I should warn you now if you’ve not read part one, you’ll want to start there. This isn’t really a tale you drop into halfway. The first part sets the stage, and this… well, this one drags you further under. The mood thickens. Some call it deep oral — though for me it’s never just about mouths or bodies. It’s about how far trust can stretch, how obedience feels when it edges close to surrender.
“Behave.” The word landed flat, sharp, almost careless, yet it went straight through me.
I wanted to laugh at myself for how quickly I folded. One word, and I was tethered.
He held me fast, testing. My lungs stuttered, my thoughts a scatter of fragments. It wasn’t comfortable, not really, but there’s something in that discomfort that pulls me closer. A silver line between ache and exhilaration. I always chase it.
When I thought I might break, he let me breathe. Not much, just enough. The release stung as much as the hold had.
“Keep your mouth open,” he said. The order clipped, cold. His hand cracked across my cheek and, ridiculously, the sound thrilled me. I gasped, not from pain, but because the sting curled into a strange sort of welcome.
“You like that, don’t you?” His thumb traced my lip, pressing until I could only mumble back.
And then came the teasing. Maddening, endless. He made me feel like an instrument tuned only for him, plucked and tested for his amusement. Every nerve seemed to answer to him.
I opened further without thinking. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. It felt like a kind of devotion — uncomfortable, consuming, yet oddly freeing. This was what deep oral meant to me: not the act itself, but how much I could give away, willingly.
“I could take you further,” he murmured. His thumb forced my jaw a little wider. My answer was only a sound — not quite a plea, but close.
Time blurred. The rhythm built, broke, rebuilt. Each pause felt deliberate, cruel, necessary. My body ached for an end, but my mind — my mind craved the stretch of it.
Then, suddenly, nothing. He pulled back. I shook, caught off balance. He still held me steady, forcing my gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes stripped me bare.
“Swallow,” he said, quiet as a knife. I obeyed. Always. And the weight of his control settled over me like a second skin.
He tugged me up, released my hair but not the claim he had on me. Covering myself never crossed my mind. That part of me had already been taken.
His hand softened, brushing my hair, trailing down my back until I shivered. His breath warmed my neck, dizzying.
“What do you want?” he asked. As if he didn’t know.
“I want you to own me,” I managed, voice small but true.
“Then wait for me.” His mouth hovered so close I almost leaned in. But he sent me instead to the bed. And I went, alight, emptied, waiting.
Continue your journey
If stories of power and surrender leave you restless, there’s more to explore. Our intimacy guides touch the same nerves: try A Beginner’s Guide to Gentle Femdom, or Crafting Your First BDSM Contract. They unravel the threads of trust, limits and the art of yielding.
And if you’re curious for something with a different twist, step into Secrets of Wetplay with a Notting Hill Escort or linger with When a Dominatrix Becomes Submissive in London, another tale that blurs the edges between control and release.
