Life of a Pro

"Maybe," he said, "but mostly I just want you to feel the power of your beauty. I feel a little like I am groveling here before you." She felt a flush of embarrassment and started to protest, but he quickly spoke over her. "And that's the joy of it. I want you to enjoy being placed on this pedestal while I bow before you, serve you, grovel at your feet. The pleasure is mine." The embarrassment didn't really subside but it changed; she was finally beginning to understand what he wanted. "I hope you like having your ass kissed, Sweetheart, because that's what I plan to do. Admit that part of you is enjoying seeing me grovel here before you, and wants to feel my lips elsewhere, too."

She was not aware that, sitting in the plane now, she was actually wincing as she relived these memories.

"I think I could learn to like it," she had said, smiling. Indeed.

He began to kiss her ankles. "Just for tonight," he said, "try thinking of me as your personal servant — maybe more like a slave — whose greatest desire is to stroke and serve your ego and relish your beauty." What was it about this guy that made her feel so comfortable with these ideas, so ready to accept and enjoy them? She'd had a boyfriend once who wanted her to pee on him while they had sex, but that just seemed so disgusting. They never spoke of it again, but they were also never quite the same again either. Things seemed so different with John that night. He seemed to make everything seem so exotically erotic.

John kissed his way up her calves and over her thighs. He seemed to take special pleasure in the firm, smooth skin of her femininely muscled legs. He rubbed his nose and lips over them, inhaling deeply. It was maddening. With each stroke over her leg, his face drew ever closer to her underwear and her inner thighs. He would pause with his nose less than an inch from her moist sex, barely covered in her cotton underwear, and draw a deep breath like he was breathing in life itself.

He began to run his tongue over her inner thigh at the edge of the cotton, his nose nudging her sensitive lips through the fabric. He kissed her pussy through the wet underwear, then pulled them down and off her body. His face was less than a foot from her pussy when he guided each of her legs onto his shoulders. Almost reflexively, she crossed her ankles across his back. Sitting in the plane now a full year later, she could still remember with crystal clarity the unspoken words going through her mind. "Lick my pussy. Suck on my clit. Make me come in your mouth!" It was the mood of the moment, a mood she'd never felt before. He may not have heard those words coming from her mouth, but he acted like he had.

She distinctly remembered how his face glistened after he buried his nose deep into her pussy. She saw his nose appear between her lips and rub over her swollen clit. Then his tongue — O God, would she use that tongue that night — licked her clit like she was made of candy. He seemed to really get off on burying his face in her pussy, getting her juices all over his face, making sure she could see it.

One time he lifted her knees to her chest before slipping his nose into her pussy, and then for the first of many times that night she felt him kissing her asshole. As she savored the feeling of his lips, she put a hand on the back of his head and gently rocked back and forth on his face until she came all over it. As she was coming, she bucked pretty hard against him. When it was all over, she was amazed at how she had drenched him. It occurred to her that she was being pretty selfish, but she didn't really care — he seemed to want it that way, and she was really beginning to like being worshipped.

"I see you were serious about kissing my ass," she remembered saying; she'd even giggled lightly.

She could now see the lights of Racine through her window. She felt hot and flushed.

"Oh, I have yet to kiss your ass," he'd said. He was giving her pussy light kisses all over.

"Hey, I felt it!" she retorted.

"That was just a peck," he said. "I couldn't justify not kissing your ass properly."

"And what would a proper kiss be like?" she asked teasingly.

"Sweetheart, I won't be happy until I've tasted your sweet ass. That's a proper kiss." His kisses started to tend toward the lower part of her pussy.

"I hate to admit it, but I love the way you think. Aren't you taking a chance, though? I mean, I hope you like the taste of my ass." She couldn't help giggling again.

"Does it matter? You're being worshipped, remember? Anyway, I'm sure I'll be left craving it afterward."

Suddenly, she felt she needed to go to the bathroom. "Well, not just yet anyway," she said. "I have to pee."

He continued kissing her pussy for a bit before he said, "So?"

"So, where's your bathroom?" she asked.

"I don't think you're going to need it." He stuck out his tongue and placed the tip of it squarely on her clit. It was clear to her that he was purposely doing it in such a way that she could plainly see it.

"I'm serious," she said. "I really have to pee." Laughing, she added, "I'll piss in your mouth if you don't let me up!"

He pulled his tongue back into his mouth, but didn't close it. He pressed his open mouth against her pussy and just looked up at her.

She finally got it.

"Are you serious?!" she cried, but her voice did not lose its humor. Now as she looked back on it, it was amazing to her how different her response to John was than when her old boyfriend had asked her to pee on him. She didn't even think of that event during this sequence with John.

"Don't you think you've groveled enough? I've already got a pretty big head now thanks to you, you know," she said. "Now, you want to be my toilet too?" and she laughed. And she couldn't stop laughing. It just seemed so funny to call him her toilet with his open mouth there waiting on her pussy.

Still laughing, she warned, "I'll do it. I'll take a piss right in your mouth. And I'll make you drink every drop of my sweet piss! What do you think of that?"

She remembered the way he stared unblinkingly at her, mouth open and ready, his eyes seeming to implore her to carry out her threat. It was that look in his eyes that finally did it for her. She remembered she decided, fuck it, I'm going to enjoy this, and she began pissing. At first she intended to just give him a little squirt to let him know she was serious. He would end up tasting her piss (he'd deserved it!), but he could spit it out. But her plan backfired. Once she started, she couldn't stop.

The thought that she was in the midst of an uncontrollable piss and that poor John was tasting all of it made her start to laugh again, which made her laugh even harder. The more she laughed, the less she could hold her piss. She was drowning him in it. Maybe the most embarrassing memory of it for her was the fact that at no time — before, during, or after — did she make any attempt to get away from him, to not piss in his mouth.

In fact, as an almost defensive reaction, she decided to go with it. "Drink it!" she said in almost hysterical laughter. Much to her shock, he was drinking it. He gulped it down as fast as she could piss in his mouth. She was still laughing when she finally pissed all but her last. Through tears of laughter, she asked, "Well, how was that? Bet you feel pretty pissed on now, huh? Did it feel good being my toilet?"

"Yes, thank you," he responded. "And how do you feel?"

"The truth? Pretty damn good. I never knew something like that could be so much fun! I have a little more. Do you want it? Beg for it."

Unfortunately, she felt mostly guilty when she thought back on it now, but back then, the feelings of arrogance and pleasure she had were indescribable. It just didn't fit into her self-perception that she could enjoy pissing on someone so much.