Somehow it’s all backwards now.

It used to be that your cock was your sword, the symbol and manifestation of your power, your ability to dominate. You bent her over the kitchen counter and penetrated her with it, forcing out of her moans and begging and screams of pleasure as you forced it inside her.

You fucked her pussy and ass and mouth, each as you wanted, taking your pleasure with her body, until, sore and exhausted, she yielded to you, submitted to your will, broken, beaten, a slave. After you’d finished pumping your see inside her you lay back, sated, as she knelt beneath you and kissed the head of your shaft in tender worship.

That was before.

But while you were sleeping she was thinking, planning, plotting. When it came time for her to please you again, you accepted it as your rightful spoils.

But it was different.

She got you to the edge, then slowed, agonizingly, teasing you, daring you to cum. She drew you out until your cock was purple and swollen, until it was slick with precum, until you were dizzy from breathing, until the commands coming out of your mouth began to sound more like pleas. 

The first time you slipped over the edge, her hands vanished and the cum oozed from you without pleasure. She said it was an accident but her eyes disagreed. You were hard again only moments later, your balls burning, and she was at it again, stroking and sucking, bringing you back to the edge.

Over again, without pleasure, the wickedness in her eyes unmistakable now. Each time, she gives you only enough time to catch your breath, for your cock to droop slightly, before bringing you back.

Your conquering sword has become a leash, gripped tightly in her hand as she controls you.

Oh I love that!

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