The Parlor of Sighs Pt. 02

She shifted forward with feline grace, her athletic thighs framing my head.

She slid her black panties aside, revealing her mature, hairy but neatly trimmed, Asian pussy -- dark, wet, demanding.

Her scent hit me like a drug. Earthy. Raw. Primal.

It wasn't pink or polished or photo-ready -- it was real. Mature. Musky. Utterly sovereign. A grown woman's cunt -- a throne, not a playground.

Nothing like the girly, perfumed blondes I used to tongue for effect -- always briefly, always with an ulterior motive. I'd fake-please their clean-shaven peaches with my mouth just long enough to make them moan, to get them wet enough to think I was a generous lover.

But it was never really for them.

It was always a performance.

About my skill, my control -- never their release.

I didn't even care if they came. Half the time, I didn't even notice if they did. I just wanted to get their mouths dripping and eager -- to cash in their arousal for a hungrier, deeper blowjob.

Oral was just foreplay for my own forthcoming pleasure, not theirs. A game. A strategy. I was always in control.

But this... this wasn't that.

She wasn't someone eager to return the favor.

She didn't even offer the illusion.

She demanded to be pleased -- and made it clear my orgasm was optional, irrelevant, an afterthought at best.

Her musky scent flooded my senses.

Every breath reminded me: I was here to serve her body, her pleasure, her orgasm. I wasn't teasing her for reciprocity -- I was worshipping.

Consumed. Subjugated.

And the moment that truth hit me -- the moment I realized I was tasting power, not pussy -- something inside me shattered.

This wasn't an invitation.

It was a command.

I groaned helplessly into her dripping heat.

A man possessed by a need he didn't understand, desperate to please a woman who didn't need to please him back.

My tongue now moved on instinct -- worship and hunger fused. I pressed between her folds, circling her clit, tracing slick heat. Her flavor was deep -- spicy, potent, alive.

Her thighs clenched around my face. Her high heels dug into my skin. My world shrank to the taste of her.

She looked down, eyes glowing with dark triumph.

And yanked the chain.

A sharp bolt of pain shot through my chest.

I gasped into her.

"Good boy," she murmured. "I can tell you've eaten plenty of pussy before. But I'm not one of those little sluts who gasp if you remember to use your tongue before gagging them on your cock."

She snarled, yanking the chain again with slow, deliberate cruelty.

I twisted in agony tongue digging deeper into her.

She continued ignoring my reaction "But never properly. Just rushed, lazy flicks to get them wet enough to fuck. You've never served one. Not like this."

"And I see you're quite enjoying the taste, eh?" she murmured, her tone mocking, syrupy with cruelty. "Not your average shaved, perfumed peach, is it?"

She chuckled low.

She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "There's something I should tell you, though..."

She ground herself harder against my mouth, letting the wet heat of her bush smother my lips, her musk thick and dizzying.

"I haven't washed this cunt in days. Not once. It's ripe and sour -- steeped in sweat, laced with my piss remnants and the stale saliva of other proud boys I've broken since."

Her words hit me.

I squirmed, breath caught, tugging at the ropes biting my wrists.

Her fingers twisted in my hair, locking me in place.

"And look at you... already losing your fucking mind over it."

Every instinct screamed to resist -- but deeper down, something darker bloomed.

She was everything I never touched -- everything I thought I was above.

Wild. Unapologetic. Filthy. Real.

The anti-thesis of every polished girl I'd ever used and tossed aside.

It drove me mad.

And she saw it.

"Oh, you hate that you like it," she whispered, reading my mind like a diary, her voice thick with cruel delight. "And I love watching you choke on how much you actually fucking need it."

She just kept going on "I'm the opposite of everything you ever fucked. And I'm everything you'll crave from now on."

She rocked against me in slow, grinding waves her heels painfully and relentlessly scrubbing my ribs.

"Keep tasting my cream white boy. Feast on it. Devour my muff. Worship my bush. Like it's the only thing you've ever wanted."

As she leaned in even deeper, I felt the soft scratch of the lace around her ankle press into my chest side -- like a silk brand, marking me as hers with every grind of her hips against my mouth.

"That tongue's barely passable," she muttered, voice thick with disdain. "Slip up, and I'll flip into proper position -- you'll still be licking my cunt, but this time while my tongue's carving memory into your flesh. It's sharper than you think."

One hand reached back -- gripped my cock.

She didn't stroke it. Didn't pump. Didn't jerk.

She just held it -- warm, firm, steady -- gripping me with unbearable control.

Then -- another tug.

The damn chain!

I screamed into her cunt.

Pain bloomed across my chest. My cock twitched wildly.

"That's it," she growled. "Moan into my dirty cunt like it's your only purpose."

As she rode my mouth with ruthless rhythm, the key pendant swung mockingly from the lace around her waist, tapping against her flexing abs -- a cold, glinting reminder that someone's cock was already locked away... and if I really impressed her, I might just earn the honor of being the next poor soul kept begging behind it.

She caught my eyes drifting up toward the pendant, and without missing a stroke, laughed low and wicked.

"Mmm... really mesmerized by the key, huh?" she purred, grinding harder into my face. "Eyes on it, not the prize. That might be your future, white boy -- drooling, aching, denied, and locked. And if you're lucky..." -- she tugged my hair viciously -- "... I'll be the one holding it."

Then another cruel yank.

I moaned louder, more desperately, tongue flicking, swirling, sucking.

Her hips bucked, relentless.

The serpent in her navel ring swung above me as she moved -- hypnotic, mocking -- its gold tongue flicking like it could taste my desperation.

Her breath came fast.

Her thighs locked tighter. Her heels stabbed deeper.

"I'm now going to cum but you won't" she announced, voice firm, commanding, "And you'll experience every bit of it."

Her orgasm wasn't like anything I'd ever seen -- and I thought I'd seen plenty.

I'd been with girls who moaned and twisted and writhed with what they claimed were real climaxes, sometimes even true ones. But no matter how genuine, their orgasms were always performances -- shaped by porn, curated to impress.

They wanted to seem "experienced," but they all followed the same tired script: high-pitched squeals, arching backs, "oh god" theatrics that mimicked every average pornstar in a browser tab. They wanted to be seen as wild, dirty, skilled. And to always feed the same shallow male fantasy -- mine.

But this... this was not that.

Her orgasm wasn't a performance -- it was a claim.

It was mature, feminine, and completely unapologetic.

She didn't care if it looked good or sounded sexy.

She didn't aim to impress -- she aimed to consume.

Her pleasure wasn't offered as a gift; it was taken as a right.

Her cries didn't ask for approval.

There was no role-play in this moment, no faking, no "naughty girl" illusion to stroke my ego.

Only raw, ruthless release -- hers, not mine.

And what drove me to madness was this: I didn't get to evaluate her. She measured me. My performance, my obedience, my tongue's devotion -- she would decide if it earned anything.

The punishment and reward were very real, and they were hers to dispense. I wasn't judging how deep some bimbo could gag on my cock. I was being judged -- ruthlessly -- on how well I served.

And if I failed?

The stakes had never been higher. Her orgasm felt like the end of my world -- and the birth of something terrifyingly new.

She shattered -- a cry echoing in the chamber as her body surged against my mouth.

The chain jerked taut with her wild, instinctive, spasmic tug.

My masculine pain fueling and intensifying her savage, feminine bliss.

I screamed into her as the first hot, wet jet of female orgasmic fluid gushed into my mouth.

She quickly and expertly started rubbing her clit producing many more while looking down straight into my eyes.

"Eat my cum, white boy."

She kept jerking, bucking, twitching -- panting and pulsing through every wave -- and I drank her down, helpless, owned, delirious.

When she finally stilled, she slid off me slowly -- like a cat stretching after a satisfying kill. Her robe hung open now, revealing the full glory of her sculpted body.

And I saw them: both dark brown, perky nipples pierced, gleaming silver bars catching the low light, glinting like trophies of practiced dominance.

I'd fucked a few girls with pierced nipples before -- mostly for show. They'd imitate some pornstar or edgy trend, but never really did anything with them. Just decoration, nothing more.

I always knew there was more to be done, some hidden power in those bars. But until now, I'd never seen it truly wielded -- never felt the sharp promise beneath the shine.

My eyes lingered a moment too long, drawn to the cold, cruel beauty of metal woven deep into her skin.

She caught my glance -- and her eyes lit up with wicked amusement.

"You've seen pierced nipples before?" she said, voice dripping with challenge. "But I bet you never even imagined what a proper woman can deliver with them."

And then she looked down at my twitching, desperate cock.

With a sinuous grace, she bent low... and pressed one of her pierced nipples against my frenulum, pinning my cock between her bosom and my quivering abs.

The contact was unbearable.

Not soft, not tender.

Just the cold, unyielding press of metal against the most delicate part of my cock.

I jolted, moaning, hips bucking involuntarily, wordlessly begging for more.

"So sensitive, aren't we?" she murmured with a cruel smile. "Well then -- it's only fair I give the other one the same attention. Double the fun, right?"

She paused.

Waited for me to calm.

Then slowly repeated the act with the other nipple bar -- same spot, same maddening cruelty.

I looked at her and groaned, eyes pleading.

She smiled.

She then leaned closer, letting her words drip into me like poison.

"I made up my mind," she murmured.

"You'll come for me. But my way."

She peeled off her black silk panties.

I stared, dazed, twitching with hunger.

She casually wiped her pussy clean with it -- then leaned over me again, eyes locking with mine.

And stuffed the warm, wet drenched fabric straight into my mouth with a firm, practiced motion.

"I want you to inhale me, white boy. Breathe me into your lungs while I make you lose your fucking mind."