Since we had finished supper, N has been out in the bobcat moving snow off of the driveway and road so I can finally move my van. It hasn’t moved since last Wednesday and I have this intense urge to apologize profusely to her. N comes in every so often to warm His fingers and toes and thaw the snot off of his nose. During one of the earlier pit stops I could smell Him a mile away…He’d gotten ATF and Hydraulic fluid on His coveralls and coat and good gods above, that shit stinks to the highest heavens.
This last warm up He walked over to my seat at the desk and said “How about I warm up my dick in your mouth.” To His absolute shock I vehemently protested. He stunk. The smell of the ATF made my eyes water, and if I had to breathe it in any closer I’d prolly start to heave. He looked at me with this mixture of amusement and displeasure (If the look could speak it would say “Help, these days, can’t kill them, can’t sell them, think they own the damn world!”). And then with a heavy sigh that indicated He was merely indulging in my silly little stupidity, He slid His coveralls off and folded them over. That’s true love, right there. rolls eyes
I got to sucking, easing Him into it, and He slides His hand behind my head and grabbed my ponytail. I immediately paused and glared up at Him (well, as much as one can glare up when orally stuffed with dick) with a feeling of exasperation that only a long-suffering slave can appreciate. I am busy actively ignoring the stench wafting from the front of His coveralls and He wants to fuck my throat. I can see this ending two ways, and neither is particularly pleasant…
So I unwillingly slid back down and He held me there, firmly but not painfully, and I patiently waited to come back up for air, reminding myself that fighting it makes it hurt more, uses up air, makes me gag more… the pressure releases and I came up for air, drew in a long breath, and pressure again. Lather rinse repeat a few times…I could sense that the last two were not as smooth, I was starting to get agitated at the end. I drew in a deep breath and slowly swallowed Him again…and waited for Him to release the pressure…waited…quashed the anxiety, and He let me up. He asked curiously “How long do you think that was?” —-
Okay, side rant: WTF is up with O-types gagging you with something and then desiring conversation?! Seriously. My mouth is stuffed full of cock. Your cock. Let’s not start talking politics or something. Not fair. Not fair at all!
—I shrugged and grunted what I hoped sounded like “I dunno” from around His member. He said “10 seconds. Again.” The pressure, no air, calmed myself. Up for air again. “Good” He grunted. Drew a breath. Pressure again. Held the air. I had a fair guess of what 10 seconds is. I could do this. This was not 10 seconds. The edges of panic settle. How long now? I could do 10, what did He want now? Squelched the distress, waited it out, relaxed. Little muscles in my mouth tensed. Fingers curled on His coveralls. Eyes squeezed shut, ears waited for the most minute sounds of release. Finally the pressure released and I pulled back, gasped and waited for His direction. “Fifteen seconds,” He said.
Fifteen? Just five more? How. Why. What. That makes no sense, the difference between zen and panic is five seconds. The liminal space; life as defined as a time.
A few more of fifteen second panics and I started to adjust. Fifteen was no longer the number of unraveling. I could do fifteen.
He let me go. He still had the bobcat running, after all. I looked around, unable to meet His eyes. I was a science projection, an experiment, a lab animal. I was an object, curiosity acted upon. I liked it, I hated it, I wanted to do it more. I wiped my mouth and calmed my queasy stomach with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be soon before He toyed with me again.
Yeah. A semi-normal evening. We are so fucked. 😀