Q:Sir, i was reading your house rules. one of them read "worship the cunt". to me that word seems degrating. could you say pussy? isnt it better?? respectfully sir.
I sincerely and deeply hope that English is your second language.
The actual content of your question though is interesting. The obvious answer is that is was a follower request and it seemed appropriate. Personally though, no it’s not better. In the Domination context which I’ve seen it reblogged it makes perfect sense. It’s an order to worship and if you have enough power to be worshipped you use whatever word you want no matter how “degrading” the sub might think it is. In fact sometimes words get chosen for that very reason.
There is no greater power than making you feel safe.
I know what it’s like. I know how the touch of cold metal shakes your very core. How the illusion of danger catches your breath and the darkness you see in my eyes makes you tremble. I know all the things that happen to this bundle of nerves that compose you.
I don’t do this for any of those reasons though, however delightful they might be to witness. I do it because by the time I put this knife away your body and mind will be so flooded with chemicals anything I do to you will be magnified tenfold. I do it because there’s no more beautiful sight than having you completely overwhelmed.
Q:On Saturday, I tongued, licked, and otherwise worshipped my Daddy's asshole and balls while he masturbated and occasionally pulled my head deeper toward him so he could grind against my nose, chin & face to enhance his pleasure ... and it was so incredibly sexy it made me cum. No exaggeration - I didn't touch myself ... just light grinding against the bed as I devoured him was enough. Is it depraved that I found that so erotic and hot and that I want to do it again? (And again...?)
Depraved for some perhaps, I find it delightful. I hope your Daddy knows how lucky he is to have someone as eager as you.
I would assume that after everything I’ve put you through tonight, you would be desperate to get fucked. To feel pleasure at my hands after so many weeks away. The long dinner full of whispered suggestions of what we could be doing at that moment. The subtle touches that make you blush. The minutely detailed explanation of what I thought was happening between your legs while we sat there behaving like the people around us. Roaming hands and uttered depravities in the car. All these things should, by all rights, have you desperate for me to take you.
Instead you surprise me by getting on your knees to feed. You do so deeply, with no preamble or pause. Testing yourself on me, trying to show me with your interrupted breath that this is what you really crave. So I hold you down by your hair and neck and watch as your hands flutter begging for a stolen breath that I haven’t decided to give you yet. Your eyes asking for a reward your mouth is unable to express. The closer I get, the more you shiver. Legs shaking, throat invaded and when that first spurt hits the back of your throat I realize something:
How much my pleasure is yours.
Photo by QS