Zille Defeu’s Fetish Fantasies

I was packing our bags to leave, rather reluctantly, as it had been the most wonderful weekend getaway, and I didn’t want to go back home to work and other forms of reality, when he called up to me, “Girl – come down here!”

I always have this immediate pang of “Eeeep! What have I done wrong?!” when he calls me “girl,” like that, but I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, so I smoothed down my nerves, and called out, “Coming, Sir!” and went down the stairs (that I’d been beaten upon earlier that day) and saw him sitting down, wearing only shorts, on the sofa. It was about 5 PM, so the light was starting to slant goldenly into the room, pouring over him as he reclined on the white micro-suede sofa.

I immediately knew what he wanted, and excitement and happiness bubbled up in me. As soon as I got down to him, I kneeled between his legs and pressed my face against the bulge, breathing in not only the smell of him, but also the smell of salt water from walking in the ocean earlier. The combination of musk and salt tingled in my nose. The wood floor beneath my legs was warm and remarkably comfortable, making me feel like it was exactly where I’d always belonged.

I nuzzled my face against him, like a cat, and then reached up to help him pull off the shorts. Then he was naked in front of me, and I savored the sight before leaning in to start kissing and licking his balls.

I sucked one into my mouth and swirled my tongue around and around it, and brought up my fingers to the other one to do the light fast strokes that he likes so much. I switched back and forth between them, while his cock got harder and harder above me.

I wanted to keep doing that forever, but I didn’t know how long we had, so I moved up to his cock, taking it into my mouth in one smooth movement. He sighed in pleasure, which always makes me feel so very good. He put his hand on the back of my head and grabbed some hair and pressed my head down. Lower portions of my anatomy responded as I moved the angle of my head slightly to accommodate his cock all the way into my throat. He held me down for a second, then let me up, pushed me down again.

When he got tired of that he let his hand fall way, and I was able to bring my tongue more into play on the underside of his cock. I brought my hand to the base of his cock and started matching the rhythm of my hand to that of my mouth.

Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, swirling my tongue around the whole while, and I could feel him tensing up and that only excited me to go faster, and then he was groaning and then the come spurted into the back of my throat: once, twice, three times; so much come to swallow! He tasted salty and musky, as he’d smelled, but also just a bit sweet – I love the way he tastes!

After he comes I always try to prolong the pleasure, draw it out as long as possible, with feather-light licks on his cock, and then just holding it in my mouth and feeling it relax. I love that time, when my jaw aches contentedly, and I feel the full pleasure of service-well-done.

It didn’t used to be this way for me. When I first starting giving blow-jobs, in high school, I basically would blow my partner so that he would owe me some orgasms in return. I didn’t mind it, and I prided myself on being good at it, but it was not a thing of pleasure in and of itself.

This changed over the years, as I became less selfish and more a caring lover, but it’s only now, with my Master, that giving a blow-job has become something that gives me so much joy, so much pleasure.

Just feeling the hard fullness of him sliding in and out of my mouth is pleasurable. I don’t just mean in a “this is an enjoyable activity” kind of way, I literally mean that it’s as good for me as him fucking my pussy. I might not come from it, but I get a similar rush of feel-good brain chemicals, and I also get the service-oriented side of myself fulfilled. And I can’t do that as well, when he fucks my pussy. The pleasure of it overwhelms me, makes me want more, and I can’t help but give some of my focus to it. When I suck him, however, I can put my whole self into giving him pleasure, and not get as distracted by the pleasures I feel. (Anal sex is similar, but a topic for another post!)

Now, as the slave I have become, I can look back on those sweet sun-lit moments with as much pleasure to the memory as I can to earlier that same day, when he made me come non-stop for about half an hour. Just the thought of him coming in my mouth, the remembered feeling of his hand on my head, can get me so aroused that I entirely loose track of what I’m doing, and have to stop and close my eyes, and replay that moment, feeling the arousal move through my whole body. Sometimes, in the middle of my day, I’ll just suddenly ache to be giving him a blow-job, just hunger for the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my mouth, for the taste of his cock and the eventual come that will shoot into my eager mouth.

If he was here now (and he’s not – he’s on the other side of the country, for business) I would beg him to let me suck him, to pleasure him, to kneel between his legs and let me show him how much I belong to him….

Tricks… to Please a Man

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