Page 71 of Servitude to Serpents

I nod, desperate for it. With the promise of pleasure, my brain blocks out most everything else. Finally, I have him, my master again. I hike myself up on my elbows and begin my lines, my body hyper-aware of him as he leaves, only to reenter moments later holding something long and black. When the hard hum of vibration comes, I nearly moan.

Master flicks my clit again, making me cry out. I drag the pencil down the page, breaking the lead. He tsks. “Pity. You will have to start over already.”

“Yes, Sir,” I moan as he coats the thick vibrator in my arousal, fighting the temptation to rock back and forth on it as he holds it against my core. The page crinkles as I read what few lines I’d scribbled out. “I-I broke my pencil.”

“Perhaps you should beg for a new one, if you want me to shove this inside you.”

“Master, may I—" My breath hitches as he lines it up with my entrance, easing it in, achingly slow. “May I please have a new pencil?”

“No.”

“Master,please. I want to be a good girl again.” I moan as he pushes it in and out, fucking me with it. My head slams the notebook as I rock, fucking myself back on it, the vibrations making my mind swirl.

“But you aren’t a girl, are you?”

“N-no, Master. I’m your pet. I’m a dog and, oh fuck—" I groan as he shoves it to the hilt, forcing the clit attachment against my swollen, pulsing nub. The sensation is almost too much, the setting too high. “I’m bad. I’m a bad pet, and I want to do my lines for you. I want you to make me come until I can’t think straight. Please, Sir.”

I gasp as he fastens something over my waist, my head snapping over to look as he adjusts the modified belt around me, between my legs, where an additional strap rests just over my navel, securing the vibrator in place.

As if I’d ever want it out.

He sighs, walking back over to his desk, where from his chair he has an uninterrupted view of my stuffed and soaked cunt. He drops the new pencil on my notebook. “It is already nearing midnight. I suggest you begin.”

But I can’t,

Oh, fuck, I can’t.

Even with the setting too high, I’m floating among the clouds, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to fuck myself on something wedged so deeply inside me. It isn’t budging an inch. I begin my lines, slowly, achingly slowly, screaming as I finally figure out which way to move so that the vibrator shifts inside me, grinding against that special spot. I explode, squirting as my release covers my legs. Master gives an amused huff, and the thought of his hand on his cock sends me over the edge again. My second release forces me to drop the pencil altogether.

“Write,” he commands, and I obey. Already, sweat is dotting my skin, and we’ve only just begun.

Master only lasted an hour watching me find my release over and over again beforehe appeared, fisting his cock. My mouth waters as he comes, spurting onto the page. “Go on then, Pup. Lap it up,” he murmurs, putting himself back in his pants as he goes back to his work.

God, I want to so badly.

It’s disgusting.

I’m disgusting.

Even so, I moan as my tongue dips out, my legs spread as his salty taste bursts on my tongue. My core clamps and spasms, and I’m hurtling again toward an orgasm. I’m lapping it up from the page, moaning and whimpering, begging for who knows what, my words leaving me in babbles.

I lost count of the lines, my next orgasm leaving me with such violence, I crumple against the page. I’m screaming, squirming, but nothing I do eases the sensation as Master uses his remote to change the setting to a cycling pulse.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Then steady.

“Master, please!” I wail.

“Now, now,” he chastises. “It’s only been two hours.”

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