Even More...

Submitted by Nicolae Parx

There is never enough for a slave's Owner. She will always want even more.
Even with the scars, welts, and stripes on his forearms, shoulders, and back along with a deep red hue glossing his balls and starting to spread up his shaft, She wasn't done with him. Her need was too great and his need was screaming in Her ears. She had to have everything he could give Her - - his present, his past and his potential. It was all Hers and She wanted
. . . even more.

He knelt on the hard floor, just waiting and tuned into Her slightest movement. A small crooked finger meant he was to spring into action and obey whatever She instructed. Silently, She controlled him more than any words could engender. A nod brought him to his knees; a tilted head laid him flat on his stomach at Her feet. A single kick opened his mouth and made him drink in whatever She put before him. It didn't matter if it were Her toes or fingers or breast or dripping bottom. He sucked. He worshipped. That's what he did.
She always wanted more from him and he struggled to anticipate it, to perform, to please Her. Most often when he did, She patted some part of him and murmured, "Good slave," or "Good fucktoy." Her words ate through him; he longed to hear them and would do anything She required just to hear them and to feel Her touch.
Until today because She wanted
. . . even more.
Usually She kept him chained to Her ankle, but today She altered his position and put him on his knees a mere three feet from Her. Deftly, She roped his penis and balls in a slip knot that tightened as She pulled the rope toward Her through a very utilitarian floor hook. Tied inescapably to Her chair, She could shorten the rope in short, crisp tugs and bring noises from his throat that approximated grunts. Some were screams. All of them made Her smile. But She wanted
. . . even more.
Finally, when the rope was as taut as possible and his genitals screeched for relief, She spread Her legs and made him peer into Her. Even a slave could see the warm wetness glistening from her trimmed hair and even a slave understood that She was ready to be pleased.
But this slave would soon learn just what it took to please Her.
She twisted the rope one more agonizing turn around the latch on Her chair and delighted in the tears that welled up in his eyes. He would never complain and they both knew it. He would clench his jaw and suffer for Her, but he would never complain.
She smiled at his plight and She wanted
. . . even more.
A long finger worked its way into the dark hair of Her lower lips and a small moan escaped Her lips. Forced to watch Her do what he longed to perform himself - - what was his duty - - his back teeth ached from his fierce self-inflicted bite. A second finger and a new moan and his ears burned as hot as the welts on his arms that She had inflicted just a few minutes ago. Proud to wear Her scars, he stared into Her, searching for each finger, desperate to know what every one of them did to please Her so he could do the same for Her when she allowed him entry. He longed for permission but he knew that She wanted
. . . even more.
A third finger and another moan, louder this time.
His tortured penis began throbbing in excitement and he oozed the need of the truly famished. Almost jealous of Her fingers' journey, his head moved an involuntary inch forward. He never realized its movement, but She took it all in. Her slave's need was in Her control. She owned his desire and fed off his passion. And She wanted
. . . even more.
A long drip of precum launched from the tip of his penis and dribbled down to the cold floor when a fourth finger entered Her and danced a sensual circle inside while a longer, louder moan filled the utilitarian room.
With an air of authority that comes from the security of ownership, She worked her fingers in a dance of delight. Soon, She was in joyful song and his eyes, riveted to what he could see of Her fingers, burned with tears of need, want and obligation. In short order, She seemed oblivious to his presence.
"Please," he moaned.
She ignored him.
"Please, Mistress," he begged.
She was in Her own world of delight.
"Oh, god, please!" he pleaded in a throaty whisper.
She heard a noise but did not discern words.
Her hand took the rope and tugged it mercilessly toward Her. The pain seared through him and dropped him flat on the floor at her feet, his lips a bare inch from Her shoes.
With his stiff cock under his weight, he slithered toward Her, parted his lips and took the toe of Her shoe between them. Lapping like a dog on a hot summer day, he was forced to listen to Her incessant moans of happiness and be satisfied to taste the leather of Her shoe. Slithering closer, he moved his tongue to the skin of Her foot and with dogged determination, slithered an inch closer to Her.
The rope ate his balls in its ever-tightening death grip. But he knew She wanted
. . . even more.
Barely able to lick Her skin, let alone worship Her the way She deserved, he punished his own body by slithered yet another inch toward Her moaning body's warmth. Tasting Her was all he imagined yet Her sounds of joy filled his ears. Desperation gripped him as he thought about not being between Her legs where he belonged when She was ready to finish. It was so unthinkable, he pushed himself forward as the rope tore his organs in an ever-tightening noose.
She moaned loudly enough to make him stop immediately and savor the sound that filled the room and fell into his ears.
One more inch, he calculated, and he could taste her ankle while she completed the journey without him.
She sighed from Her throat as his elbows carried him the final inch to Her. Opening his mouth, he pressed his tongue out and . . .
Her sounds made him realize he had performed well for Her. He knew, as always, she was done with Her need, and therefore, with him.
Her strong wet fingers lifted his head by his hair from the cold floor and drew him between Her legs. In a single motion, She untwisted the rope from its harness and pulled his face to within an inch of her glistening moisture. His lungs inhaled Her; his eyes drank in Her ecstasy, and his tongue longed to taste Her again.
Even in the throes of joy, She always made sure he knew his place. Yet he heard and felt only one thing: the need to take Her to the end of Her journey with the tongue She had trained so well. But he knew that She would demand
. . . even more.
Somewhere, birds chirped and the wind blew through the trees. But the slave existed entirely between Her legs and for him, there was no other world. With only his tongue, he painted the rainbow for Her and listened happily to Her repeated calls of delight. His balls burned, his arms ached, his cock was rubbed raw from dragging underneath as he slithered toward Her across the cold floor.
But he was happy.
And She was nowhere close to done with him. She had to have
. . . even more.