You’ll Never Taste What He Did

Don't look away.

You wanted this. You paid for this.

And now you're sitting exactly where I want you: knees red, thighs clenched, cage tight, eyes locked on my lips. That little twitch I saw when I said his name? Pathetic. You flinched like a dog.

But oh, that's right. You are a dog, aren't you? A housebroken little nothing who waits patiently for crumbs while I let a real man devour me.

He was here.

He was just here.

And now you're kneeling in his heat. You should've seen yourself when I opened the door for you--nose twitching, that desperate little hope in your eyes that maybe, just maybe, I'd let you clean the bed.

You don't get the bed. Not yet.

You get the floor. The corner. The ache.

And the taste of yourself--eventually. Maybe.

He left his shirt on the chair. Did you notice that? Of course you did. You've been staring at it like it's holy. Want to sniff it? Of course you do. Want to bury your face in the collar and stroke that worthless little nub I keep caged for my amusement?

But you're not even allowed to sniff until I say.

And I haven't said.

I'm still glistening. He didn't just fuck me. He wrecked me.

My lipstick's smudged. My thighs are soaked. There's a handprint on my ass, and my mascara is still streaked down my cheek from when he pulled my hair and told me to say his name louder.

Not yours. Never yours.

You're not even in the room when I moan.

But I thought of you.

Not in the way you want, no. Not lovingly. Not kindly. I thought of your face when I told him what you do after I edge you. I told him how you beg to lick your own mess off the floor, because that's the closest you'll ever get to tasting me.

Do you want to now?

Do you want to stroke that little nothing stick while you imagine what he left behind?

Tough.

Take your hands off your thighs. No touching. Not yet. You don't get to jerk off to what I actually enjoyed.

You get to beg. You get to ache. You get to obey.

Crawl to the foot of the bed. Slowly. Let your tongue drag across the carpet. Think about every drop you'll never taste.

And when you're close enough, I want you to look up at the soaked sheets and say, "Thank you for ruining her for me."

Say it.

Louder.

Again.

Now press your lips to the edge of the mattress. Just hover there. No contact. Just inhale. Imagine. Feel your little cock twitch against the bars and know--it's his scent that does that to you now.

You're hard for him. You're leaking for me. And you still haven't even earned your cleanup, have you?

Maybe I'll let you tonight.

Maybe I'll take what he left inside me, rub it into your chest, drag your nose across my thighs and whisper "good boy" as I watch you try not to explode.

But not yet.

Oh no, not yet.

Now... unlock.

Let it out. Let that pathetic little thing twitch in the air like it's proud of itself. Don't laugh. You know I'm already rolling my eyes.

Stroke it. Just a little. Two fingers. No pleasure. No rhythm. Just ache.

Build it. Hold it. Edge it.

Now stop. Let it drip. Look at the clear shame sliding down your tip.

That's your place. That's your purpose. That's what your cock is for.

Now cum. No stroking. Just squeeze. Force it out. Let it spray wherever it lands--your belly, your hand, your thigh--go on. Make a mess.

Because you're my mess.

And now, for the only part you're actually good at:

CEI.

Take it in. Fingers to lips. Coat your tongue.

Let it sit there. No swallowing yet. I want your throat working around it like it's hard to take.

Because it should be. Your own filth. Your own proof.

Now swallow. Yes, now. Like the good little cumrag you are.

Lick your fingers. Wipe your stomach. Scoop up the rest.

Don't leave a drop. I said clean.

Now look at me. Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out.

Show me it's empty. Show me your obedience. Show me how disgusting you are--and how much you love it.

Because I'm not done.

While you were licking your own cum off your wrist, I was texting him. Telling him how good it still feels. How he left me ruined. How you cleaned your own mess like the shame-fueled cuck I trained you to be.

He's on his way back.

And this time, the door stays open. The lights stay on. And you don't get the corner.

You get the edge of the bed.

To watch. To ache. To wait.

And when he finishes? When I'm dripping with a load you'll never earn?

You'll crawl. You'll whimper. And you'll suck it out of the condom.

Because that's all you'll ever taste. Not me. Never me.

Just the men who actually satisfy me.

And maybe--if you're lucky-- I'll film it. So you can watch yourself lose again and again and again.