Authentic Worship

“Do you have any requests, boy?” she asked. “Anything you want bad?”

She posed the question during a brief lull in what was shaping-up to be a long evening of bondage, booze, and kinky sex. Temporarily sated, she rested against the headboard, my head in her lap.

That she’d entertain my desires meant she was pleased with me. Because at that point in our relationship, I was rarely permitted to suggest anything and for good reason.

Because I had a track record of being pushy and stringing together requests without prompting. When indulged, I’m a greedy slut. And while she enjoyed my constant wants and cravings, the extent of my greed began to script our time together and undermine the dynamic.

She’d addressed this behavior.

I was forbidden to request or beg for anything without permission, and she had  little inclination to consider any activities outside of her  what she wanted until my behavior improved.

My initial reaction to this offer was nearly a disaster. I started running through the mental checklist of all the things I craved, close to falling into the same, tired pattern of manipulating the situation as a means of getting more of what I want.

Then, just as fast, I found myself awash with guilt and shame.

I felt like an ungrateful, unworthy, pest of a boy to even consider such a course of action. And to do this when she was pleased with me?

I wanted to make it right. At the same time, I didn’t want to burden her with my internal drama.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said teasing. “Think fast before I change my mind.”

Composing myself, I curled up close, lips close to her ear, and made the following request:

I begged her to allow me to worship her cunt. I begged her to allow it as an act of devotion and supplication, as a way of demonstrating just how grateful I was to be her boy, just how much I adored her. And if she could think of any other way she preferred I enact this devotion, I’d happily comply. But if she’d just relax and allow me to show my gratitude, I’d be eager and not stop until instructed.

Seeing as I’m a complete oral slut – among other things – my desire to give her head was neither unusual nor unexpected. But I’d just begged for something far different. She was caught off-guard.

This is one of the few times I can remember her being at a loss for words. She merely smiled, kissed me on the forehead, and lightly pressed my shoulder, indicating I should climb between her now-spread legs.

Nestling between her thighs, I wrapped my arms around her hips, before placing my face inches from her sex. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the scent of her arousal before focusing my attention on two things: my position in relation to her as a submissive, and how I felt at that exact moment.

I whispered the words, ‘Thank you,’ directly into her, so softly only I could hear them. My lips grazing her labia as I spoke, that lightest of movement along with the warmth of my breath caused her to stir. I mouthed the phrase, repeatedly without sound as I moved my mouth over her now-dripping cunt.

Impatient and wet, she tugged on my collar. Accordingly, I began to lick her. But I went slow. Not to tease or frustrate, but to remain agonizingly aware of each second and acutely mindful as to how my mouth felt moving across her silky smoothness.

Increasing the pressure of my tongue, I checked in with my body to feel just how stingy and achy my asshole was where she’d spanked me bare handed while I was on my hands and knees for her. Pushing my tongue further into her wetness, then flattening it, to lift her clit with each lick. I reflected on how calm, focused, and happy I was after she’d milked me, how eager I was to be taken by her and fucked long and slow, filled up with her cock.

As I continued licking her with slow, powerful strokes, I thought of all the ways she cared for me and assumed the position in my life I craved.

I’m quite capable of taking care of myself and making decisions. But bowing to her preferences and living in an inherently unfair dynamic made me happy. And didn’t she also fuck and use me in all the ways that made me yearn for more? Wasn’t I capable of showing more gratitude for the honor of being her boy?

Of course, I could.

I would think both of her and my service to her as sacred. Each act and moment of deference, no matter how small, would be performed as one who is enlightened chops wood and carries water. Each time I said, ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ would be a mantra, an affirmation I was owned and my happy to be her property, one submissive to her will.

Thinking on this, I increased the tempo of licking and the eager pressure of my mouth, praying she could feel my gratitude. Soon enough, I was rewarded with her first orgasm. She arched her back and moaned, drenching my face with her juices.

Knowing she was sensitive, I rested my face against her cunt, yet didn’t move. Just breathed her in and kissed lightly for a few minutes until she went still. Then, I carefully licked her clean and felt grateful she’d not told me to stop or move away. A few minutes later, I resumed my worship.

This time I thought of all the things that had yet to happen but I desperately wanted. I thought of just how far I wanted to be pushed and used of all the things I’d yet to ask but yearned for. To be nothing more than objectified, fucked, and beaten. To be thrashed and used just as hard as she loved me. For her to feel so intimate with me that the most base act would be performed without thought. That she might be as comfortable pissing into my mouth as she was hooking her fingers inside me. To be as willing a vessel for her urges and whims as she was comfortable in taking control and giving me direction. To be as pliable as she was firm in making the final decision on what was best.

Thinking on this, I pushed myself to be the best fucking mouth slut she’d ever had. A desperate whine caught in my throat as I focused on her signals and became hungry for her pleasure. Licking and sucking hard when I sensed she was close enough to the edge to go over, then backing off once she’d cum and still ached, knowing when my worship should be soft and attentive, and when to drive in with speed and pressure when she wanted more.

She came – repeatedly – crying out or muttering as she did: cursing, unintelligible utterances, along with the sweetest terms of endearment all becoming a tangled-up as though she was speaking in tongues.

And then – somehow – without her speaking or pulling away, I knew she’d had enough

I settled my head on her midriff, face drenched with sweat and juice. Her fingers securely hooked into my collar, the leather wet with pleasure and effort, supple from the pressure of her hand over time.

I lay there content for some time, thinking the words I had first whispered before she finally pushed me aside to go mix a drink.

Lying there, I realized things were forever changed, yet remained the same.

I was human, a work in progress and forever evolving. Neither an object nor a trained animal, I’d fuck up here and there and sometimes disappoint her and myself. She too was only human, not a deity, but flawed and mortal. – But she was my Dominant, and I was her boy. So given the honor of being under her, I’d strive to remain as mindful as I was grateful, and make each act one of devotion.

This was my first authentic act of worship, and it caused a fundamental shift in the way I thought about sex and service forever.

3 thoughts on “Authentic Worship

  1. Such a great column. Sounds like my bedroom. If dominant women understood how much we enjoy their reaction to our oral, they’d have us doing it non-stop.


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