When the Television Grows Too Dull

As we watched some inane program on the television, I sat on the floor, back against the couch. More loving than tired, my left side was pressed up against his right leg, my head resting against him. Occasionally he leaned forward a bit, eyes wrenched away from the screen just for a moment, and stroked my cheek. Even after all these months, I still smiled shyly, basking in that momentary beam of simple affection, before some gunshot sounded or sergeant barked and his attention was back on the screen.

Yet again it went to commercial, some whimsical holiday jingle, one of those ones that was old before you'd even heard the whole thing once. Glancing to his face, I saw he was annoyed. Restless, perhaps, I reconsidered as he began to flip channels, clearly unable to find anything that he found suitable for his current mood. Finally, he merely turned it off and tossed the remote back onto the side table.

Standing up, with no prompting from me other than my curious and soon-to-be-excited viewing of his slender form, he began to strip. I remained, back against the couch, looking up at him, as his jeans and boxers fell to the floor, trying so hard not to touch any part of him before I was asked.

He pulled me to my feet and kissed me like he owned me. Arms wrapped around me, at once loving and covetous, I was pulled in. His tongue forced past my shy lips, taking kisses from me without a care for my more gentle tendencies. One of his hands slid up to the back of my neck, up into my hair. He grabbed but didn't pull, his insistent mouth reminding me I was his. His cock stirred against my leg, and my passion rose to meet his. I tried to move my lips to his neck, but with the hand in my hair he simply didn't let me stray from his lips.

When he had his fill of kisses, he shoved me down onto my knees, hand releasing my hair. I looked up at him, taking more than a glance at his erect member before focusing on his eyes, and realized he had a less than kind reason for letting go of my hair. He took my wrists and, putting them behind my back, fastened hand-cuffs onto them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it gave me fewer tools to work with in pleasing him.

Hand returned to my hair, he guided me towards his cock. I opened my mouth obediently. He stood perfectly still, silent, as he pulled my head back and forth. Worry and doubt raced through my mind as I played along the underside of the shaft with my tongue, wondering why he remained so unmoved. I licked harder, combining it with a slight tilt of my head, adding in the little moans I know he loves. To my relief, he reciprocated, gracing me with his own quiet noises.

With the newfound encouragement, I moved my mouth, my lips firmer around his shaft. His breaths deepened; his thumb rubbed the back of my neck. He remained wonderfully stiff in my mouth, and I worked fervently to keep him that way. I sucked gently, licked passionately, and thrust him into my mouth without hesitation.

Many long minutes of pleasure passed, me refusing to tire and him accepting my devoted service. As he began to grow close, as I could tell from his subtle cues, he yanked my hair back, forcing my mouth to release him. He grabbed himself and roughly jerked to the brink of orgasm as I fought to keep from whimpering from the unrelenting grip on my hair.

As I was denied the satisfaction of bringing him there myself, he came all over my face. I looked at him, lips parted in silent pleading for me to taste just a bit of it, but his cum sprayed onto my cheek and neck, and the last bit running down my breasts. He knew what I wanted, as always, and I was good enough to have earned the privilege of licking the little bit that had stuck to the underside of the tip of his cock. I let the head slide into my mouth once more, savoring the mild saltiness on the smoothness of his skin. When he pulled back, so I again had to surrender him, he gave he a kiss on the forehead, firm and simple and somehow powerful. Like he owned me.