He grabbed my hair and shoved his cock deep into my throat. I held on as long as I could. Mouth stretched, throat stretched, eyes watering until all the air in my lungs turned to carbon dioxide and I fought against his grip.
“Hold…hold…” His iron grip on me refused to give as my panic began to fly wildly. Finally, he let go and I pulled off him gasping air. I refused to back away, my mouth still at the tip of his cock as I labored for fresh air.
I took his cock in again. I would not be beaten. I would not fail to serve. I sucked him in halfway. My breathing began to slow again, the panic receded.
Again he grabbed my hair and pulled me down. I would last longer this time I told myself. The iron grip held and I stuck out my tongue working him deeper. Still, I felt the panic rise.
“Good slut.” Damn him for knowing how that eggs me on. I rocked my head and felt his cock move in my mouth. Soon he’d let go and I’d win.
The panic rose, I looked up at him and saw he wasn’t playing. Master was fully in control. I moaned on his cock desperate again for air.
“Hold slut. You will do this.” My eyes watered and I pulled back even though I knew it was useless. I went into full panic mode. Wild-eyed, I pushed my hands against the steel thighs that were wrapped around my body. I was close to clawing him.
He let me go and I fell back onto the floor at his feet. My head on the couch cushion near him, I coughed and sputtered the phlegm his cock had loosened in my throat.
“When you’re ready, I want you to come into the other room. I want you on the bench.” He left then. I heard the sounds of him moving things. I knew he was putting out toys of torture. I knew what was coming.