Daddy's Table

Daddy's Table

Nervous energy consumes me if left unchecked. My thoughts run too fast, my skin feels too tight- I can't stop talking, or sometimes I can't start.

The best remedy for such maladies comes at the end of a flogger, or as the end of a cock gets buried in my throat. Lucky for me, last week I got both.

I arrived after a long drive, eager to come into a home that I have begun to associate with varying degrees of peace. The smell, the look, the feel, the man- all scream stability and care. I could feel my shoulders lower as he hugged me. He created space for my usual monologue as I unpacked my brain, letting me adjust to the shift in power one step at a time.

After a shower I was on my knees, and the last of my stressors slipped away.

I try to remember how thick his cock is, but fail every time. It's not just that my hand doesn't fit around it, or that my mouth can never quite open wide enough. It's that it thickens like a tree trunk, right from his core- a sturdy, rooted base with ripe nerve endings throughout.

My lips wrap around it tentatively at first as I reconcile my memory with its reality. I soak him in spit with my tongue, taking more of him into my mouth each time- and still not even getting half. He lets me set the pace at first, if only to give time to adjust my expectations. Before long, his hands are in my hair, a clear signal that he is now in charge.

I like it when his switch flips. He typically exudes refined restraint in the way that intelligent men often do. He is particular, quick-witted, and well-mannered, which makes being chosen by him all the more stimulating. When he grabs his first handful of my curls, I get to see beyond the man, to the dormant beast lying just beneath the surface.

With a growl he forces his cock deeper into my throat, holding me on him as I struggle with his girth. I tuck my hands behind my back as I quiet my reflexes, surrendering to his demand. He escalates quickly, coaxing thick, white, gag spit from my throat with each thrust. I tap out twice, and each time he holds me on him a few extra seconds- just enough to send the message that he is done going easy on me.

By the time he straps me to the table, the ground beneath me is already shaky.

The table is just high enough that I can't flatten my feet. I bend at the waist as he straps my wrists to the table above my head, leaving little room for movement. He fits a ballgag in my mouth while I struggle on my tiptoes to find stable footing. I am whimpering, and he asks me why. I don't have a great answer.

The first few blows steady me. I straighten my legs, grounding myself into the floor through my toes. I take some deep breaths as my skin starts to scream, smiling as my mind goes quiet. I focus on posture and breathing, trying as much as I can to relax my legs, though being on my tiptoes makes that far more difficult.

Once we're both warmed up, he switches implements to something leather and thuddy. It hurts in exactly the right way- deep and unforgiving. I moan with each blow, smirking as I realize he has excellent aim. He lands at least five in a row in the same spot, and I can feel the welt swelling under the next impact.

My moans become screams when he switches to something that stings. My skin is already on fire, and he is relentless as he amplifies each sensation. My feet leave the floor as my body contracts, forcing me to work to relax my stance before the next blow. My screams are soaked in spit from the ballgag, my wrists pulling uselessly at the tight restraints.

He stops, and before I can say a prayer for something soft I feel his hard cock drive into me. I am soaked, naturally, but it still takes him some effort to stretch me around his girth. Being filled by him is nothing short of decadent; it feels impossible, electric, and centering amid an intense ripple of undiluted pleasure. He thrusts just long and hard enough to drive me to the edge, then pulls out.

The emptiness that I feel each time he pulls out of me almost makes the pleasure not worth it- almost.

I take a deep breath as he chooses his next implement, praying for a thud. The sting that I am met with creates the first ripple of panic. He senses it as my body tenses and screams become more urgent. Instead of slowing his pace, he offers me softness- gentle encouragement from a caring voice that directly contrasts the cruelty of his hands. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his voice and touch soothing my tension.

The sting lands over and over, layering pain until a safe word threatens on my lips, then he changes his target just in time that I swallow my protests. He oscillates between the hardened challenge of "take more, you're not done," and the soft encouragement of "you're being such a good girl, keep going," until I am hanging on his every word.

By the time the thuds return at the end of the leather flogger, I am floating. The screams are constant, but my body relaxes with less and less effort each time. I sink into each impact, clinging to his voice as my only tether. By the time he is finished I am sweating, spit-soaked, and serene.

He removes my restraints and gag and makes room for me in his giant bed. I curl up with him as adrenaline-induced trembles take over my body. He gently strokes my hair, kissing my forehead and praising my efforts. My ass screams as he rolls me to my back and parts my legs, marvelling at how wet I am.

He easily brings me to the edge of an orgasm, then rudely forbids me from cumming. I hastily grasp for some self-restraint as I beg him to change his mind. The sharp edge comes back to his voice as he tells me no, which at least serves to harden my resolve. When he finally gives me permission, every sensation I have endured to that point explodes between my legs, flinging me off a cliff into a gorgeous abyss.

The second orgasm comes quickly, before I am even able to catch my breath. His fingers are laser focused on my needy clit, applying just enough pressure for me to see stars. I cry out as the orgasm rocks me, clinging to his shirt as he gently coaxes me back to earth.

The gratitude I feel for my quiet mind and relaxed body drives me to one of my favourite places to let go. I nestle myself between his legs, taking his thick cock in my fist and marvelling at its hardness. My mouth waters as a self-satisfied smirk tugs at my lips.

Lucky girl.

I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, then up his rock-hard shaft. I give him lips, tongue, and mouth- one at a time, then all at once. I suck on his balls while I stroke my spit into his girth, trailing my curious tongue to the sensitive ball of nerves under his balls. His hardness extends all the way back, and I can feel his cock pulse each time my tongue presses into him.

The first moan I earn is delicious, as if I needed encouragement to keep going. The sting in my ass, the pulse of his cock, the quiet in my mind, and the sound of his pleasure creates a decadent scene where time ceases to exist.

I trail my tongue down to his asshole, delighting in the shiver that I create. My tongue flutters, explores, and invades, with each change in sensation creating a new reaction from him. He praises me, I go deeper. He moans, I tease with tenderness. He grabs my hair, I open wide and take him in my throat. He tells me how pretty I look, I know he means it.

My face is soaked in spit, and so is he. Nothing exists to me beyond his pleasure and my mouth. Breath, self-awareness, and even the intense sting in my ass melt away as I explore each new shiver and sensation through him. I am almost disappointed when he stops me, until I remember why.

He brings me back to the table, and the scene of my unravelling. He kindly stations some pillows underneath, next to the oil. He settles himself face-down on the table while I settle myself underneath.

The only part of him that's visible to me is his cock, through a hole in the milking table. I am not visible to him at all.

I relax my body and mind in the freedom from perception as I take my time to marvel at how hard he is for me. I coat my hands in oil before massaging it into him with slow, sure strokes from base to tip. I start to smile as I realize that I get to set the pace- he is my own personal plaything- an interesting turn of the tables.

I stroke him first with one hand, then with two- moving from base to tip, squeezing soft and hard to test his reactions. I cup his balls, I give him my mouth every now and then- just to make sure I have his attention.

His moans and unedited praise assure me that I do, and fuel my curiosity.

His cock is gorgeous. Yes, it's huge- but it's also responsive, rock hard, perfectly tapered, and deeply rooted. It is so much fun to play with, and to learn with. He loves pressure between his balls and his asshole, but he also loves a light flick of the tongue. He moans when I lick up his shaft, and when I suck hard on the tip of his cock.

The oil allowed me to sustain a pace that spit couldn't. I ran one hand after the other down his shaft, squeezing at varying intervals and gauging his shiver. Eventually I got greedy, quickening my pace and grip to see how far I could take him.

I knew that I had him close to cumming, and while I briefly considered edging him, in truth it was my own self-restraint that was lacking- I couldn't wait to watch him cum.

I had no idea just how hot it would be.

I moaned as the first rope came out of him, landing on my legs as his body started to spasm. I never tore my eyes from his cock, and didn't relax my grip- I milked rope after rope out of him, coating my tits, legs, and stomach. I moaned with him, both of us caught up in the decadent ecstasy of something new. I got a front row seat to seeing him explode, and to watching his cock the entire way through an orgasm- from the initial explosion, to squeezing every last drop from his tip to my tongue.

Daddy's table was one of the hottest experiences I have ever had, and I absolutely can't wait to do it again.