She’s programmed herself to talk the talk, but walking the walk reveals she’s inexperienced. You have to read the body language closely: the widened eyes, the lack of grace in posture, the barely repressed nervous giggle. She tells you she’s had this Master and that Sir and maybe she has, but they’ve all been phonies and wanna-bes, poseurs who – like her – only think they’re in the lifestyle. But they’re not. And it shows.

She doesn’t look comfortable on her knees yet. She’s not found her center of pleasure in submission. The balletic grace of a woman whose entire self is focused, sure, confident in what they want and what they want to do escapes her. The posture isn’t right. It’ll take time and effort to train her to do even the smallest task properly. Just to shake her out of false ideas of submission, I tell her to go into the other room, sit at the desk, and write a page about what worshipping a cock means. Her eyes widen again, but she slowly rises and leaves the room. Her head is down, but I know her mind is buzzing with questions, doubts, and the wonder if she’s over her head in this already.

I follow shortly after and lean against the door jamb watching her. Even the desktop keyboard seems unfamiliar to her. She’s used to thumb texting short blips like, “I’m so wet right now,” and “Is your cock hard?” on her cellphone. Writing more than a tweet-length thought or feeling scares her. She’s confused about what she should type. She sneaks (she thinks) a side-eye at me and bites her lower lip.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers.

“You can.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Start with ‘I am a submissive. My dominant wants me to write about cock worshipping.’ Go on, type what I just said.”

She fidgets in the chair, sighs deeply, and moves her fingers uncertainly over the keys, then stops.

“Go on.”

“I can’t.”

I walk over to her, stand just behind her. Take out my cock and rub it lightly over the back of her bare neck. She shivers.

“What do you feel right now?” I ask.

“Horny,” she answers.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Um, because your cock is touching me?”

I step back, The touch is gone.

“And now? Still horny?”

“Well, yeah. What do you think?”

“Why?”

“I don’t…”

Before she can finish I step forward quickly, take a ball of her hair in my fist, and turn her head to face me. I graze her loose lips with the head of my hard cock. She opens her mouth a little more and before her tongue makes contact, I step away again. She makes a little sound of frustration.

“Keep your hands on the keyboard. Think about what just happened and write about it.”

“I can’t…”

“Do it.” I turn and walk from the room. I know her mind is full of doubt, questions, frustration, but she has to learn somehow.

A few moments after I sit in the living room, she follows me. She kneels on the floor in front of me and gives me the “puppy dog eyes” look.

“Can’t I just suck your cock instead? I’ll make it good.”

“No.”

Her shoulders slump and her lips take the shape of a pout.

She tries a different tack. Lowers her head a little and looks up from beneath her eyelashes. The tip of her pink tongue peeks between her lips. Most men would fall for it.

“No,” I repeat. Her nostrils flare and there’s a flash – an instant – of tense anger that stiffens her body. She hates that I know these tricks.

“When you’ve earned it,” I say quietly. I point to the doorway. “Go finish what you started.”

She mutters something under her breath, but stands and walks out of the room.

Once more I follow her in a while and stand close beside her. I slowly stroke my cock shaft, squeezing a drop of glistening pre-cum from the head. I watch her head bob forward, but she checks herself.

“I love to suck his cock,” she begins typing. “I love it when he fills my mouth and my tongue licks the pre-cum from his thick cockhead.” She looks sideways at me with questioning eyes.

“Continue,” I say, taking the drop of pre-cum on my finger and brushing it over her lips.

A shudder moves over her body. She pulls her eyes back to the computer screen. “I love being on my knees and…”

“Go on.”

“…and feeling him grab my hair and pushing his cock in my mouth. I love it when he fucks my mouth.”

“Now you’re getting it,” I say with a widening smile.

“I love the feeling when I have to beg him to…”

“To?”

“To fuck my mouth. To let me fuck his cock with my mouth,” she types.

“Is that what you’re feeling now?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“It’s important that you learn to express these feelings. In as many ways as you can.”

She clears her throat. “You want me to be a slut.”

“No. I don’t. I want you to be a woman who feels free enough to express herself to me. Feels free enough to explore and know what, why, and how she is exploring.”

I walk to the doorway and lean sideways against the jamb again. “Come here.”
She stands and walks toward me.

“Get on your knees.”

A smile flickers over her lips. She settles herself a little more comfortably on her knees.

“Take my cock in your hand.”

Her fingers clasp the base of my cock shaft.

“Kiss it.”

Her lips purse on the head with a soft wet smack.

“Keep your eyes on it.”

Her eyelids half-close and she looks steadily, dreamily at the object of her desire.

“Now. What do you want to do?”

She pauses for a moment and I can almost hear the wheels clicking in her mind.

“I want to worship your cock,” she says softly.

“You’re learning,” I murmur, suddenly talking her hair in my hand and forcing my cock between her warm opening lips. I thrust hard and fast, feeling her alternately suck and release the pumping shaft and head. She begins shuddering harder with every deepening thrust.

“Touch yourself.”

Her free hand moves between her spreading thighs, her thumb working on her swollen, exposed clitoris. She starts making louder sounds with my cock in her mouth. Little moans, gasps, inarticulate yet eloquent animal sounds. She pulls her mouth away and looks up into my eyes.

“Please.”

She’s learning.