Chapter 17 #3
Then I think about how special I feel knowing that this man, the one who seems like he’s too cool to care about anyone else, married me.
It might not have been the most traditional marriage, but he still chose me over everyone else.
And now, I’m the one who’s making him rock hard by submitting to him.
It’s intoxicating knowing I’m the one who’s inspired the hungry expression he’s trying to hide as I crawl to him.
I think I’m starting to understand what that blog meant about feeling empowered through submission.
I stop when I get between his legs and look up at him through my lashes, waiting.
“Take me out,” he instructs, so I do, pulling his erection out through the opening in his boxers. His pierced tip is wet with precum, and I love knowing it’s all because of me.
“You want to make me happy? To please me?” he asks, and I nod again. “Put my cock in your mouth and hold it there, but don’t suck. You’re not giving me a blowjob. Do you understand?”
I’m not sure what this kink is, but I nod immediately. “Yes, Sir.”
I lean forward slowly, parting my lips just enough to take his cock in my mouth. The barbells slide over my tongue, and I pause with no suction or movement, just like he said.
The restraint is instant torture.
Every instinct tells me to do more. I want to make him feel good, prove to him that I might be new at giving head, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn to suck his dick exactly how he likes.
I want the satisfaction of knowing I was good enough to make him come.
I want to do something, anything other than sit here without moving, with only the sounds of John typing to echo around the room.
But that isn’t what he asked me to do. So I just sit here.
Waiting. Now that I think about it, this isn’t a new feeling.
I kind of always feel like I need to be doing more.
Like I should be working harder to earn the approval of the people around me, to get them to laugh, or smile, or give me some proof that they like me.
I know I’m lucky to come from the family and privilege that I do, and I think a part of me has always felt the need to prove to other people that I’m more than that.
Growing up, I was supported, encouraged, and protected.
If I needed something, it appeared. If I wanted something badly enough, someone made it happen.
I’m not the brightest person out there, my grades were never great, I was never as good at football as Blake, and my career aspirations were nonexistent.
Yet doors opened and life unfolded in front of me without much resistance.
And that might sound perfect, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been drifting through life without any purpose or direction.
It required nothing real from me. Nothing cost me pride or patience or discomfort, which means most things didn’t really feel like they mattered.
I don’t think I’ve ever had to work to earn something that I really wanted.
John is different.
With friends or girlfriends, I fell into the funny-guy role, and I love fitting that part and making people laugh, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.
For the first time, I realize I don’t actually need to be doing more. John isn’t asking me to do anything else. Be anyone else.
In fact, he specifically told me not to. I relax into the position I’m in, sinking into the sensation of being instead of doing.
“That’s it,” John praises quietly, petting my hair. “You don’t move unless I tell you.”
His touch feels electric. It lights up my insides even if I don’t dare move. I don’t say anything in response either since my mouth is still wrapped around him.
It’s a new sensation, having my mouth stretched open by him. Completely different from when he fucked my face. In a way, this feels more intimate. This is more than lust and passion; it’s calm, calculated.
He pets my head again, almost absent-mindedly, and I love it.
Every act of appreciation or moment with undivided attention from John has felt earned.
Kneeling here, holding still with his cock in my mouth because he told me to, feels like I’m putting in effort to earn something I really want.
John. He isn’t handing me praise just because I showed up…
or broke in. He’s watching to see if I can follow through.
If I can prove myself to him. If I can listen. If I can work for it.
And I want to show him I can.
I want to deserve his attention. I want to earn his next instruction.
I’ve never wanted to work this hard for anything in my life.
He slides a hand through my hair, tugging a bit more than when he was petting me, bringing me back to the present.
His other hand is still on his mouse pad, and my jaw aches faintly from holding still around his thick cock.
When I shift to adjust my breathing, I feel the subtle change in his body as he tenses.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
Heat floods through me as I steady myself, inhaling slowly through my nose, focusing on the way he feels on my tongue. As much as I want to lick and suck up and down over his piercings, or give my own aching cock some relief, I don’t want to disappoint him.
“You’re thinking too much again,” he says softly.
He’s right. I shouldn’t be thinking, but I’ve never been good at quieting my mind enough to be content in silence. Never had to be. New York City is always chaotic. It’s why I struggle so much being in my house alone, but for him, I try.
More time passes. I have no idea how much, I kind of space out, enjoying the moment for what it is. Eventually, when he speaks again, they’re the words I’d been eagerly awaiting. “You’ve been such a good boy while I’ve worked on this, Princess.”
I look up at him with pleading eyes, still unmoving, hoping he can see the desperation in them.
“Crawl to the bed.”