, "With a couple of damp cloths."

You disappear through the archway into the kitchen and I slump there, mostly supported by my arms which are cuffed behind my back. What the hell just happened? I stare unthinkingly at my spent, sore prick as it starts to bob lower, then rest against me, then shrink.

"Well," you reappear, "I'm going to have a sneaker that smells like come for a while, but that was a small price to pay for how beautiful that was." I look up, and your hand flies to your face in embarrassment. "Oh my God! I left my panties in your mouth, I'm sorry!" You reach out and gently pull them out, wet with my spit now too. I gasp for breath all over again, my chest heaving, my throat burning. "How was that for you?"

"Humiliating," I manage at last, and you giggle.

"Good! I won though, remember."

"You changed the rules," I growl.

"Well, next time you can tie me to the chair, and you can change the rules all you like." Your fingers sweep across and for a split second you're stroking those soft, wet lips between your gorgeous thighs. Oh, fuck yes I'm going to tie you to the chair alright. You grin at the animal fire you've ignited in my eyes. "But for now, I won and I say you've got to get hard again so I can ride the shit out of that dirty fucking slut prick, and this time - you can't come until I say so." Finally you're unbuttoning that shirt and slipping it off your shoulders. "Do you think you can get it up..." Your voice tails off as you look down into my lap.

I'm already getting hard again.