Blowjob Slut

For a week she agrees to be his blowjob slut. Blowjob slut is his, deliberately crude, wording. What this means is agreed mutually between them. It means this: every day, three times a day throughout the week, she sucks him off. Once in the morning, once in the afternoon, once at night.

There are logistical things to think about. He acknowledges that. Some mornings might be early. Some evenings might be late. They can defer if needed. Her gag reflex is ten times worse when she drinks, and so she will abstain from drinking for the week. He’ll pay for taxis to bring her from wherever she is to wherever he is as often as is needed. She can sleep over if that’s convenient.

It is a lot. But it is manageable. For a week she can get up early. Have quiet evenings. Put off engagements and tolerate inconvenience. Three times a day. A significant enough commitment that she must organise her life around it. But, as he tells her when they first discuss it, that is exactly the point.

When they first discuss it, she thinks it might become staid. After the first five or eight or ten times, perhaps. It seems impossible to her that she will remain as sluttily excited by it at the end of the week as she is right now.

And yet, every time, it’s still something.

The first time is exciting but perfunctory. She comes to his flat. He lets her in. There is an atmosphere. They make a little small talk and then he takes her through to the bedroom and they both take off their clothes. Kiss. She sinks to her knees. Ten minutes later it’s over. Half an hour later she’s back home, the taste of his cum still in her mouth.

Six hours later she’s back on the floor of his bedroom, on her knees. Clothed this time. He’s a little rougher. More demanding. She gags once. He strokes her hair.

After the third time her jaw aches. She carries that ache happily home with her. Her jaw aches from sucking too much cock. But, when she wakes up tomorrow morning, one of the first things she’ll do is present herself to him so she can do it again. That, at the moment, is the shape of her life.

The week goes on. They don’t miss a single appointment.

One evening she is stressed. Frustrated. In order to serve him she has to leave a party she was at – a party which she was enjoying. She feels fractious as she sits in the back of the taxi. A nervous, needling energy.

He, seeming to sense that, slaps her hard in the face and forces her down and fucks her mouth with a vicious disregard for her choking, gagging squeals. She arches and convulses on the floor of his bedroom. By the time he’s done the feeling of frustration is gone completely. She feels soft and lithe and oddly new. As though she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be, which she is.

At other times the routine itself is exciting. It’s intense. No escaping it. She sucks his cock when she’s hungry, tired, burned out. It doesn’t, in a sense, matter. It’s a baseline, dirty constant. That week she spends more time sucking his cock, or travelling to and from his home, or arranging the next time when she will suck his cock than she spends on almost anything else except for sleep.

She notices herself getting wet whenever she’s in a taxi to his house. A tide of horny energy when it’s close to the end of the working day, and she knows what is set to happen next.

They do not fuck. She brings herself off sometimes – once while her mouth is full of him, but mostly afterwards when she gets home again. Sometimes she doesn’t. She lies with her horniness. Feels it throb. Thinks to herself: you’re a blowjob slut. That’s your real life. This is really you: sucking cock three times a day. Excited to do so. Blowjob slut. His blowjob slut.

By the last day it is pleasingly familiar. They don’t speak at all the last time. He lets her in. Less than a minute later she’s on her knees in his bedroom, her mouth full, her hand between her legs, cupping her cunt but not stroking it. He opts for a long, slow, sloppy facefuck, his hands in her hair all the while, pulling her in just a tiny bit further than she might go herself.

He finishes, as he always does, in her mouth. She feels the last silky load of him slip down her throat. Twenty-one times this week she has swallowed what he has given her. She pulls back, lets his cock slip from her mouth and presses her forehead against his thigh. She’s his blowjob slut. But she’s not anymore. The week they agreed upon is over.

She thought she might feel bored. She didn’t think she would feel like this.