She’d begged him to make her feel like only an object, something to be used. He warned her that he’d do even more than that, and he had. She knelt there with only one job, one thing she could do. The cock in her mouth slid back and forth and she sucked. Yes she licked, nipped, and kissed as well, but her charge was to suck.
It was a private BDSM party; they’d been planning to go for a while. They’d come early, and he’d had her kneel by the entrance while we went in and talked to someone. He came out smiling, and told her to strip. He bound her hands behind her back and then tied them to her shackled ankles. He slid a blindfold on her and she could see nothing, but she heard the sound of his phone taking a picture.
The blindfold came off and he showed her. She was naked by the registration desk. Beside her was a glass jar that said “25 cents”. Her blindfold said “Suck Whore” - one word on each eye. She looked up at him and he arched his eyebrow. She nodded, and he slid the blindfold down.
She heard a coin clink against the glass jar, and a zipper slide open. A cock was at her lips, and he said, “Suck.” So she did.
People trickled in, and lined up at the registration desk. And while they waited, they lined up for her. The glass would tinkle and she’d open her mouth. A cock would slide in, and she would suck. Sometimes it was a pussy or an ass, sometimes a toy which she slathered with spit. But mostly, it was cocks.
She was just someone who sucked. Someone from a picture. Cocks came and went and time passed, and she sucked. She was an object that they used, a little something to get them started on their night. Most didn’t come, but for those who did, she sucked it down. Some fucked her face, but she still sucked on their cocks while they did it, and gasped for air afterwards.
Slowly the image faded, as the cocks came faster and faster, sometimes two or three at a time, all pressing against her cheeks waiting for her sucking. For her to suck. To suck, that’s all she was.
To suck, will suck, is sucking. Shall suck, can suck, did suck. Suck, sucks, suck. Suck, sucking, sucked.
She wasn’t even a thing anymore, just a verb. An action, a motion, an occurrence. She existed only so long as there was sucking to do. The glass clinked, and she sucked.
Later, much later, as she doubted herself because the cocks were gone and there were no more to suck, he came to her. He knelt down to her, and held her face in his hands. Her cum and sweat soaked face. He slid the blindfold off, and she blinked, even though the room was dark.
Her lips smacked, empty. Her face turned to his fingers, to suck them, to exist again.
“Come back to me,” he said. She blinked and remembered him. “Look at what you earned,” he said, nodding to the jar full of coins and bills. “Looks like we will get that new flogger.”
She looked at him in confusion.
Her brushed her sweaty hair out of her eyes. “You did well,” he said. He unshackled her feet, and pulled her out of her bonds. She was tight, and ached as he pulled her up. Her aches reminded her who she was, that she was. That she was his submissive, and she’d asked him to make of her an object, and he’d sworn he’d do more.
“Thank you, Master.” He held out a robe for her, and she shrugged into it. Their room was a floor down, she remembered.
“You are welcome, Juliet. Now, let’s go rest.”
He took her hand and led her to bed, where she would sleep and dream of being to suck.
Thanks as always to my wives, Tam and Kat, for proofreading.
This story was somewhat inspired by Shon Richards’ The Urge to Suck which is excellent and entirely different, except for the whole sucking thing.