Dark fantasies fill the room with a thick scent of leather and sweat, and we’ve just gotten started. I am where I belong, kneeling on the cold, hard floor. My skin is marked, my limbs aching from the restraints that bind me—each strap a reminder of my surrender. My lips are swollen, my throat raw from the relentless face fucking I’ve endured, but I crave more.
My tongue flicks out, tracing the vein that throbs up the length of Master’s cock. The taste of Master is so salty and musky; it gets me high! I moan, my cunt aching, my mind slipping deeper into the abyss of submission. His fingers tangle in my hair, gripping hard enough to make my scalp scream, and He pulls me onto Him, forcing my mouth to stretch obscenely around His girth.
I gag, tears streaming down my face, but I don’t stop. I never stop because I’m a good bondage whore who serves her Master’s Dark fetish. My throat is a vise, I will it to obey, to take Him deeper, to swallow His entire length until my nose is buried in the coarse hair at His base.
Breathing is forgotten. Oxygen is a luxury I can’t afford. The only thing that matters is the way His cock pulses against the walls of my throat, the way His groan rumbles through Him and into me. My fingernails dig into my inner thighs, leaving crescent moons in my flesh, but the pain only fuels me. I’m lost, drowning in Him, my body a vessel for His pleasure.
“I’m going to fuck your pretty little throat like the slut you were born to be,” He growls, and my cunt clenches, empty and desperate.
Breanne
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