Remember when you turned gay, bitch boy?

By the time you conceded, My “straight” beta meat-gazer, the joystick by which you would now be turned gay was approaching full mast.  Like a well-trained but drooling dog that waited motionless for permission to snap up the dog biscuit balanced on his nose, you were still as the weight of your confession hung in the air.  The cock of your Alpha master remained laid between your eyes.  He had stepped closer to you and increased the depth of the tilt of your head so that you were sitting back on your heels on the wet tile floor, and both the position and the size of his dominating fuck stick split your vision of him in two.  From all your meat-gazing and gay porn watching, you were confident in your estimation that it had now reached a bit over ten inches, and was thick enough that your fingers would only barely touch if you were ever allowed to wrap them around it.

Now, I know as well as you do that there’s really no such thing as being “turned gay”, and technically, you still could have functioned with a woman if the situation ever again presented itself, but W/e both know also that deep within, you felt all attraction to women fade as far away in your existence as if you’d been born that way. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as you gazed up at him in dominated and humiliated anticipation.  He had removed his hand from the base of his cock, and now one fist rested on a muscular hip.  The grip of the hand on your hair had relaxed, but was still present with a guiding force.  He began to thrust his hips slightly, rubbing his cock up and down, drawing the head further and further into the reach of your slightly open lips.

You can’t be turned gay, but you may as well have been.

Before the last syllable of the words “suck it” left his mouth, you had surrounded the head of his cock with your lips, and began to savor it like a piece of hard candy. The muscle in his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared with an exhalation of breath, signifying his pleasure.  His grip on your hair tightened again, and the thrusts of his hips became more pronounced.  You reached between your legs to touch your little pink peg which had become harder than ever in response to the knowledge that what you were doing felt good on your master’s cock, but with a quick motion of one foot, he brushed your hand away.

“I’ll let you know when you can touch yourself, bitch.  Sit on your hands.”

He punctuated the chastisement with a slight shake of your head in his grip.  You willed your gaze to communicate contrition, and obediently sandwiched your hands between the cheeks of your ass and your calves.  All of that dildo sucking had paid off, it seemed, because you managed to keep a tight suction around his considerable girth as his rocking hips worked more and more of his big chocolate bar into your mouth.  In fact, rather than feeling overwhelmed by the size, you felt as if you could suck on it forever.  It may as well have really been made of chocolate, the way it melted into your tongue.  A squirt of salty pre-cum that you sucked down greedily added to the illusion.

“Aw, that’s right.  Good boy.  Suck that dick.”

His words of praise and the corresponding flexing and thickening in your mouth made your man-clit cry out to be stroked, but your beta bitch impulse to obey and the yearning to continue to hear “good boy” made you dig your fingertips into your ass cheeks instead, keeping them wedged in firmly.  You could feel the hunger building up inside your ass pussy, but you were actually relieved that it appeared that he only wanted you to be a good little cocksucker for him, since none of the dildos you sat on regularly were nearly as large.  Besides, you thought hazily, you would rush home after this and fuck yourself hard, thinking back over the days’ events.

Suddenly, you could feel his big mushroom head knocking at the door to your throat, and what you had quietly prided yourself on being able to handle nicely became much more intimidating.  So deep was the subspace you had entered, you weren’t worried for yourself.  You thought that it would simply be physically impossible for you to take all of that meat as deeply as he wanted.  Your panic caused you to tense slightly, and your master responded by clamping his free hand onto the back of your neck, and exerting some of his strength, so that a war of attrition began between your willing spirit, your weak flesh, and his will.

Here’s the conclusion, cocksucker!

xx

Goddess Rachel

1-800-356-6169