Mistress Demi and Clock Ch. 04 - Sex Stories

Mistress Demi and Clock Ch. 04

... draw.

Truthfully, Mistress doesn't really like smoking. She likes having control in all aspects of life, and polluting her body with smoke does not align with her interests and values. This is one of Clocks' fantasies however, and Mistress Demi was happy to indulge them in this instance. She has, however, learned how to draw without taking the smoke into her lungs, and has realised she produces quite a bit more saliva in the process.

Mistress blows all the smoke directly into Clocks' face. Clocks' eyes water from the smoke, their tears mixing with the saliva coating their chin. Mistress adds to the bodily fluid cocktail with a substantial globule of spit of her own. She gets a firm grip of Clocks' hair and tilts their head backwards.

"Refrain from swallowing, squire."

Mistress taps the first batch of ash into Clocks' impossibly stretched mouth hole, the ash and spit already coagulating into a nasty sludge. More smoke. More spit. More ash. Before long her witches cauldron is bubbling with a bubonic brew, Clock fiercely dedicated to not heaving all over the wooden bungalow floor.

Mistress takes the hot cigarette butt and dances it around Clocks' nipple, not making contact, but she wants Clock to feel the radiant heat. Clock quivers in fear. Mistress deliberately makes the slightest bit of contact with Clocks' nipple. They let out a gargled squeal quickly muffled by their moaning as Mistress Demi drops and pops Clocks' nip into her purple lips and gives it a ...

... sultry suckle to alleviate the burn.

Mistress' potion is almost ready. She douses the butt in Clocks' maw. Her brew now ready for braising beef, Mistress jams her fingers deep down Clocks' wanting throat, the tiniest bit of bile bubbling into the broth. Mistress scoops and smears the cocktail all over Clocks' face. Her concoction seeps into every crevice, every bump, every hole. Clock squirms in ecstasy, their filthy fantasy coming to fruition.

Clocks' chastity key dangles from Mistress' neck. It has never been used. Up until this point Clocks' orgasms have been considered a distant concept. A genre of fantasy all on its own. Much to Clocks' surprise, Mistress inserts the key into the lock and unjars the pickle. Besides the occasional cleaning maintenance we were at the point where we could measure Clocks' cocks' imprisonment in years. Until now.

Standing erect for the first time in aeons, Mistress leather-clad ash and saliva covered hand wastes no time in grasping the hungry worm. With a firm grip she oscillates, fiddling with Clocks' knob like a joystick on a controller. Her other glove locks onto Clocks' balls. Clock is ready to pop almost immediately, but Mistress laxes her grip on the shaft while tightening the grip on Clocks' balls. An anguished groan reverberates from Clocks' throat, their flagpole fluttering in the wind, desperately searching for stimulation. Mistress leans in and whispers into the withering submissives' ear.

"A squire lights the campfires for ...