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Gratitude
After a lovely evening out on the town, we head back to your place. Once you close the door behind us, you step behind me, sweep my hair aside, and kiss my neck gently. Then you say, "You know, I had a nice time tonight, but there were a few things that could be improved."
"Oh?" I say. "What do you mean?"
"Why don't you go back to the bedroom and wait for me, and I'll explain more."
I head back to your room, puzzled as to what you want to talk about. I sit quietly on the corner of the bed waiting for you, and you enter the room and shut the door, a freshly-popped bottle of champagne and a champagne flute in hand. You pour a glass of champagne, place it on the table, and ask, "Do you want that?"
I look at you, puzzled, and say, "OK, sure, yeah, I suppose, if you don't."
"Well, then, take it," you say, looking down at me from beside the bed.
"OK, thanks," I say, hesitantly. There's something about your expression that concerns me, but I can't quite figure it out. I hold the glass, but don't drink from it.
"This actually perfectly illustrates the problem," you say, sitting next to me. You pull off your shoes and socks, and put them to the side. You slip one arm around me, gently squeezing the swell of my hip with one hand and taking the glass with the other, setting it back on the table.
"What do you...?"
"Don't talk. Stand up and take off your dress. And the shoes."
Eyes wide, face serious, I stand up and comply. Under my simple black dress, all I was wearing is a lacy black cincher, and now, after removing the dress and the shoes, it is all I am wearing period.
You look me up and down, point to the floor in front of you, and say, "Down," in a flat, ominous tone.
I kneel in front of you, and fold my arms behind my back, looking down at the floor. You place your fingertips under my chin and tip my face back so that I am looking in your eyes.
"I think, in light of our relationship, you should show me more respect."
I knit my brows together and take in a breath, and you move your fingers in a subtle motion so that they are no longer under my chin, but instead pressing lightly on my throat.
"Don't speak. I'll tell you when you can speak. You'll get your chance."
I settle again, nod once, and swallow nervously, feeling my pulse fluttering against your fingers pressed into my soft skin.
"Now, I know part of our deal is that when we are out and about, we are discreet about the fact that you are my little fucktoy," you say, squeezing down again on my throat to emphasize the last word. "But I want to know that you always remember."
I press my lips together, desperate to say something, but also eager to obey you. But even though I am upset and uncertain about what is happening, your tone and my position in-between your legs is also incredibly arousing, and I can feel a moist heat rising from my pussy. I can also feel my nipples rising and becoming erect as you continue to talk.
"You shouldn't be so casual with me when I do nice things for you when we are out, and fuck you the way you like it when we are in. You should show me you know how lucky you are! So, in the future... you don't say 'thanks,' you say 'thank you,' understand? And you don't say 'yeah,' you say 'yes.' You need to make that a habit."
You reach over, grab the glass off the nightstand, and take a sip of champagne.
"Now, I've read somewhere that it takes 21 days to make a new habit stick. I don't want to wait that long... but I do like that number. So, to help you remember how much you owe me... you're going to practice thanking me. And the way you are going to do that is by taking my cock all the way down your throat, as far as it will go... I'm not going to push or anything, but I want you to gag yourself with it. And then, when you gag, you can pull back, and you'll say "Thank you" and add in any other thing you want to say about how grateful you are for my cock and my lessons in how to respect me. "
You take another sip, look down at me smiling, and say, "I'll even count for you."
You put the glass down again, stand so that your crotch is inches from my face, and undo your pants. You slide the pants and your underwear down, and then sit back on the bed, leaving your clothes in a pile where I am kneeling. Using your foot, you sweep them out of the way. Your fat cock is fully erect, as turned on by my subservience and obvious arousal as my pussy is by your growling voice and stern demands.
"You can start now," you say. "Make sure to keep your hands folded behind your back. All you are going to be right now is a throat to fuck and a mouth to say what I want you to say. Ungrateful little bitches don't get to use their hands. And keep your eyes on my face."
I rise up and take your cock in my mouth, tasting the salt and musk of your skin. The width of it stretches my mouth wide, and I want to just suck it and lick it, but I know that's not enough. I take a deep breath and force myself down until my throat spasms.
"That was one," you say. "Now, thank me for it."
"Thank you for buying me drinks tonight. Thank. You."
You laugh at the emphasis on the words, and say, "Continue."
