6. Tasting What She Learned
Tasting What She Learned
The dildo hummed in my hand.
Kayla stared at it with the same wide-eyed mixture of fear and hunger she’d worn when I first pulled out the rope.
Her chest rose and fell against the back of the couch, her fingers gripping the worn leather, her ass still raised in offering.
Both her holes glistened under the fluorescent lights—cunt swollen and slick, ass gaping slightly, a fresh trickle of white sliding down her thigh.
“You’re nervous,” I said.
“A little.” Her voice was small. “That thing’s big.”
“It’s smaller than my cock. And you’ve taken my cock in every hole you have.” I stepped closer, pressing the vibrating silicone against her lower back. She flinched at the sensation. “But we’re not starting with your holes. Not yet.”
She turned her head. Looked at me over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Stand up.”
Kayla straightened on shaky legs. Turned to face me. Her eyes dropped immediately to my cock—still half-hard, still slick with lube and come—and then to the toy buzzing in my grip.
“You asked me earlier,” I said, “to teach you how to give a blowjob. You’ve sucked my cock three times tonight. But you’ve never really learned. You’ve just been taking what I give you.”
Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t that the point?”
“The point is for you to know what you’re doing. Not just to lie there while I fuck your throat.” I held up the dildo. “So we’re going to practice. You’re going to suck this toy until you can take it all the way down without gagging. Then you’re going to do the same thing to my cock. Understand?”
She swallowed. Nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“On your knees.”
The basement floor was cold. Concrete painted gray, flecked with sawdust from my workshop in the corner. Kayla lowered herself onto it without hesitation, her knees finding the same spot where I’d kept a throw rug years ago, before Helen had declared it ‘too shabby’ and thrown it out.
I stood in front of her. Held the toy at mouth level.
“Open.”
Her lips parted. I pressed the silicone head against her tongue—not pushing, just resting there. The vibration traveled through her mouth, and I watched her eyes flutter, watched the way her jaw relaxed instinctively.
“Good. Now close your lips around it. Suction. Not too hard. You’re not trying to drink a milkshake.”
She did. Her cheeks hollowed slightly, and the wet sound of her mouth sealed around the toy made my cock twitch.
“Better. Now I’m going to push deeper. Your job is to breathe through your nose and keep your throat relaxed. If you gag, that’s fine. We work through it. That’s the point of practice.”
Kayla made a muffled sound of assent.
I pushed.
The first two inches disappeared into her mouth easily. She’d learned that much already—how to take the head, how to use her tongue against the underside. But when I reached the back of her throat, her gag reflex triggered. Her throat constricted. Her eyes watered.
I stopped. Held steady.
“Breathe,” I commanded. “Through your nose. Slow. In. Out.”
She breathed. The spasm passed.
“Good. That’s the first lesson. When you gag, you don’t pull away. You breathe through it. Your body learns to accept. Understand?”
Another muffled assent.
“Now I’m going to push past it. Just for a second. Then I’ll pull back.”
Her eyes went wide. But she didn’t safeword. Didn’t tap my thigh. Didn’t do anything except keep her lips sealed around the silicone.
I pushed deeper.
The toy slid into her throat. Kayla’s whole body jerked—her hands flew up to my thighs, nails digging in—but she didn’t pull away. Her throat muscles fluttered around the intrusion, trying to reject it, and I held there for one heartbeat. Two. Three.
Then I pulled back.
She gasped. Coughed. A strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the toy.
“Fuck,” she choked. “That’s—that’s intense.”
“That’s throat-fucking. And you just took it. For three seconds. Next time will be five. Then ten. Then you’ll be able to take it as long as I want to give it.” I tilted her chin up with my free hand. “How do you feel?”
“Proud,” she said, and the word was shaky but real. “I didn’t think I could do that.”
“You can do more than you think. You just proved it. Again.”
She opened her mouth without being told.
This time I pushed deeper faster. Past the initial resistance, past the gag reflex, straight into the tight channel of her throat. Kayla’s nails dug into my thighs hard enough to leave marks. Her eyes streamed tears. But she breathed. She held. She took it for five seconds before I pulled back.
“Good fucking girl,” I growled. “Look at you. Learning. Growing. Becoming the throat-slut you were always meant to be.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Grinned up at me—ruined makeup, wild hair, absolute wreck of a face. “Throat-slut. That’s a new one.”
“You’ve earned it. Ready for more?”
“Green, sir. So fucking green.”
I fed her the toy again. And again. Each time pushing deeper, holding longer, until she stopped gagging entirely. Her throat learned to accommodate. Her muscles learned to relax. Her mind learned that the panic was temporary but the pride was permanent.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “You’re taking the whole thing now. All nine inches. Look down.”
She looked. The base of the toy was pressed against her lips. Her throat was visibly distended—a slight bulge just above her collarbone where the silicone filled her.
“See that? See what you’re doing? You’re swallowing a cock bigger than most men will ever have, and you’re breathing through it. You’re calm. You’re in control even though it looks like you’re not.”
Her eyes met mine. Something flickered in them—understanding, or maybe gratitude. Then I pulled the toy out, and she gasped for air, and the moment passed.
“Now,” I said, setting the dildo aside. “Now you’re ready for the real thing.”
I didn’t give her time to prepare. Just gripped the back of her head, angled my cock toward her open mouth, and pushed.
The difference was immediate. Not just because my cock was thicker than the toy—it was—but because she’d learned.
Her throat opened for me like it had been doing this for years.
Her tongue pressed flat against the underside of my shaft.
Her lips sealed around my girth, and when I hit the back of her throat, she breathed through it. Relaxed. Let me in.
“Fuck,” I groaned. “Fuck, Kayla. That’s—you feel that? Feel how deep I am?”
She hummed around me. The vibration traveled down my shaft and settled in my balls, and I had to grip the back of the couch to keep from coming right there.
“That’s lesson six,” I managed. “That’s what practice does. That’s what happens when you learn instead of just taking. Now you’re not just a hole for me to fuck. You’re a partner. An active participant. Someone who knows what she’s doing.”
I started to move. Slow at first—shallow thrusts that let her breathe, let her adjust, let her feel the rhythm of it. Her hands came up to grip my ass, pulling me deeper, and the initiative made something hot flare in my chest.
“You want more? You want me to fuck your throat?”
She nodded as best she could with my cock buried in her mouth.
“Then tap my thigh if you need air. Otherwise, I’m not stopping.”
Her fingers tightened on my ass. Urging me forward.
I fucked her throat.
Not the way I’d fucked her cunt or her ass—slow and deliberate, building toward something.
This was different. This was brutal. Fast. Punishing.
My cock slammed into her throat with every thrust, and she took it, she fucking took it, her nose pressed against my pelvis every time I bottomed out.
The sounds she made were obscene—wet choking, desperate swallowing, the slick squelch of saliva running down her chin and onto her tits.
“That’s it. That’s my good little throat-slut. Take it. Take all of it.”
My balls slapped against her chin. Her throat bulged with every thrust. Her eyes streamed tears, and her makeup was a lost cause, and she’d never looked more beautiful than she did right now—on her knees, throat full of my cock, hands gripping my ass like she was afraid I’d stop.
I pulled out suddenly. She gasped. Coughed. Looked up at me with wet, confused eyes.
“Why did you stop—”
“Because you’re going to make me come. And I’m not ready to come yet.” I pulled her to her feet. Kissed her—hard, deep, tasting myself on her tongue. “Get on the couch. On your back. Head hanging off the edge.”
She moved immediately. Scrambled onto the sectional, positioning herself so her head dropped over the armrest, her throat a straight line from her lips to her chest. The position was designed for deep-throating—no curve, no resistance, just a straight shot into her throat.
I stood over her. Looked down at her upside-down face, her open mouth, the trust in her eyes.
“You know what this position is for?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“It’s so I can fuck your throat until I come.
And you can’t move. Can’t pull away. Can’t do anything except lie there and take it.
” I stroked my cock inches from her lips.
“Tap my leg if you need air. Otherwise, I’m going to use this throat like I used your cunt and your ass. Like the hole it is. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Open.”
She opened. Upside down, her throat was a straight tunnel, and when I pushed inside, I went deeper than I’d ever gone before. The bulge of my cock was visible in her throat—a thick column distorting the elegant line of her neck. I could see it. Could see myself moving inside her from the outside.
“Fuck. Fuck, look at that. Look at my cock in your throat.”
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. But her hand found my thigh and squeezed—not tapping, not safewording, just holding on.
I started to fuck.