J Bradley: Wife in bondage

Her throat swallowed and jerked as her tongue worked inside her mouth, experimenting with the flavor in spite of her revulsion to it again.

She saw the haunting images flash across the back of her mind as the flavor grew stronger. She couldn't help the way her soft, red lips pursed around the head of his cock as he pushed it insistently between them.

She felt all the sensations, all the old feelings so long buried – the widening and stretching of her jaws, the accommodation of her lips and tongue and the inside of her mouth to the wide, velvety, mushroom-shaped cock-head.

She felt the bumps and veins all along the bottom of his shaft as his prick throbbed and stretched forward and rippled over her lower lip into the warm wetness of her mouth.

She felt the stretch of heated rod along the groove of her tongue. It reached for the back of her soft, spasming throat. Her tongue made a reflexive squeeze against the underside of the shaft, pressing the top against the roof of her mouth.

Oil seeped in a small stream from the broad slit and trickled down her slippery throat, nearly gagging her again. But the gagging wasn't from the oozing fluid.

It was from the thought – from the memories and the images growing stronger and stronger.

Her lips compressed slightly. She felt the edges of her teeth scrape lightly against the tender, pulsating flesh of his cock.

Her jaw worked with a little spasm. It would be easy to do – so easy, so fast. A sharp tightening of her jaw muscles was all it would take to make him feel the pain for a change.

He must have read her mind. She heard the slight suck of his breath. She felt the throb of his prick under the stimulation of the edges of her sharp, white, even teeth.

Then she felt the throbbing, starburst-making pressure against her eyeballs, and she knew she had no real choice but to suck his heated cock just the way he wanted her to.

She groaned inwardly. Her lips compressed again, spreading this time, going softer. The tension eased in her jaw muscles. Her tongue moved slowly back and forth on the underside of his thick cock, massaging it.

Another spurt of slippery oil oozed from the pulsing tip and ran down her throat. The images turned in her mind, faster and faster, having particular clarity and force behind the darkness of the blindfold.

He whispered. The sound was rasping and thick with victory. It made her want to sob. It made her feel entirely hollow inside, as if the whole sixteen years of effort at forgetting had been completely wasted and lost.

"That's it, baby," he said huskily. "I just knew you could suck a cock."

He knew.

Yes, he would know. He was one of the ones. There were some men who could look at her and know, in spite of everything she did to hide from them.

They were animals. There was no way to fool them. They could see right past the facade of sophistication and propriety she'd built around herself and look into her very being, and they could see it all.

Those were the ones she avoided when she met them – the ones she ran from so that their knowing would not remind her of the way she had been and was no longer.

"I knew you were a cock-sucking bitch," he whispered again, his words like a hot knife twisting through her heart. "A syrup-twatted slut who can't keep her hot cunt and her sucking mouth away from a man's hard cock."

His fingertips massaged her head through her glossy pelt of soft hair. It brought heat to her face and sent shivers down her spine, and she could feel her nipples tingle and stretch at the ends of her tits as if they were awakening finally after their long, long sleep.

"Nnnnngh!" she groaned, the sound hollow and forlorn, the last bubble of protest around his fleshy prick.

"Come on, baby, you're doing fine, just fine. Limber up that tongue some more and slither it all up and down my prick until you milk that good white stuff out of my balls. You want it, you phony, sophisticated bitch. You know you do!"

His thumbs rolled lightly against her eyeballs. He began to move her head back and forth, so slightly at first she didn't know he was doing it.

At the same time, he began moving his hips, making his cock fuck in and out of the circle of her soft lips. It slid along her restless tongue and reached for the back of her swallowing throat.

She made a whimpering sound this time. She felt her tongue obey his commands and massage up and down the shaft slowly, stroking sensation into the soft-hard flesh.

She felt her lips open slightly and then purse softly. She felt them compress around his cock and then suck inward, drawing him deeper into her mouth. They did it as if they were somehow detached from her own will.

But she knew better.

Just as he knew better.

She'd been over it and over it in her mind until she was fatigued with going over it, and there was still no answer. None that she wanted to accept. None that her Victorian old grandmother hadn't already given her, so many years ago.

Gram had raised her, actually. From the time she was seven, when her mother had left her at Gram's house and had run off with the man named Ernest.

She couldn't remember her father. He'd left long before that. Her mother had tried to raise her, but she'd been made to know that she was in the way of her mother's getting remarried. With Gram to raise her, she wouldn't be in the way any more.

Gram was strict and stern. Her husband had died when she was twenty-seven. She'd put on black for mourning and hadn't taken it off the rest of her life. She was a bitter, sour old woman. She disapproved of her daughter, most women, all men, and of the world at large. She mostly disapproved of being saddled with her granddaughter, as if the abandonment had been Ellen's fault.

When Ellen had found boys and the warm, silky, flirty way to get their attention, she was happy for a little while, until she get pregnant.

Then Gram had heaped shame and disgust on her. It had been the last straw for her. As if in spite, she'd died, muttering curses at Ellen to her last breath.

Ellen sobbed suddenly, remembering. She nearly spat the throbbing prick from her mouth to beg forgiveness again, to make another death-bed promise that she would never give herself to a man again.

But there was pressure on her eyeballs, intense pressure that shot pain and stars through her brain and brought a squeal to her stuffed throat.

"That's enough, I said!" Stan bellowed, the volume of his voice blasting the memories from her head. "You bite any harder, you bitch, and they come out of your skull like plucked grapes! Believe it!"

She eased off immediately, only then realizing how hard she'd been biting his cock. There was the salty taste of blood in her mouth. She heard him release his breath and felt his cock throb hard as blood rushed toward the tip again.

He was still pressing hard. Her eyes throbbed with pain. To show she hadn't meant to bite him, she sucked his prick hard and fast, rolling the shaft round inside her mouth with her tongue.

She drew on it with her lips, pulling it deeper and deeper into her mouth, working her soft lips down the hairy shaft to his root. She swallowed reflexively and nipped the spongy head with the silky tissues of her throat.

She began bobbing her head back and forth under his hands, sucking and sucking, and the pressure began to ease off. If her hands had been free, she would have fondled his balls to make it as good as she could for him, just the way she used to do it in the old days of her youth.

"Ahhhh, Christ," he moaned, tipping his head back. "That's the way, baby. That's how to suck a cock. Just teasing ol' Stan there, were you? You tease too hard, baby. I like this much better. Ohhhh, yeah, much better!"

He moved his hands with her head, making her mouth fuck along his hard shaft. He began working his hips in small circles, his buttocks clenching and releasing as he fucked forward.