Then there's the music. I like the roles music can play in stories. I really feel like I need to listen to more of it, so I can use it better....
Oh, and yes: I am a little bit ashamed of the title.
Jazz, jizz, and... jerking
The dulcet tones of soft jazz oozed
through the room, and Sean closed his eyes and tried to adjust his
position as best he could. He flexed the fingers on his left hand,
trying to keep the blood flowing through the ropes binding his wrist
to his shoulder. The little bit of padding under his knees, which
seemed like such a wonderful concession at the time, now just
reminded him of the rope laced back and forth between and around his
legs. The loop at his ankles ran through the crook of his elbow,
pulling him either to kneel straight up or risk losing his balance
and falling face first to the floor, and into the bowl.
He looked down at the bowl and the
swirling puddle of cum already half filling it up.
She stood on the other side of the
bowl, her feet spread wide, balancing lightly on the toes of her
boots. He didn't have to look up the long and soft leather to know
that she was impatient. To see that she had her fists on her hips. He
didn't have to look up to see the frown on her face or the raised
eyebrow as she looked down at him.
There was a long drawn out note, the
horn making a soulful moan that made his whole body tingle.
He kept moving his right hand as best
he could, trying not to wince at the friction burns. The erection was
still strong, and he knew he would eventually cum again, but the
movement had become painful. The lotion on his hand had long since
dried, and the lube was more than used up. He was exhausted.
“You're almost there,” she said.
Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through
Sean's brain. It cut through the haze of his fatigue, through the
pain of the way his arm was bound, through the heightened sensitivity
of his cock, and even through his growing desire to never touch
himself ever again.
He redoubled his efforts, stroking
faster, trying to focus on the tip, knowing that was the best way. He
wanted to lick his hand for just that little bit of lubricant, but
the rope made it impossible to move more than a few inches away from
his cock.
The jazz solo continued, a gentle and
slow belting of soul that was in such stark contrast to the desperate
moaning and groaning of the men trying to get themselves started,
trying to make themselves cum just one more time.
Sean looked to his left and watched one
of the others raise his hand to his mouth and run his tongue over his
palm. Sean must have sighed, because she laughed at him.
“You want to do that, don't you?”
she asked. “To lick your palm, right? But it's not about lubricant.
The spit won't do much for that. You want to do it because of the
taste. Don't you? You want to lick your hand because it's been on
your cock, and you just want to taste your own musk. You want to run
your tongue over your hand, to savor the taste of cock.” She
laughed, a low chuckle laced with a combination of disappointment and
teasing.
Then she sighed. “You know, just
because the losers have to
drink their cum doesn't mean that you can't if you win. Would that
help? Would you like the chance to drink yours up even if you win?”
She tapped her foot, then started slapping the tip of her riding crop
against the top of her boot.
“I'll
tell you what,” she said, reaching towards him with the crop and
lifting his chin up so he had to look her in the face. “If you win,
not only will I let you lick me to orgasm in front of everyone here,”
she gestured around the room with her eyes, though her voice was just
for him. Her attention focused on him so tightly that it felt like
there was no one else in the world but her, nothing there but her
eyes, her body, her voice, her boots, and her crop. “When you
finish, I'll take this whole bowl full of cum and I'll pour it over
your head.”
She
made a soft hum of joy and smirked at the idea. “You'll have warm
cum dripping down your head, down your face. It'll drip down your
shoulders and your arms.” The music framed her words, sliding
around her voice like a lover caressing her inappropriately. “We
can leave it there until it dries, and let everyone in the room
watch. Wouldn't you love it if they all watched?”
Sean
bit his lip and tried for some reason to hold off. The music tickled
at him, the sound licking his mind in a way he had to work to shut
out. He felt the orgasm starting to rise in him, and didn't want to
cum while she was talking about that. If he came while she was
suggesting these things, she'd think it turned him on. She'd think he
wanted to bathe in cum, his or someone else's, and think that he
wanted the whole room to watch him kneel at her side, cum dripping
all down his body. If he came now, she'd assume that was true.
And if
he came now, he wouldn't be able to deny it. Not to her, not to
himself.
She
laughed again and ran the riding crop gently over his face, rubbing
his cheek with a gentle caress. Then she moved it down his chest and
under his balls. He moaned a little at the touch of the leather.
The
tip of the crop was suddenly under his nose. “Take a deep breath,”
she said. “You can't taste your cock, but you can at least smell
it. Smell the sex, smell the musk. This is as manly as you ever
smell. Let the smell convince you of your masculinity.” She rubbed
the leather against his upper lip, doing her best to deposit the
scent there before moving the crop down to his chest.
Sean
grimaced, trying to ignore the smell, trying to focus on what he was
doing, on the bowl in front of him. On the contest. Just the contest.
Not the long, drawn out notes of jazz. Not the cheering of the crowd.
Not the grunts of the other contestants. Just on the bowl. Just on
himself. Just on the contest.
“I
really think there's a chance you might lose,” she said. “Then
you'd have to drink
your bowl. Don't tell me you're losing on purpose.” She shook her
head in disappointment. “I will be very cross if you're throwing
the game. Look, if it's so important to you to drink the cum, I told
you I'd let you do it anyway.”
She
was silent for a few seconds, and the music slipped its way in again,
thrusting into his awareness with a smooth and gentle caress,
stuffing itself into him, pounding away at his mind.
Then
she laughed.
“Oh,
right. You wanted it poured all over you. Well, maybe the other boys
would let you drink theirs? I know that's supposed to be their
punishment for losing, but I bet we could find a way to convince
their mistresses otherwise. Maybe a little strapon gangbang, with you
right in the middle of it all?”
She
smiled and ran her hand down her side, then slid the tip of the crop
over his chest. “We could do it all,” she said. “Cover you in
your own cum, let the other girls fuck you from both sides as the cum
drips its way down your body. Then, if you do a good job, you can
drink up the cum of the other boys. Or we could pour that on you as
well. Just completely drench you in cum.”
He
tried so hard not to cum. Not to let her know how much he liked the
imagery she was bringing forward. She giggled, knowing he was getting
close to the edge.
She
leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “Wouldn't you
like to be a sperm drenched cum guzzling gang bang slut? I know you
want that. And you want everyone to know about it too, don't you? Go
ahead. Cum. Let everyone know what a filthy little fuck whore you
are, deep down inside.”
He
grimaced, trying to hold it in.
She
looked him in the eyes. She winked. “Do it,” she said. “Cum.”
She
stood up straight, and her voice became louder. More intense.
Undeniable. “Now.”
Sean
couldn't hold in the moan as he came, feeling like it was draining
out everything inside him, like his soul was gushing into the bowl at
his feet.
The
bowl at Her feet.
“That's
my boy,” she said. Her voice lingered along with the last strains
of jazz curling through the room. She reached forward and patted him
on the head. Then she took a step back and settled into a chair as
the music came to a crescendo and slowly died away. She spread her
legs nice and wide, her heels resting on the floor.
She
clapped her hands in the sudden silence of the room and pointed at
her bare pussy.
“No
come get your prize.”
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