Brad's Bitch

So, he didn't have to say, 'come here', again. He was right. I was his bitch and I knew it.

I walked over to Brad. I could tell by the way he was looking at me what I was supposed to do. If there was a second's hesitation, it was only because I was momentarily stunned by the knowledge that I was going to do it without resistance. I knelt down at Brad's feet and pulled his towel back, exposing his cock-the instrument of my assault just a few hours ago. Brad was beginning to get aroused. His cock was still soft, but it was filling.

I looked at it, amazed-more by my reaction than by his cock itself. It was beautiful-smooth with a well-defined helmet. But what amazed me was that I not only recognized its beauty but I could admit it to myself. I wanted to take it in my mouth-this thing that had raped me the night before. I wanted to hold it between my lips, to feel it slide over my tongue. I wanted to feel it harden in my mouth and, more than anything, I wanted to make it explode in my mouth-filling me with its sweet seed. (At least, that's how I thought of it. I'd never tasted Brad's cum, of course. I'd never tasted any cum, not even my own. I didn't really know what it would taste like. But I imagined it as sweet-if not in actual taste, at least in the satisfaction it would give me.)

Wrapping my fingers gently around his stiffening shaft, I touched my tongue to the tip of his cock. Then I ran my tongue under his shaft, across that most sensitive spot just below the helmet. I felt Brad's cock jump and experienced for the first time the sense of power that women feel when they give a man a blow job. To be able to cause such pleasure is a kind of power.

But I couldn't tease too long. I was teasing myself as much as Brad. I slid his now fully hard cock between my lips and began sliding my lips up and down his shaft. Brad put his hands on the sides of my head. I suppose this could have bothered me; he was taking control of what I was doing. But I found it comforting-and I think I found it comforting precisely because he was taking control of what I was doing.