CHAPTER ONE: BEGINNINGS
I opened the arriving email after hearing the signal its arrival. I received very few emails from outside the office so assumed it was from one of the company officers. It was from Mr. Nolan, President of BlackLand Enterprises. I scanned the email and the attachment it contained, then stood, smoothed my short skirt and nearly sheer blouse, left my desk at the front of the offices, and made my way down the short hallway on the left to his office, as his email requested.
I was wearing what had quickly become a standard dress modified by types of skirts, blouses, and dresses. Having been in the office for less than a week, it hadn’t taken me long to understand what the five men in the office liked. Short skirts and dresses that didn’t reach mid-thigh, lots of cleavage, sheer or semi-sheer blouses, elastic thigh-high stockings or garters, and four inch high heels (four inch heels for my petite 5′ 2″ body were high). Underneath was generally only a thong or bikini panty. Although I had always worn bras before starting here, the men suggested that my 32B tits didn’t need it.
Today, I was wearing a pleated black skirt that was well above mid-thigh and a nearly sheer, silk blouse unbuttoned to below my nipple line. My stockings were sheer white, and my shoes were black. A sheer thong completed my outfit, which was wet and sticking my ready pussy. I glanced down and my perky nipples were quite evident. I still couldn’t believe I was in this job. His language was different. My words like breast, pussy, or vagina to him were tits and cunt, but he didn’t insist on changing my words. He said my words reflected my petite, less ‘in your face’ look. The wetness between my legs increased and my nipples somehow became harder as I neared his office. Terry Nolan was 36 years old with an athletic build on a 6′ 2″, 210 pound body.
I knocked on his partially opened door, “Sir? What can I do for you?”
“Ah, Megan, thank you. Yes, two things actually … First, the email … did you look at the attachment?” I assured him I had. “Good. As you saw, then, it is a letter of some delicacy. I’m not happy with the performance of his site, lately, but he has been a good performer in the past. I’ve talked with him on the phone, but I want to review what I believe was our understanding. I want to be positive in encouraging him, but also reflect a level of disappointment at the same time.” He considered me standing before his desk and for a moment I wondered if he had lost his train of thought. “So … you are amazingly good at picking the right words for context.”
I smiled, “Thank you, sir. I will take a look at it and review with you any suggestions I have.” He nodded. “Then, sir … the second thing?”
He turned his chair to the side without saying a word. I smiled and without a word of my own moved around his desk and knelt at his knees. I unbuckled his belt and opened his slacks. He raised his hips just enough for me to pulled his slacks and underwear far enough to allow me easy access to his big black cock. I immediately began licking it from his balls to the head as I held it with one hand, the other massaging his large ball sack. I pulled my tongue into my mouth frequently to gather saliva to lick his cock over and over from top to bottom. As his cock stiffened, my lips encased the head and sucked out the pre-cum forming there. I swirled my tongue over the head before pushing my mouth down the hardened cock.
I pulled my mouth off and licked the full 10 inches of hard black cock. I took his cock back in my mouth and pressed down, raised up, and pressed back down. I tried taking it into my throat, began to gag and pulled back up before going back down. Over and over, taking more of it into my throat each time. It is work, work I have been dedicated to since starting here, work I have come to enjoy, and work I am rewarded with praise and encouragement from the men. Having never deepthroated anyone before, I am now able to take much of his cock. I opened my eyes as my throat feels completely full and his cock head deep. I saw I still have several inches to go, but I am tensing. I pull back up and gasp for air and to calm my throat.
“You are doing well, Megan. You almost had all of me that time.”
I glance up at him as I lick the saliva from his cock. He’s smiling. That and his words are all the encouragement I need. I tried, again. Up and down. Press and rise. Over and over. I am getting close, again. But, before I can try for those last inches, he grunts out his impending release.
“Oh, fuck … yesssssss … I’m cummmmminnnnggggg …”
I pulled my mouth back to the top of his cock, only the head in my mouth, my lips sealed tightly around the head as I suck. I can feel his cock and balls pulse with his rising climax, his seed rising along his cock to my mouth. The first spurt fills my mouth, splashing over my tongue and off the back of my mouth into my throat. I gulp, noisily, obscenely. I swallowed over and over to take the spurt and the three more that follow it. It seemed like I gulped a half cup of it, though I knew it wasn’t.
After licking his cock clean of my saliva and his cum that escaped my mouth, I sit back on my heels and look up at him. I make a show of licking my lips, searching for stray drops of cum. He smiled down at me.
“You have to be one of the sexiest women I know.” I blushed profusely.
How does a petite young white woman from a conservative small town in the Midwest find herself on her knees sucking the big black cock for her boss, the president of a multi-company enterprise that includes the production of video and photographic black porn and websites to assist in their distribution? I’ll give you the short version.
* * * *
I’m divorced, but that really isn’t nearly enough. I need to go back further, but surprisingly, not that much further considering where I am now.
Jim, my ex-husband, and I were married two years after high school. In small towns in the Midwest, there often is only one boy (then man) that might fill your love life. We tried to get pregnant while Jim finished his degree in engineering and I tried to support us as best I could on a secretarial job. We eventually moved to the big city for Jim’s new job. We were very excited and anxious to start a family. But after no success, our parents suggested I be tested, which shows the parochial prejudice toward women. The results, however, found me to be fertile. Reluctantly, (how could it be him?) Jim agreed to be tested. This time, the results found him to be lacking sufficient sperm count to impregnate me. Of course, now I might add that his tiny three inch dick didn’t help, either. Then, however, with neither of us having any prior experience with sex, his size (or lack of) didn’t seem an issue. After all, how would I have known?
Pursuing our options, we looked into sperm donor clinics and artificial insemination. However, a more experienced friend challenged why I would want to go the route of implanting sperm into my womb when there were clinics that would do it ‘the old-fashioned way’ with a certified donor inseminating through intercourse. It was called natural insemination.
We found most insemination clinics have a waiting period that could be extensive, particularly when specifics were required like race, hair, eyes, size, etc. And, the cost can be tens of thousands of dollars, dollars we really didn’t have starting out in our life. Questioned by the clinics, we agreed to not require a particular race and would explain the race by adoption. I was proud of Jim for being so open-minded because I knew what his folks were like.
We found a clinic that also provided the option for natural insemination at a much-reduced cost. The one we ultimately chose was Bethard Biotic Clinic. It had a sound reference and reviews by past clients. We had several consultations with the staff and I finally went in for the ‘procedure’. It was a thoroughly mind-blowing experience. Having only experienced a three inch dick for my entire sexual life, I was introduced to a tall, strongly built black man who was very different in every way from Jim. He was very caring and sensitive in relaxing me and letting me set the pace. The room was quiet, mutely lit, furnished with a queen-sized bed. He undressed me slowly, kissing every newly exposed piece of skin. When I was naked, he encouraged me onto the bed and did something I had never experienced … he began licking and kissing my pussy. He spoke softly. He told me how beautiful I was and, something I never heard, how enticing my pussy was and how wonderful it tasted.
He gave me an orgasm just with his mouth and tongue. I could count the number of orgasms I had experienced … on one hand without using the majority of those fingers. I was ready for anything at that point as he stood to undress. But what I saw made me seriously wonder what I was doing. This tall, handsome, strongly built black man had a cock on him that was over three times the size of Jim’s. I wasn’t sure it would ever get inside me; much less be able to have intercourse. But he proved my fears wrong. He took his time, as much time as I needed. By the time he was nearly all the way inside me, I was already in sexual heaven with another orgasm. That intercourse went on and on until he moved me to sitting on top of him, then back to missionary. When he came inside me, I orgasmed, again. Already, I had more orgasms than I had up to that day.
Although that day was timed to my peak time of ovulation, he asked me to return in two days and two days after that. That way the odds were increased. Each time I returned to the clinic to meet with that man, I experienced something else very new … the crotch of my panties was wet in anticipation.
I put all those thoughts out of my mind, though. I did become pregnant and we were very happy. We had to time our visits back home to avoid the months when I was heavily showing, however. But we were happy and excited throughout the pregnancy. At least, outwardly we were.
When our healthy, bi-racial son was born, I instantly became the devoted mother. I loved nursing and worked hard at getting my petite body back in shape. But, as much as we seemed the normal little family with our new ‘adopted’ son, there was something stirring our emotions under the surface. Every time I looked at our son, the memory of those days of his conception came rushing back. My own son became a trigger for a yearning for that experience, that feeling of fullness, and those orgasms. It was unfair to be sure and I fought them. But it wasn’t only me. Jim had reminders because of our son, too. They came out strangely and perhaps I should have been suspicious or fearful of what he was feeling. But he began talking about the interracial experience I had to become pregnant. He began sounding obsessed with the idea and asking questions he never had interest in before. Soon, I had described the acts of intercourse to him.
Strangely, he became very hard and wanted to have sex after talking about it. So, we would have sex. His little dick poking at my pussy. And, me having to fake orgasms so as not to hurt him. But he somehow knew, perhaps because he learned about female excretions and my lack of them. Not that I was dry, but I did not orgasm. He became frustrated that he couldn’t provide me with satisfaction. His solution confused me. I had become aware of his generally weak nature, recognizing that he had gone along with the idea of natural insemination. But I was introverted and shy. So, when he suggested we find ‘big men’ for me to experience, I went along. It only happened a few times, but … it had completely changed the way I thought about sex. These men didn’t talk about sex, they talked about fucking.
Then, the world opened up and swallowed everything and our life was ruined. His parents surprised us with a visit and we weren’t ready, or … or my husband was really too weak-willed to be a good husband and support our mutual decision. His parents pushed him and accused me. Jim’s weak explanation of adoption quickly fell apart under their grilling. I suppose they knew when their son was hiding something. In the end, Jim relayed the story of my ‘affairs’ without admitting his part in all of it. It quickly became ‘accepted’ that our son was the result of elicit encounters. Even my family believed that rather than me.
Strangely, or not, by the time the divorce papers went through and I was claimed as an unfit mother, I was beside myself with my own doubts. On advice from my attorney, I didn’t fight too hard for the sake of our baby now lost to me.
It took time and a lot of work on my part to get myself back together. Finally, though, it happened. I had lost my baby and all connection to my past life. It took that time to come to grips with the reality that losing my past life didn’t mean I had to give up on my future life. But, by then, I was dangerously low on how I was going to live without a job.
Desperate to put my life back in some semblance of order after the divorce, I was forced to sell the small house I got in the settlement in a starter-home development north of the city, find an apartment, and a job. Not having a college degree or years of experience, I was forced to find something along the line of secretarial work I have done in the past.
I found an advertisement for an Executive Secretary position for BlackLand Enterprises. Though, I had never heard of them, they were located in an office high-rise in one of the office parks surprisingly close to my new apartment. I was confident of my secretarial skills, but had never risen to the ‘executive’ level for my resume reference. It fit what I was looking for otherwise, though.
I wore a knee-length skirt, white blouse, and low heels for the interview. I was somewhat surprised after sending in my resume that I received a call back after a week asking me to come in for an interview. I was also surprised that it was a man’s voice. The office park was very upscale, the building relatively new, and the office number indicating it was on the 11th floor. The office was located on the West side of the building. The door was solid oak with the company name etched and painted into a copper name plate. On either side of the door were windows with wide ripples of frosted glass treatment, which allowed only a slight view inside through the couple inches of clear glass between the frosted sections.
The reception desk was empty, which was surprising for 9:30 in the morning. A black man in white shirt and tie filled an office door on the right. I explained I was there for the secretary job interview. He nodded and disappeared to the other side, talked to someone in another office at the end of that hall, then informed me it would only be a few minutes.
I settled into one of the chairs along the wall to wait. I could see what looked like six offices, three on either side of the reception desk down short halls on either side. The reception desk seemed to be in the center with something behind the reception area the man passed through. I would see in moments it was a large conference room with glassed walls on the two sides. At the back of the office suite I would also find a small lunch/break/coffee area and a separate room with copiers and a heavy-duty printer.
On the small table in front of the chairs, I found brochures of BlackLand Enterprises. I quickly found it was a consortium of companies. One of them is Bethard Biotic Clinic … the very same where I was inseminated and, through no fault of theirs, sent Jim and me on our downward spiral. I was so fixed on that memory I didn’t register the other companies when an even larger black man appeared in the hall on the left. My mouth gaped open. It was the man who had inseminated me!
He walked directly up to me with his hand stretched out in front of him. “Ms. Collins … Terry Nolan. Glad you could come in; I think we have something positive to talk over.”
I shook his hand and followed him back down the hall. As we walked, he asked if I would like some water or soda. I declined. I was still puzzling over his comment about ‘something positive to talk over’. I was here for an interview for a position I wasn’t entirely sure my resume could speak well to. He indicated the chairs in front of his desk as he moved around behind the desk. The office was expansive. On one wall was a sitting arrangement with sofa, chairs, and coffee table. In front of the large floor to ceiling window on the West wall was a small conference table with three chairs. Behind his desk was a credenza with shelves and cabinets. Clearly, this man was successful, but there only appeared to be office space for five or six people. And, how did Bethard Biotic Clinic fit in?
He drew my attention from those musings with a description of the secretarial duties for the office. There were indeed only five men in the office and I would be the only secretary. He would introduce the men later should I get the job, but they were all executives who, like him, oversaw the company business units they have responsibility for. Each business unit was stand-alone with their own staffing.
He leaned back in his chair, “Maybe the way to explain it is the men in this office are the Board of Directors of the larger group and I am the Chairman of the Board.”
I nodded my understanding. In truth, he was the president of BlackLand and the other men were Vice Presidents, each responsible for oversight of a specific segment.
I was about to ask some detail about the businesses when he jumped in with talking more about me. “Megan … I hope I can call you Megan …” I nodded. “Thank you … I make it a habit to do a thorough background on anyone I am even considering for a responsible position due the nature of our businesses.” I started to say I was only applying for the secretary job, but he continued with a smile. “If you are working in this office, you will be in a responsible position. Now … how do I say this?” He looked at me thoughtfully, then, “Megan … when I looked at your resume, something clicked and I dug a little further. And, I was right. I remember you.”
I blushed, “I remember you, too, sir.”
“This could be embarrassing, but it is an accident, right?” I assured him it was.
“Megan, I feel I have to ask … something very personal … your resume and application indicates you are single.” I nodded. “But … you were married and became pregnant, didn’t you?”
Now I was really embarrassed. I told him everything. I surprised myself that I finally was able to talk about it without tears. Was that because I was finally truly over the pain, or was it somehow more to do with the strength I felt from this man, just like I felt that first time I met him … in that clinic bedroom.
He just gazed at me as I related it all. Then, “I am sorry, Megan.” He paused, “Megan, I have a confession, too. That day you came in for the natural insemination process I just happened to be visiting the clinic. Your counselor … well … basically offered me the opportunity to participate. I never did that before or since. In fact, I scoffed it off, then saw you and … sorry, but I couldn’t resist. Would it be too forward to admit that I enjoyed it very much?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I shook my head. “No sir, it wouldn’t be too forward, if you are being honest. I didn’t have much experience, sir.” Now I paused. “May I say something that might be forward?” He chuckled and nodded, of course. “Sir, it was the most mind-blowing experience I ever had.” Now I blushed even deeper. He just gazed at me with a soft smile.
“Do you know what BlackLand really is, Megan?” I shook my head. That should be embarrassing, too. Then, he proceeded to explain the group of three companies that made up BlackLand:
1. Blackened, Interracial video and pictorial production and website, overseen by Reggie Furman;
2. DarkLove, Interracial dating site, overseen also by Jason Donald;
3. Eclipse, a string of night clubs in several major cities targeting black professionals that he personally oversaw.
He went on to explain there were two other members of the executive office: Dave Samuels, Finance; and Pat Wasson, Legal and HR. All of the men being Vice Presidents and, as I would soon realize, all were black.
“You notice what BlackLand specializes in?” Of course, Black and Land. Land of Black. “We give what the public, primarily the white community, what they believe about black men … and especially their big black cocks.” He watched my face for reaction, but I didn’t give him shock or insecurity. I flashed back to my first … second and third … encounter with this man in that clinic bedroom. I was enthralled with that man, then. I was feeling just as enthralled by him, now. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the desktop surface, “With any arm-chair cultural perception, there is a mix of fact and fiction. What we do is feed both back to the public. It would be fiction to say that every black man has a big cock. But there are enough that do to support the image and we make sure it is that image that is seen.”
God, what happened to that secretary position interview I came here to have? Here I am sitting across from the man who initially caused my entire perception of sex to instantly change and he was detailing how the company presents the image of big black cocks to the market. If something doesn’t change soon, I might just orgasm right here in front of him.
So, I try. “Sir, how does Bethard fit in, then?”
He chuckled. “Bethard has been sold off. Our brochures haven’t been modified, yet. That could be one of your tasks … if you were to have the job.” He smiled, as if it were a tease. “Honestly? There was a temptation to take our cultural perception and put it to effect at the clinic. It is one thing to promote blackness sexually and another thing if it were to somehow influence or pressure white couples, for instance, to have a mixed-race baby.” He watched me; I was nodding in understanding. “It led me to shedding the clinic to a larger group.” I was still nodding. Although, I never blamed the clinic for our decisions, there had been an element of steering us to it through timing and cost.
“Megan …” I snapped out of my wandering mind. “… I’m going to be blunt with you.” Oh, God … he wasn’t being blunt before? “I’m looking for more than just a secretary. There are a lot of secretaries out there that could do what we need to be done here.” He was looking into my eyes and seemed to lose his thought. Then, “Damn … I love those eyes … I forgot about your green eyes.” I blushed. Then, he seemed to just as quickly recover. “I am also looking for a slut.”
Damn! There it was and I was instantly back to the aroused level and almost came as the words and implication hit me and his eyes intently boring into mine. A slut?!? And, I’m that woman?!?
“It’s why the position has been open for a quite a while. I am looking for someone special, truly special. When I saw your resume and realized who you were … it came to me and I had to have you in for the interview.”
My lips seemed to flutter without anything coming out. When finally I managed sound, it was more stammered. “Sir … I … I’m not … Sir … I’m not a slut … hell, I … I hardly have any experience.”
He chuckled. “I know that, but your responsiveness was exciting.”
“I don’t … you … why would you think I could be …”
He put up his hand to stop me. I did. His next words should have shocked me. “Megan, stand up for me.” I did. If I thought about it, it didn’t register as a conscious thought. “Now, take off your blouse.” My mind hesitated, wanted to go through a process of consideration and weighing the pros and cons of such a request. That was what my mind wanted to have happen. My fingers, though, were already loosening buttons. By the time my mind caught up, my blouse was open and I was pulling the blouse from the skirt and finishing the buttons. I stood before him with an open blouse. He told me to take it off and I did.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled, “That’s why, Megan, that’s why. I sensed something in you. I’m sorry what happened to your life happened. I truly am, but …” He looked at me with that strong gaze, “Now the skirt.” My fingers unzipped the skirt and pushed it down my legs. I stood with it pooled at my feet. Now, I stood before him in bra, pantyhose, and panties. “I truly am sorry for you, but you’re the one who said the experience you had was … I believe the word was …”
I finished it for him, “Mind-blowing.”
He smiled, then looked down my body. “By the way, pantyhose …” He shook his head. “Stockings … never pantyhose.” I nodded. Why did I nod? I didn’t only nod, though, I pushed them down my legs, sitting momentarily to remove them before standing before him, again. He smiled, again. Then, he continued, “By your own account, your life was shattered, but you have recovered. You had a mind-blowing experience that you can’t get over.” I nodded. Damn, stop responding to everything he sees in you! But he can see it, too. “Why, Megan … why would you want to NOT pursue what those experiences would be like as part of your life going forward?”
He wants me to be his secretary and his slut. Maybe more … the office slut? God … I can’t believe how wet I am. Can he see how wet I am? Don’t look. If I look, he’ll follow my eyes and know.
I drop my bra on the chair with my other clothes and I freeze with my hand still extended over the chair. I just took off my bra?!!? He didn’t tell me to do that! Listen to yourself! Tell you? You don’t understand why you did it when he didn’t TELL you? My hands move up to cover my breasts.
“Drop your hands, Megan. They’re beautiful on you. You see what I mean about you, though? I saw it in you even then. You want so much more than you ever imagined. You can find it all here, Megan.”
I was standing before him in only my panties and he was talking to me about becoming his slut. It didn’t make sense, did it? “Sir, I don’t understand. Why would you want me? Look at me.”
He chuckled, “Oh, dear, I am. But, let me look at all of you.”
Why not … I stripped the last piece of covering from my body and dropped my panties … very wet panties … on the chair, too. I stood before completely naked. Everything was visible now. At 23 years old, I have a shapely, trim body on a 5′ 2″ frame, 95 pounds, and 32B-27-35 figure. My petite breasts have perky nipples that point straight forward. My hair is black and long, my eyes an engaging green as he already recognized.
I watched him inspecting me. Then, “Sir, why, though? My breasts are small … I’m small. There must be plenty of big breasted sluts around that have all the experience.”
He laughed. “That’s the problem. That’s what would be expected. But, look at you. Completely different. I’ll admit I was leaning the other way, but finding such a woman who was also a secretary … that wasn’t easy, either. But you can help me, Megan. You and me together would be quite a sight. A black man a full foot taller. A petite white woman. There is an image there that would also enhance the business model, a powerful black man and his petite slut.” I shivered.
“But I don’t have the experience to be …”
“I can teach you.” There it was. He could turn me into the slut he wanted … he could mold me into what he wanted. It’s right there. All I have to do is accept if it is what I really do want, like he says. All I have to do is submit to him and let him take over to show me. “You’re wet, aren’t you?” I nodded. I also blushed. God, why was I standing in this man’s office naked? I came for an interview to be a secretary and now I am dripping wet as he talks to be about being his slut. Is this what I wanted for so long, so desperately?
He scrawled something on a piece of notepaper and slid it over his desk to me. I picked it up to find the links to two websites. I looked from the paper to him. He said, “I want you to do two things for me, Megan.” Again, I nod? “Go home and explore those websites. They will give you a feel for the slut attitude and what you could expect … if you accept.” Did he just offer it all to me? His smile this time was lusty, “Some of it is graphic, obviously. But you remember our times together …” I did, indeed. “Then, let me know what you think about the job.”
“Yes, sir.” I looked back at him, “The other thing, sir?”
“Come over here, Megan.” He stood as I moved naked around his desk. He was unbuckling his belt, which drew my eyes like a magnet. I stood directly in front of him until his hand landed on my shoulder, applying the slightest amount of pressure, and I slowly sank to my knees in front of him. Without him saying another word, or my eyes moving from his crotch, I reached out and unzipped his slacks. Only now did I look up to his face. He smiled at me, a confident, knowing smile. I used both hands to pull his slacks and underwear down until his penis came into view. His slacks were down past his hanging balls, but only part of his hanging penis was exposed. I reached inside and pulled the entire shaft out. I held it in my hands and felt it move.
From above me I heard, “Remember when you did this before?”
I nodded, “Yes, sir. It was the second and third times. You showed me what to do.”
“That’s right. Once you got started, I didn’t think you were ever going to let it go.” I blushed. It was true. As strong as this man felt to me when he was with me, holding his penis was … like an embodiment of that strength. I wanted to hold it … suck it … lick it … “Remember what I told you so you would stop?”
I nodded and blushed even more. My hands were moving on the ten inches of black … he said, cock … ten inches of black cock. I reached forward with my face and touched the head with my tongue and the memory rushed back. I looked up at him, “You told me, sir, that I couldn’t take your seed in my mouth. You reminded me that it had to go in my vagina … to make me pregnant.”
“That’s right. What did I say later as I was fucking you to seed your womb?”
I thought. It was so wonderful when he was inside me … what did he say? Oooooooo, yes. “You said … there might be a time when I could taste your cum and swallow it.”
It was semi-hard now from my stroking and our talk. I leaned forward and put my lips to the head and took the pre-cum from it. I looked up, “Sir … can I?” He nodded.
I smiled as I leaned into him, again. The smile might have been lost, though, as my mouth opened wide to take the head into my mouth. I didn’t know that much about sucking a man, but I knew I enjoyed it. What happened to that conservative girl from the small town? Was that girl truly gone? Taken away with the loss of husband and baby? And, this woman kneeling front of this man, his cock in her mouth, was that woman replacing her? It feels that way, doesn’t it? And, doesn’t it feel right to accept the pleasure so long denied you?
I sucked him like I remembered him telling me. It must have worked because he strained and grunted as his cock became rock hard and tight before pulsing in my mouth and hand. When he spurted, it hit the back of my mouth and into my throat. I gulp and swallowed to take it all down before the next spurt, and the next. God, he came. And, when he kissed me on the lips, even with his cum there, and told me how wonderful it felt for him, I was almost bursting with pride.
My other life was taken away from me … it really is up to me to make a new one. Isn’t Mr. Nolan right? Isn’t it my turn to live my life for myself for the things and the pleasures I want? My tongue on his cock, licking stray cum, I looked up at him. I shivered.