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I look up at her with fight in my eyes. I don’t know what she’s trying to insinuate and warn her with my gaze.

“Now, don’t be petulant.” Her other hand holds my head as well. The strength of both arms keeps me on her, and it’s becoming more difficult to look into her eyes. That’s what she wants. “I’m complimenting you. The only thing better than a woman trying it out for the first time is a woman who can jump right in and act like the queen of oral fixation.”

Laughter enters her voice. I still don’t like what she’s implying.

“You love putting your mouth there, don’t you?”

Well, that’s neither here nor there, is it? I’m here, I’m eating her out and about to give it my porn star all if that’s what she wants, and it doesn’t matter if I think this is one of the most banal things or if I live to do it every day. Either way, I am doing it. For her. For my Mistress.

Fuck, yes, I’m doing it for her. For the way she grunts, the way she thrusts against my face, into my mouth, against my tongue, and the way her fingers grab the back of my neck with promises of what’s to come for my cunt.

I flick my own finger beneath her prosthetic. A new groan echoes in the bedroom. I know what I’m doing is what she wants, even though she’ll pretend otherwise. To keep me in line.

“You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

Against what we both want, she steadies my head and gradually pulls it back. Saliva drips from lips. I try not to look at her glistening mound and instead gaze into her hazel eyes.

I told you I gave it my porn star all. It’s what she wants, isn’t it?

“You know what I’m saying, Katie. I want to hear you say it first, though.”

I purse my lips in indignation.

“Katie,” Ira growls. “I want to hear you say it. And mean it.”

Ah, and so we begin my utter debasement. It’s not enough to sit me down on her bed and shove her nightstand in my face. Sure, I want her to do that. Do we have to address it, though? Why not let it happen? God, it’s almost like I’m with a Domme or something!

I guess I am one of those types. A lot of people would agree, especially if they knew I was heavy into kink. In fact, I was called such things a lot in high school. You know, back when I said fuck it and started screwing whoever I pleased. Like Ira. Well, I tried to screw her.

Guess that means she knows she’s right. Hence the smug look on her face as she’s got her prosthetic hovering outside of my mouth.

Sometimes I really hate her.

“All right,” I begin, refusing to break eye contact. “You’ve got me, Mistress. I’m a big ol’ slut who loves all forms of sex.”

Amusement continues to tug at her lips. Were this everyday life, I don’t doubt for a second that Ira would throw her head back and laugh. Maybe she would banter with me about past sexual experiences, particularly as stupid teenagers.

This is not everyday life. This is something else entirely.

“Do you?” Ira pushes an errant hair out of my face. “If that were true, you wouldn’t look so angry about it.”

What does she want? To rub my face in her genitals and fuss over how much I love it?

Fuck that.

“I asked you a question, Katie.”

My eyes soften, but it’s not because I’m coming around to her. “I do, Ira. I love eating pussy, giving head, going down, whatever you call it. I love feeling all of that in my mouth and that amazing sensation of being on the other end of one person’s climax.” When she raises an eyebrow, I continue, empowered. “I love sex. I love riding, bending over, lying down with my legs in the air, I don’t give a fuck. I love it when my partner worships me, even on top of me. Even if you’re a woman. A man. Someone in between. I don’t care what equipment you’re packing, and I don’t care how you like to fuck. And you know what, Mistress?”

Her thumbs push into my cheeks. “What?”

I inhale, deeply. “I secretly love it when you come on me.” It’s my turn to bare my teeth, tearing my mouth back into a terrible smile that she will doubtlessly count as insubordination. I fist the prosthetic, daring her to react. “Or in me.”

This is my first time admitting it out loud. Shit, this is one of my first times admitting it at all – how good it felt having Ira on top of me, blessing me with one of the most intimate things she can do. The sounds. The scents. The feeling of it all. Is it any wonder people call me a slut? Maybe they don’t say it to my face, but I can’t deny how much I want her to do it to me again.

Her essence dripping on me. All over my skin. Taunting us both with how wild she is.

I’m a vessel. For her pleasure. For her sexuality.