Worship

I've been made to drink piss before, both mine and other peoples. In fact the other people didn't ask, they inflicted it and I accepted it out of service. It has always been humiliating and subduing because I didn't like it but I submitted to it. That humiliation and submission was erotic and affecting and delicious.

This week suddenly I am affected in a different way. Kneeling before him, having choked and vomited on his cock, panting. Feeling both that I'd had enough and that I wanted more. Throat burning. waiting, expectant, subservient. He stopped and he pissed and I watched. On my knees staring intently, unable to break my gaze. I watched that golden stream pour out of him and felt a compulsion I haven't felt before. I wanted to taste him, to stick my tongue into his stream. I wanted to feel it over my face and in my mouth, wanted to gulp it down. I felt overwhelmed with desire to worship in that way but I held myself back from it. Unsure how to handle the unexpected flush of desire. I watched and I wanted, I wanted so, so much and as he finished I was unable to hold myself back any longer and I greedily sucked his cock into my mouth to catch the last drop of piss, and I felt him harden once again in my mouth. It was erotic and affecting and delicious in an entirely new way. There was worship and adoration and delight, and I asked, no I pleaded to have the opportunity again to witness that, so that I could give into my desire and worship him.

Control.

I’d forgotten how it feels.
The ache when I stop at an orgasmic edge.
The mocking throb beckoning for me to touch again.
The excuses I whisper to myself.
“A little more, just to be sure”
I tell myself it’s to make sure I’m close enough.
I pretend I'm trying to be a good girl.
But deep down I know it’s my greedy desire.
I want more of that feeling, more of that pleasure.
I want to cum, I want that release.
But instead I fight.
the curling of my toes, the hint of rage, the gnawing frustration: my bodies siren song.
I reject the lies of my longing.
I glimpse my wanton heart and I struggle to keep control.
My private battle, an extension of his will.
I become his.
Every time I stop.
I listen to the beating of my heart and the throbbing of my cunt.
I listen to my quiet desperation.
I wait for my wanting to subside.
And in those moments I submit.
Ignoring my needy cunt and being his good girl.
His control becoming my control.
Wrenching me away from ecstasy.
Because every time I stop.
I become his.
Every time I tease and torment and deny myself.
And when he lets me cum, if he lets me cum.
It will feel better than any enjoyed in selfish pursuit.
Because it is his.
His to control.