Made to Beg

November 9th, 2017

Every day, I am to make her cum with my mouth. She expects to wake with her thighs spread and her nether regions being worshiped by my tongue. If the room isn’t awash with the sounds of oral, she will be most displeased.

We repeat this routine in reverse every night, and sometimes she’ll call me on her break at work. I’ll rush to her office, kneel beneath her desk, slip her skirt up her creamy thighs and pull the fabric of her panties to her side. I’ll push her buttons while her fingers grace her keyboard. She sends a memo, answers a call. I kiss the inside of her thighs, nuzzle her clit with my nose and drag my tongue along the inside of her labia.

At home. At work. In the back of a cab. This is what she expects. This is what she allows.

Tonight is no different. She lets me lick her clit. I cannot dance my tongue across her nipples or kiss her neck, but I can delve between her folds and smell her natural aroma. I can grasp her hips and roll her labia between my fingers, but I cannot stroke her hair or face. I bury my face between her legs and bury any wistful thinking about the rest of her body.

But it’s certainly not a bad job. Her taste, as I run the tip of my tongue on either side of her clit, somehow matches her personality. It’s like her soul has become tangible, and I feel more connected to her when I’m tonguing her hole.

I know to start with flat, broad strokes and when to dart my tongue inside her. Her moans are familiar music to my ears, encouraging me to suck her clit and nibble on her lower lips. I recognize the tremor in her thighs — thick from working out more than I would ever do — just before she orgasms, and revel in the pressure on my head when she clamps down, her body tense before the final release.

I breathe in her scent, slow my ministrations and remain silently poised until her legs release their grip on my head. Only then do I come up for air, remembering that I have nearly forgotten to breathe.

To an observer, we might be calling it a night at that point. The pussy worship is done, but the night is still young.

It’s then that my lady turns from a demanding diva — okay, never quite that — into the passionate giver the most people would never suspect.

She gazes deeply into my eyes while penetrating me with her fingers. Like magic, she’s working my G-spot with her thumb on my clit. I can never quite tell what the difference is between someone who is good at this and someone who’s not, but is the best of the best, making me sigh with pleasure and lift my hips closer to her. She’s like a goddess, showing me glimpses of Heaven. She knows how to keep my on that edge longer than should be humanly possible before stroking me to orgasm. My body shudders; waves of ecstasy wash over me.

You might think we would be done, but we’re not.

This woman, this beautiful and capable woman, knows what to do next. She secures her favorite harness around her waist and thighs, carefully chooses a bright silicone dildo for the night’s activities and puts it in place before returning to her place beside me. Lightning quick, her hands are in my hair, tugging and pulling me closer to her. Her tongue invades my mouth as if she owns it. If we’re honest, she really does.

Her kisses are ferocious, the type that take your breath away and leaves your head spinning. But isn’t my head always spinning with her? She’s never been one for long makeout sessions, though. This isn’t the position she wants me in, so she breaks our kiss.

Toned arms flex as she grabs me by the hips and turns my body away from her. On hands and knees, I know exactly what’s coming for me. She coaxes that dildo, slick with lube, between my lips. With one hand wrapped around the base, she rubs it against my clit, which is already swollen with desire. I try to press my body back against her, but her free hand slaps my ass. It’s always her pace, her plot.

I never really mind, of course. I’m moving my hips to grind against the slippery dildo, and my own juices have added to the mess. If I were controlling the pace, I would be fucking myself senseless without a second thought to prolonging orgasm. I’m a greedy slut when it comes down right to it, and she knows my every weakness.

It may feel like forever, but it’s just a few minutes of teasing. She likes seeing me come undone just as much as I love losing myself. She’s the darkness to my light or something cheesy like that. Luckily, I don’t really have long to think about it. Instead, I’m nearly howling when she slams that cock into my pussy. As greedy as I may be, it’s always a shock to have a toy rammed into your cunt without any heads up.

But it’s always a thrill to be filled and stretched, to be taken and to know your value directly corresponds to how well you take it. I always take it like a champ, and she likes that about me. I might worship her pussy, but she respects the lengths I’m willing to go to to please her and how much I respond to negative stimulation.

That’s why she grasps the hair at the back of my head and yanks it back. My scalp tingles and a shiver runs down my spine. She’s fucking me at a steady rhythm now, fast but shallow. My nipples are painfully erect, but she can’t see that from her vantage point. If my hair weren’t in her hand, I would lower my body to sway my breasts against the bed beneath me, but I cannot.

I’m at her whim, so when she picks up her pace and sinks the nails of one hand into my hip for better purchase, all I can do is gasp. It’s not unwanted, though. Any attention she lavishes on me is welcomed. I cannot believe that this woman is with me, marking my body with her own, working so feverishly to bring me to orgasm and so generous with her cunt. I don’t know how I get so lucky.

And I continue to get lucky. Her thrusting isn’t effortless. Sweat causes the backs of my thighs to stick to the front of hers. She pushes her knees further under mine, pulling my hair so that I am nearly upright in her lap. Instead of in-and-out, she moves her hips in circles, blissfully stroking my G-spot.

She’s leaning so hard against my back that I rest my head on the headboard. My cheek squishes against the cool wood. My mouth gapes open awkwardly; a bit of saliva drips out. I don’t care, either way. If I did, I would care even less because she tells me to rub my clit. This is the sign that she wants me to orgasm — and soon.

I reach my hand beneath my legs and work my clit as if my life depends on it. Sometimes that feels true when we’re in the throes of passion. Nothing can be more important than fucking this woman or letting her fuck me. How could it?

I block out the rest of the world, focusing on the way my fingers feel on my clit. I try to match the pace of her cock deep inside me. We find our perfect rhythm. Yin and yang, right?


Could she sound any more perfect?

And I do. I furiously rub my clit until my muscles are spasming. She listens to my body’s response and pulls the dildo free of my pussy after milking my G-spot to a squirting orgasm. I ejaculate onto her thighs, my legs, the bed beneath me. My body has never felt so much pleasure. I moan, jerk my hips, and throw my head back. I’m not sure I’m even still human. Something, not primal but more natural, takes over. I’m more fully myself and experiencing such clarity that the world seems full of limitless possibilities.

As soon as my orgasm subsides, my muscles go slack. I sag against her body and the bed. I try to calm my ragged breathing, but I’m not quite sure that I’ll ever be able to get enough air. Still, there’s a stupid grin on my face. It never gets old, the way she fucks me, the way my orgasms feel. She sits patiently as we both wait for my heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. She lightly caresses my arms, and I feel grounded.

I smell our sex. My arousal. Hers. By this time, I am practically begging to kneel between her legs. I may be covered in sweat and fighting exhaustion, but still I do her bidding.

It might seem like prison from an outsider’s perspective, but we both know this is my home. It’s where I belong.


The Sale of a Lifetime

February 7th, 2014

You know that society has gone to shit when companies start popping up with orgasm insurance. No, really. I know how crazy it sounds, and I’m the door-to-door insurance salesman. Woman? Whatever.

It all started in 2013. That’s when they began experimenting with electrical impulses into the brain. The idea was to stimulate neural pathways. You’d be able to call something better in the future. Some people were hopeful that this would lead to a cure to Alzheimer’s — and it did — but that’s not what the science eventually became used for. One day, while researchers were experimenting with stimulating specific parts of the brain, their human subject orgasmed.

Oh, I’m sure it was as awkward as could be. I bet the scientists wrote it off the first few times. But then it kept happening. Again and again. Science had finally discovered what men never could: how to guarantee a partner’s orgasm. Finally, one bold researcher decided to see how electrical stimulation of the brain could really help orgasms.

At first, they considered only the ramifications for married couples. Science is rather conservative, after all. But they didn’t stop there. Eventually, scientists were able to give just about anyone an orgasm by plugging electrodes into the patient’s skull — trust me, they use a lot more finesse now days — and letting off an electrical charge.

It wasn’t enough that some people were finally able to achieve orgasm and explore their sexual sides. Once the sex toy industry got wind of the idea, things really took on a life from their own. Researchers began to look at how they could make orgasms even better and allow users to control devices to give their partners orgasms on demand. Cybersex was forever changed, and sex toy manufacturers raced to be the first to incorporate this technology into their toys.

That brings us to today. Right now. The COME industry — that’s controlled orgasm via measured electricity for those of you not in the know — is well established. Of course, it went through a rough patch those first few years. Researchers had to prove there wasn’t any lasting side effects and that home users could safely use the technology. In the end, the sex toy manufacturers had to go through a labyrinthian approval process to get their products on the market. After all, who exactly handles the business of sex toys that send jolts of electricity directly into your brain? But they did it, and the shelves of sex toy stores and even Walgreens are full of COME toys.

The most common method involves a small adhesive electrode that you place at the nape of your neck. The electrode connects to a control pack — yes, we call it the COME-troller — that allows it to emit the precise type of electricity required to cause orgasm. To be honest, I don’t know the science of it. You see, I’ve never even used it.

I’m kind of the odd duck out when it comes to COME toys, no pun intended. They just never interested me. So how did I get into selling orgasm insurance for it? Well, it’s a long story, but I’ll sum it up.

The research wasn’t quite as honest as consumers would have believed, but by the time that the first users realized that COME was eventually making it difficult or even impossible to, well, come anymore. So sex toy manufacturers had the government in their pocket. It was like oil companies in the 20th century — but worse. The toys stayed on the market, and the manufacturers were able to keep the bad news out of the media for a while by settling lawsuits quietly.

However, this couldn’t last forever. More reports began popping up. The companies had to respond. Eventually, someone had a great idea: let’s insure the user’s orgasm. We’ll give them a nice payout if their COME toys break them, and everyone will be happy. Now, you would think that consumers might be smarter than this. They would realize that the people behind this were the very same sex toy retailers who were selling them toys that interfered with their ability to have orgasm.

You would be wrong.

Consumers were hooked, maybe even addicted. And politicians were getting rich. Orgasm insurance was a go.

This is how it works. Buyers opt into an insurance plan when they buy their COME toy. They can choose the premium they pay. The more frequently they use their toy, the higher their premium tends to be. This comes with a higher payout should the technology make it impossible to orgasm in the future. It’s nothing groundbreaking. In fact, the idea is so simple that most people probably passed it off as too ridiculous to work. But it did.

And now I work at selling this insurance. Why? Mostly because I suddenly found myself an out-of-work divorcee. I didn’t have many skills after spending ten years enjoying the company of my husband, that is, until he cheated on me. The insurance company wanted saleswomen who were relatively attractive, confident and well-spoken. I guess I fit the bill.

My days are not as weird as you might expect, however. I don’t actually go door to door. Sometimes I host workshops are sex toy retailers. I field a lot of phone calls about insurance when I’m in the office, and sometimes the company sends me to someone’s how for a personalized presentation. Those “somebodies” are well-to-do, and I charm them as well as I know how.

This was one of those days. Except it was a little out of the ordinary. The couple I would be visiting — he was some sort of broker and she was a kept woman half his age — hadn’t yet purchased a COME toy. My boss instructed me that I was attempting to sell both the toy and the insurance. It was strange, yes, but I like the challenge.

I was surprised to arrive at their home. It was more modest than the homes of many of my previous customers. He answered the door with a practiced smile upon his face and led me to a sitting room. It was contemporary and clean. She was perched behind a couch, posture correct. She was quiet. Was she aloof or just shy? It was difficult to tell.

It was easier to launch into selling the COME toy than I had thought. I guess I’d become a better salesman since I started this job. My ex-husband would certainly have been surprised to see me then. I went over the specs, glossing over the science and focusing on the safety and effectiveness of the toy. I assured the couple that they certainly knew others who enjoyed COME-ing, as people called it these days. This seemed to make the young wife uncomfortable. She excused herself to “prepare us tea.”

The husband was more eager, however. Jonathaon, his name was, launched into a story about his coworker’s wife. Apparently, she had been a frigid bitch but her COME toy enabled her to be multi-orgasmic and saved the marriage. I wasn’t so sure about that, but the story was just one to pass the time. I didn’t realize his real angled until I heard him ask his next question.

“So do you like to COME?” There was a twinkle in his eye. He thought it was clever. I had heard my fair share of bad puns about the thing. I had never heard it aimed at myself before, though. I stammered, knowing I’d have to lie. No one likes to buy something that the salesman wouldn’t personally use.

“Of course I do.”

It was at that moment that his wife returned to the room.

“Do what?”

Her voice startled me. It had an edge that was more powerful than her appearance conveyed. It was deep for a woman, delicious to listen to.

“Enjoy the COME machine, miss. I mean, ma’am.” I felt as though she had walked in on us like I had my husband and his dirty little secret. She was not at all upset, however.

“Oh. Perhaps you’d like to show us, then.” It was a command, not a request. I could plainly hear this in her voice. I suddenly re-examined my assessment of this relationship. Perhaps he was the kept one, instead.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure that would be appropriate.”

“I’m not entirely sure that I want to purchase something without seeing how it works.” There was a challenge in the air as she replied.

“Perhaps you’d like to try it out personally, in your bedroom..?” I offered.

“I want to see you come.” The challenge was verbalized. There was no skirting around the issue. And my natural reaction was to accept any challenge.

I hadn’t noticed the wife — was her name Audrey? — moving toward me. Yet, there she was by my side, the COME toy in her hand.

“So you place the electrode on the back of the neck..” Her hand wrapped around my neck, fingers pressing the electrode to my skin. I thought I felt a shock run down my spine, but she hadn’t even turned it on, yet.

“And you can control the device with this button.” Another statement, not a question. Her thumb thumb circled the button, but the COME machine was still off. Her hand was still against my neck, and her fingers lightly curled against my skin. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“Y-yes. That’s how it works.” The words fell out of my mouth so awkwardly.

“And the person doesn’t need to be aroused at all to achieve orgasm?” I shook my head to indicate “No.”

“Are you aroused right now?” I wanted to lie. I tried to lie. I ached to lie. I couldn’t.

“Yes, I am.” Audrey smiled, the type of smile that makes you forget anyone else exists in the world. I wondered if her husband felt the same way about her as I did in that moment. Her husband! I turned my head to look at Jonathon. He was watching us intently, but I couldn’t tell if he was enjoying it.

Audrey took the moment to make her move. She leaned in toward the exposed skin of my neck as I turned, planting soft-but-hungry kisses along my skin. I gasped, my skin tingling. She motioned for her husband to come near, handing him the controller to the toy, which she hadn’t even turned on. He was the kept one.

With the COME-troller in his hands, she was able to use both hers to stimulate me. Her delicate fingers worked the buttons out of the loops of my blouse, exposing my breasts. Audrey licked her lips as she noticed the front clasp on my bra. I was especially fond of them. I guess she was, too. Her lithe fingers unclasped my bra, and she lifted each breast to draw my nipples into her mouth. They were already erect before touching her lips. Yes, I was aroused.

But she didn’t want to just stand around. Her finger hooked into my skirt, which I had never before considered anything but bushiness-appropriate, and she pulled me back toward an over-sized armchair, Jonathon in tow. At first, I thought she would have me sit, but Audrey perched on the chair herself and dropper her hands down to the side of my thighs. She shimmied my skirt up up to my waist, revealing simple thigh highs and my hipster panties. I almost wished I had put on something spectacular when I had dressed that morning.

Audrey patted either side of the chair behind her, motioning for me to straddle her. So I did, Jonathon following close enough behind me that the electrode on the back of my neck would stay in place. I must have looked like I was precariously perched, because he stepped closer behind me, his body bracing mine. The sudden presence startled me, but I leaned my shoulders and head against his abdomen, grateful for the support.

Audrey had been intently examining my body and my wardrobe, but she wasn’t one to waste time. Her fingers snaked between my panties and my body, pushing the fabric to the side. Her hands were warm against my vulva, lightly stroking it before parting my lips. I shivered at the woman’s touch.

She pushed my further back against her husband as she tenuously slid a finger into my pussy. I was so ready. She could tell, and she inserted another finger, then another. I was full with this woman whom I had just met, a stranger.

Audrey wasn’t done, however. As her fingers inside me began stroking my G-spot — she knew exactly where to look — her thumb caressed my clitoris. It seemed like she held me tight within her grasp, my pubic bone providing her the handhold to keep me enthralled.

It only took a few minutes of her fingers and thumb working together for me to feel the familiar tension build in my pussy. Audrey could tell, too.

“You like the way I treat your cunt, don’t you?” I was startled by her abrasive language but no less turned on. I nodded. It wasn’t enough for her. Audrey slapped her open palm of her free hand against my breasts.

“Yes, I do.” The sudden assault took me by surprise, but Audrey knew exactly what she was doing. The slap had been my undoing, I was well on my way to orgasm — and without assistance of the COME toy at all.

She hadn’t forgotten about it, however. With a subtle movement that didn’t deter her expert strokes, she raised her gaze to meet Jonathon’s eyes. I didn’t know who she was talking to when she said “Come, now.” But was soon coming as soon as she gave the command.

It took her husband a brief second to turn on the machine and hit the button. When the first jolt of electricity tickled my brain, I was already in mid-orgasm. But my brain responded anyway, piling wave upon wave atop my natural orgasm. It was longer, it felt better, it contract my muscles and shook my body more than any orgasm I’d had in my life.

I would have collapsed were it not for Jonathon bracing my body from behind. He remained perfectly stoic as a near-stranger orgasmed on his wife’s lap. I wondered if his eyes glistened the way hers did at causing my orgasm. I didn’t care.

An orgasm doesn’t last forever, of course. Mine soon died down, and I was left short of breath and covered with a dewy sheen — sweat. Jonathon gently helped me to my feet, smoothing my skirt down and removing the COME electrode from the back of my neck. I lipped my lips, suddenly thirsty for the promised tea that had never arrived.

“I guess we’ll take one,” Jonathon remarked, mostly to break the silence.

“And we’ll take the toy and your highest level of insurance, too,” Audrey chimed in after her husband.

The shock must have registered on my face because Audrey laughed, but I knew she wasn’t kidding. I had just made the biggest sale of my life without even trying — myself.