On My Tongue

For two hours, I remain on my knees, moving my lips along Mom's cock, sliding down, then up. When she tells me to slow, I take the slowest pace I can while not suffocating while it's in my mouth. On command, I accelerate, for Mom's pleasure.

She uses vocal commands to edge herself with my movements, as I maintain the eye contact she wants. Mom likes looking into my eyes as I service her, watching her massive cock vanish into my mouth, emerge from it, then vanish into it, again.

Mom tells me how proud she is of me as I take her to the hilt, swallowing on the way down, as I moan on the way back up. She strokes my hair, telling me what a good slut I am, as I grind my tongue on her frenulum. My cheeks warm, contently.

When Mom starts to pulse in my mouth and throat, she commands me to continue. She warns me to stop when she says, but not before. At her command, my mouth freezes where it is, with only three-quarters of her crown at rest past my lips.

My eyes focus on hers, as the first thick jet of her cream pumps into my mouth, onto my tongue. The sensation hits me all at once. Rich, thick, and creamy, Mom's jism has a sweetness that blows my mind. I'd never imagined this tasting so good.

“Drink Mom's milk, faggot,” Mom orders, and now I know why the term cock milk is used. It has a thicker consistency than milk, but it is wonderful. Past the health benefits, I simply love the flavour in my mouth. After her second pulse, I swallow.

Mom nods in satisfaction, watching me drink, swallowing after every other pulse. I ensure my mouth won't overflow, and cause me to lose any. If she wanted to make a mess of me, she absolutely could have. Yet Mom opted to feed me her milk.

At the last pulse, I slide my mouth back down around her. I can't get my mouth open far enough to have a space between my lips and her flesh, but I can get to the hilt. I swallow hard around her, once, twice, three times, milking Mom's length.

Then I slide my mouth back up her shaft, until I can flick my tongue across the tip. I taste the last dollop of her cream, and I smile up at her appreciatively, lovingly, as I swallow it. I slip my mouth off of her cock, and Mom strokes my hair, gently.

“Good boy, faggot. You had a question you wanted to ask? I will let you ask before I use your mouth, again,” she tells me. I nod in answer, because I did have a question, and as I lean my face into the touch of her palm cupping my cheek, I recall it.

“Mom, I've never sucked your cock, before,” I tell her, “So, um, why are you having me do it, now?” Mom simply smiles at me permissively, as if it is an expected question. Her hand continues to cup my cheek, brushing her thumb across my lips.

“You're a faggot. It is your job to service me,” she tells me, her tone relaxed, “we didn't know you were a faggot until now. Now we know, so now we have more accurate expectations of you as a faggot. You have new responsibilities, here on in.”

“Now, since you've been an obedient little faggot,” Mom says, and I smile, licking her cock as I listen to her, worshipful as my eyes remain on hers, “I will allow you to make a request for how I use you for the second round, but I will use you, fag.”

“Okay, Mom,” I answer, accepting her words as my brain rewires to rationalise it, “What are my choices for how to serve?” Mom strokes my hair, her smile telling me she is clearly pleased by my obedience. I've always taken responsibility serious.

“You can worship me, as you are, now, or you can suck my cock, again,” Mom tells me, “Or I can directly take my pleasure from you, either by riding your mouth slow or fucking your mouth hard. In either case, you surrender to me, completely.”

“Hmm,” I hum thoughtfully, vibrating her cock as I draw my tongue up her shaft, “In that case, may I please ...”

Author's Note:
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