You wake up

The warm, wet heat of Lily's mouth pulls you from the edge of sleep before your eyes even open. You feel her small tongue tracing a slow, deliberate circle around the head of your cock—that particular, teasing pressure she's perfected over weeks of morning practice. Her breath is soft and warm against your skin, her nose brushing your lower belly as she works.

You let out a low groan, your hand moving automatically to rest on the back of her head. Her hair is still slightly damp from her morning shower—school regulation **** hygiene routines, though you've long since allowed her to use your private quarters' facilities instead of the communal ones. She deserves that privilege.

"Good girl," you murmur, your voice rough with sleep. "Slow. Just like that."

Lily hums in acknowledgment, the vibration traveling through your cock and sending a shiver up your spine. She knows exactly what you like—she's learned every preference, every sensitive spot, every rhythm that makes your hips twitch involuntarily. Unlike the other teachers who simply grab their pets by the hair and fuck their throats until they ****, you've trained yours to understand the art of a truly decadent blowjob.

Her tongue flattens against the underside of your glans, dragging upward with agonizing slowness before she wraps her lips around the crown and sucks gently. She pulls back with a soft, wet pop, then kisses the tip—once, twice, three times, each kiss lighter than the last. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, checking for approval even as her hand wraps around your shaft, stroking with a loose, teasing grip.

"There's nothing better than a young mouth playing with my cock in the morning," you say, your voice carrying that familiar note of possessive satisfaction. You watch her cheeks flush—she still blushes at direct praise, even after all these months. "Most of the other slaves in this school would kill for this privilege. You know that, don't you?"

She nods, her lips brushing against your cockhead as she does. Then she lowers her head again, taking you deeper this time, her throat relaxing to accommodate you without gagging. She's learned to suppress that reflex—another skill you've taught her personally, with patience and repetition.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, one hand still resting in her hair, not guiding, just... owning. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. You feel her tongue working that sensitive ridge just below the head, alternating between flicks and slow, flat presses that make your toes curl.

"Your technique has improved," you say, your breathing deepening. "Who taught you to use your tongue like that?"

She pulls off just long enough to answer, her voice breathy and warm. "You did, Headmaster. You said the glans has the most nerve endings. You said to treat it like... like it deserves its own attention before anything else."

You smile, pleased with her recitation of your lessons. "And what else did I teach you?"

Her hand continues to stroke your shaft, her thumb rubbing circles over the tip, spreading the precum that's already beading there. "You taught me that enthusiasm matters more than depth. That a girl who looks like she wants to be there is worth more than one who just endures it." She leans in and takes you back into her mouth, demonstrating exactly that—her eyes fluttering closed, a soft moan escaping her throat as if tasting you is its own reward.

The morning stretches out before you, unhurried and indulgent. A free day means no lessons, no inspections, no clients arriving to evaluate their investments. Just you and your most dedicated pet, exactly where you've trained her to be—between your legs, worshipping your cock with the kind of devotion that can't be faked.

You shift, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can watch her more clearly. The sight of her—small, obedient, her uniform already discarded on the floor from when she crawled into your bed before dawn—sends a pulse of heat through you. Her ass is slightly raised as she kneels beside the bed, and you notice the base of a small anal plug peeking from between her cheeks. She put it in herself this morning, in anticipation of whatever you might want to do with her later.

"Such a thoughtful ****," you murmur, your free hand reaching down to trace the curve of her spine. She shivers at your touch, her mouth working faster, a quiet, **** sound escaping her throat.

You guide her head gently, setting a rhythm—slow, deep, letting her feel every inch of you before pulling back almost completely, then pushing in again. Her tongue continues its dance, never still, always finding new ways to make you gasp. The bed creaks softly beneath you, the only other sound her wet, eager mouth and the occasional shuddering breath you release.

"Mmm, yes... just like that. Keep that tongue flat when you take me deep."

She obeys immediately, the sensation shifting from sharp pleasure to a warm, enveloping fullness that makes your hips roll instinctively into her mouth. She takes it without complaint, her throat working around you, her hands gripping your thighs for stability.

You could lie here for hours like this—and on a free day, you just might. No rush, no schedule, no interruptions. Just the warm, wet devotion of a well-trained **** and the satisfaction of knowing you built her into exactly what she is.