I arrived right on time.

After a night of restlessly wrestling with my fears and desires, I resolved to meet Gwendolyn's demands, whatever they might be. She had made it clear that I would never be allowed to fuck her, and yet, she enjoyed making me cum. And then there was the promise - she had said so - of pussy licking. That was almost as good as fucking wasn't it?

In the end, I had no choice; no way was I going to pass up eating her out. I was already becoming addicted to the taste of her pussy, and I knew I would be able to make her cum that way. And, I rationalized, it wouldn't be forever; sooner or later, she was bound to relent and "go all the way" with me.

Once I had yielded to the inevitable, my anticipation began to grow. I mulled over the words she had used. "Training." "Worship." I tried to imagine what they might portend. And, despite my night-long hard-on, I refrained from masturbating. I was amazed and encouraged by the feedback loop created by my constant arousal and the obedience I practiced, causing my desire for Gwendolyn to only increase through the night.

I was in the car at six-thirty, dressed for running, with my gym bag containing a clean pair of socks, underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt. I had brushed my teeth and, considering Gwendolyn's promise of pussy worship, I shaved my face closely. I drove to her street and parked a block away, and waited until it was time. I parked in her driveway at exactly seven o'clock.

Gwendolyn, looking fresh and radiant as the bright September morning, skipped lightly down the porch steps. She was wearing a pair of black running shorts with white trim and a white tank top, like the day before. And like that first encounter, the simplicity of her dress only accentuated her startling beauty.

She greeted me with a sweet little kiss on the lips, standing on tiptoe beside the car. "Let's go!" she said, and started off down the driveway with a light, springy gait. I was beside her on the sidewalk in an instant, uplifted by her contagious spirit.

"Hey, good morning!" I said cheerfully, jogging beside her. All my fears and trepidations had vanished now that I was with her again.

"Hey," she responded, smiling. "How was your night? Did you think of me?"

"Only all night," I said honestly. I wanted her to have no doubt about my obsession with her.

"I like that," she stated. "And did you behave?" Her tone sounded playful, but I thought it had an admonitory edge.

"Yes, Gwendolyn," I responded, decidedly formally. I wanted it on record.

She was silent for half a block. We were running away from the main street, in a purely residential neighborhood of older houses of mixed vintage. The terrain was flat, and we were running at a comfortable pace for me, about six miles per hour.

"Good boy," she said. It sounded like a pronouncement. It sounded consequential, important to her, as I realized it was to me too. It dawned on me at that moment just how important. Earning her approval was life and breath. My heart swelled with pride. And my cock did too.

Running with a boner is a great sensation. You should try it. It wasn't my first time. Your cock bounces to your steps and rubs against your shorts, making every stride a tingling reward. But this time was different. Running with Gwendolyn meant that the source and object of my arousal was present, beside me, in the flesh. I fervently wished that she were aware of my state, that I could somehow transmit my desire telepathically. I needed her to know how much I needed her.

I slowed and let her get ahead of me just so I could look at her. Beauty incarnate, she was exquisitely shaped and toned to perfection. Her ponytail swung from side to side just above her shoulders, but I could ignore that distraction. I focused on her ass, perfectly formed, perfectly firm, art in motion.

She suddenly darted sideways like a basketball feint and looped back behind me.

*SMACK*

She delivered a sharp little slap on my butt. "No lollygagging," she said, "and stop staring at my ass!" she teased.

"Why not? You have the prettiest ass in the world."

She smacked mine again. "Yours is pretty cute too, you know."

"Runners do have the nicest butts," I said.

"Well, just keep up. You'll get plenty of my ass later, don't worry."

We were back in step, side by side.

"Hey, what's this?" she exclaimed, grasping my boner, visibly tenting my shorts.

"Do you need an anatomy lesson?" I retorted in an attempt at witty repartee.

"So you do like me?" she teased.

"No, this is just my normal state," I laughed, and then added, "Whenever you're around." I paused and then admitted, "Or anytime I happen to think about you." Pause. "Which is pretty much whenever you're not around." I didn't know if she could tell that I was blushing.

"The new normal?" she laughed. "I like that. You're such a good boy!"

When we arrived back at the house, she sprinted ahead up the porch steps and led me around to a side door. It opened to a long stairway up to her attic apartment. I enjoyed following her up, keeping her ass at eye level as we climbed at a leisurely pace, cooling down from the run.

She stopped and turned on the landing at the top of the stairs. "Wait here," she said, with her back to the door. "Where are your clothes?"

I had left my bag in the car. She waited while I retrieved it. She held out her hand, and I handed it to her.

"Undress," she said. Her tone, suddenly authoritative, implied that we were now on a different footing. Gwendolyn was taking control.

I complied silently. It was quick. I stood before her, my cock at attention, as if in acknowledgment of her authority.

"Give me your clothes," she said. I gathered them up and put them in her arms.

"Wait here," she said. She turned, entered her room, and closed the door behind her.

I waited, naked. My arousal made the wait feel like a test of my devotion. I didn't have to wait long.

She opened the door. She was wearing a thin cotton bathrobe. It covered her from her throat to her knees, but it didn't hide her exquisite form. She stood before me in all her radiance, and looked me over, her eyes inscrutable.

"Kneel," she intoned firmly. I knelt.

"Kiss my feet."

There was something inevitable in this, a next step in Gwendolyn's ascendency. Kneeling before her, I now bowed my head low, near the floor, like a serf to a queen. I pressed my lips to her feet, first one, then the other, an acknowledgment of my lowly state, but as I tasted and breathed in her foot-sweat, it was also a boon. I was awash in gratitude as well as humility.

"Good boy," she pronounced from high above me. She moved her foot slightly, so that her toes were under my lips.

I extended my tongue to lick as I kissed them. The musky salt flavor drove me to ply my tongue between her toes. I licked and sucked, laving and loving her toes. When the flavor waned, I repeated the act on her other foot.

"Do you want to come in with me?" she asked, placing a hand on my bowed head.

"Yes, please, Gwendolyn," I answered, remembering how she had told me to call her that, and how it had made me feel to say it. Once again, it felt like an incantation.

"Stand up," she said.

I got to my feet. I was standing close to her, so close that my erection seemed to be straining to touch her. I looked down at her face, longing to gaze into her sparkling eyes, deep blue with hazel flecks. She grasped my rigid shaft in her hand before looking up to meet my gaze.

"You've been good so far, Mike, behaving very well. I'll bring you into my room now, but you have to continue to do exactly what I tell you, okay?"

"Okay," I answered. "Thank you, Gwendolyn." I was so glad I added that because it made her smile. I think it excited her a little, too.

She turned and led me by my cock into her room. It was small but nice, with a little kitchen nook under one dormer at the front of the house and a little bathroom under the one in back. The central space had a double bed against the far wall, with a dresser to one side and a small desk on the other.

She closed the door, and we stood together - she was still holding my cock - near the center of the room. "I like you naked and obedient," she said. "You aren't allowed to wear clothes in here. You will always take them off before you enter, understood?"

"Yes, Gwendolyn," I replied solemnly. As solemnly as I could in my state of aching desire.

"Good boy," she said. She gave my cock a proprietary squeeze. It was beginning to feel normal. "Do you want to worship me now?"

And I said, "Yes, please, Gwendolyn."

"I want to be your goddess, Mike," she said. She tugged my cock, pulling me close. She whispered in my ear, "You can be my high priest and serve me. You will obey me, and please me, and I will reward you." She paused, drew back, and stared deeply into my eyes. "I know that this is what you need. You know it too, don't you? Tell me."

"Yes, Gwendolyn. I want to worship you and obey you. It is what I need," I said. "Thank you, Gwendolyn."

Her smile broke my heart. "Take off my robe," she said softly, "and hang it on the hook on the bathroom door."

I pulled the cloth belt loose. I blinked to clear the mist from my eyes. The robe opened, revealing Gwendolyn's pert, upturned breasts with their dark pink nipples stiff and pointed slightly outward. I took in her slim waist, her tight tummy, and the bright copper curls below her perfect navel. She let my cock go free. I stepped around her as I slipped the robe from her alabaster shoulders and slid it down, free of her arms. I carried it the three paces to the open bathroom door and hung it up.

Gwendolyn was behind me. I turned to face her, and she pushed me back against the door. I thought she was going to kiss me, but her hand behind my head pulled it down, across her body, into her left armpit. I had tasted it before, but a long night and a warm morning run had ripened it. It was damp and a stubblier now.

I breathed in deeply through my nose and moaned as her aroma possessed me, so strong now, but still distinctly her. I lapped vigorously, wanting to taste every salt-bitter scintilla of her precious musk. Her scent made me mad with lust, while the flavor stimulated my need for more of her flesh and more of her essence.

She turned to give me to her other armpit, which I licked with equal joyful abandon until she stopped me and pulled me away from the door. "Knees!" she said, huskily, showing every sign of heightened arousal.

As I knelt, she turned and leaned her forearms on the door, spreading her legs and presenting her ass to me.

"Worship my ass, Mike," she said, making it sound like she was granting me my greatest desire, or was I just predisposed to hear it that way?

I leaned in, kissing and kneading her perfect globes. The scent of her skin, and of her sweat, some of it carried on my face from her pits, excited me. And now the proximity of her asshole and her swampy pussy added layers of richness to the intoxicating brew. Nothing had ever been so exciting, until what happened next.

"Spread my cheeks, Mike. Kiss my asshole. Let me feel your tongue in there. Worship it!"

I did all that and more. I made love to her tiny pooper, French kissing it and trying to drill my tongue deep into her sacred bowels. I savored the taste of it. I ran my tongue around the rim of it between poking stabs, helping it to relax and open like a wild rosebud. I licked at its inner walls, wetly slurping, all the while striving to provide her maximum pleasure. My tongue was aching with the strain before she was satisfied.

"Good, so good, Mike," she said with a happy sigh. "You can get up now."

Grasping my erection again, she led me into the bathroom and into the shower stall. "Now for your next test," she said. "Kneel." I kneeled again and looked up at her with a longing that couldn't be sated. She put her fist to her mouth to clean off the precum she had milked from my seeping cock. She spread her feet apart.

"You must be thirsty after all that licking," she said, pulling her labia apart with two fingers. "Come and drink my pee."

This was something I hadn't considered. And yet, it made perfect sense that I should taste her bodily fluids, so why not consume her waste? It was such a humbling thought. That she was far above me was a vein of thought that ran deep in my psyche. So it not only seemed reasonable to swallow her urine but, as I opened my mouth to receive it, I was swept by a wave of gratitude. It was an honor and a privilege.

Her beautiful pussy was open in splendor above me. Her tiny urethra winked and expanded. A trickle fell like a light rain. I caught it on my tongue, warm and bitter. Then a stream of torrid piss arced out. I snapped my head back to catch it in my mouth; some of it splashed off my lip. I found the right spot. I held still to receive her flow.

"It's important to rehydrate after a run," Gwendolyn was saying. "I've already had my drink. Now it's your turn."

I heard the rising pitch of her fluid filling my mouth, the piss swirling, tingling my tongue. I waited for it to fill my mouth to capacity before I swallowed. And I savored its heat, its bitter salt, and its pungent fumes, mouthful after mouthful. It felt good going down, filling my stomach.

I was stoned, buzzed. It was a new, altered state of bliss. Taking her piss, the rankness of it, the bitterness, and the toilet-stench of it in my nostrils, though mild, was an unmistakable emblem of my debasement. And when it was finished, I thanked her for it.

"Thank you, Gwendolyn," I said with complete sincerity. "It was the best drink I've ever had!"

"Did you like it?" She put her hand on my head and pulled my face to her mound.

"Yes!" I said fervently before my lips met hers, her labia, wet with droplets of piss. I kissed them away and parted her lips with my tongue, finding more wetness inside, with a whole new world of flavor. The bitterness was gone, a refreshing tang tickled my taste buds, and I sucked as I probed, filling my senses with her essence.

"You've been a good boy," she said happily. "Now you can worship my pussy."