Worship (watersports version)

Author's note: Chapters 26 & 27 now have realistic vids.

Check out my Subscribestar for more! Early access to new vids, chapters 28-40 currently available!

---

She kneeled.

I didn't tell her to kneel. I didn't even gesture it.

She just... kneeled.

Like something in her legs gave way.

Like the word "worship" traveled from her ears down through her spine and into her knees and they simply buckled.

She looked up at me.

And what I saw in her eyes…

It wasn't the forced obedience I'd grown used to.

That resentful compliance, the "I'm doing this because my body refuses to disobey" stare.

This was different.

This was... almost like reverence?

No, not that simple.

There was still something in there. Some last stubborn ember of Gretchen Rivers, Editor-in-Chief, boss bitch, woman who once made me rewrite a twelve-hundred-word piece on autumn blazers six times because it “wasn’t up to the her standards”.

That ember was still glowing somewhere behind her eyes, still clinging to some memory of who she used to be.

But it was losing.

Losing fast.

She lowered her gaze.

Then she lowered her head.

Then she lowered her entire upper body until her forehead touched the floor.

Her arms extended forward, palms flat against the ground, fingers spread.

Her back curved, dipping low, and her ass rose into the air behind her.

Like a prayer position.

Like prostration.

Like the pose of someone presenting themselves before a god they'd just started believing in.

She stayed there.

Motionless.

Her breathing slow and deep, her ribs expanding and contracting against her thighs.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

A bit too long.

Should I tell her to move on? To do something more? To-

No.

No, I couldn't.

One command. That was the rule.

"Worship me."

That was my command.

If I opened my mouth again, said anything that could be interpreted as direction, instruction, guidance... would that count as a second command? Would that disqualify me?

I couldn't risk it.

I had to stay quiet.

I had to let Gretchen interpret "worship me" however she was going to interpret it, and pray that her interpretation was enough.

My fate was literally in the hands of a woman I'd spent the last month systematically destroying. The woman who I had turned into my sexslave, whose body I'd reshaped, whose dignity I'd fed through a woodchipper.

Okay then.

Fucking great.

Do your thing, Gretchie.

Show them what you've got.

Another ten seconds of stillness.

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it.

Then... movement.

Slowly. Glacially. Inching forward on her knees, her forehead still near the ground, until she reached my feet.

Something warm and wet pressed against the toe of my left shoe.

Her tongue.

Gretchen was licking my shoe.

Long, slow strokes.

Her tongue dragging across the leather, leaving wet trails that caught the light.

She worked methodically, starting at the toe, moving along the side, her tongue tracing the stitching, the sole, the heel.

Okay… Not a bad start.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

I backed up and sat down on the edge of the bed, partly to give her better access and partly because my knees were starting to feel unreliable.

She followed, crawling after me without lifting her head.

Slowly, she eased my shoes off one at a time.

She set them aside gently. Carefully.

Like they were sacred objects.

Then my socks.

And then her mouth was on my bare feet.

Her tongue slid between my toes, one by one, warm and wet and thorough, and I...

Okay.

I'll admit it.

She'd gotten better at this.

Way better.

The first time she did this, back at my apartment, it was clumsy and reluctant and that was what made it fun.

But now?

Now her tongue moved like it belonged there. Like she'd been practicing. Like she'd spent time thinking about the optimal way to worship a man's feet, the right pressure, the right angle, the right rhythm.

Going from toe to toe. Slow circles around each one.

Each one getting the same treatment, sucked in, tongue-bathed, released with a soft wet pop before she moved to the next.

A gentle suck on the big toe that sent a weird tingle up my calf.

It was… oddly relaxing?

Which was insane, given that my entire future hinged on this performance.

But something about the warmth of her mouth and the steadiness of her breathing and the absolute focus she was bringing to this...

I found my shoulders unclenching.

My jaw loosening.

I laid back on the bed.

The mattress was soft.

Really soft.

The kind of mattress that costs more than a car.

I stared up at the ceiling and let the sensation wash over me, her tongue working between my toes, her lips pressing against my arches, her breath warm on my-

Camera.

There was a camera in the corner of the ceiling.

Small. Discreet.

A little glass eye staring down at me.

Right.

People were watching this.

An unknown number of judges.

Maybe more.

Some panel of faceless strangers observing me lying on a bed while a nude woman licked my feet, probably jerking off, and they were going to decide whether this was impressive enough to not let me be turned into a sadistic woman’s forever-slave.

Who were these fucking people?

Who ran this thing?

Who built this facility, designed these challenges… Who made the app? And why?

I was getting angry again.

Whoever was behind this, whoever created the app, whoever orchestrated this entire nightmare... they gave me the most powerful tool in the world and then forced me into a cage match to prove I deserved it.

If I survived this, I was going to find them.

Every single one of them.

And I was going to wrap my hands around their throats and squeeze until… But, no, wait. Should I really hate them that much? It was because them that I got this superpower, the one that made my life fun and-

A tug at my waistband.

I looked down.

Gretchen had worked her way up from my feet. Her tongue was tracing a line up my calf, wet and deliberate, and her fingers were hooking into the waist of my pants, pulling them down with painstaking slowness.

Inch by inch.

Like she was unwrapping something precious.

She slid them past my knees, past my ankles… and once they were completely off, she folded them, and set them aside.

Then her mouth returned to my legs.

Inner thighs now.

Soft skin. Sensitive.

Her mouth was tracing the crease where my leg met my hip, her breath hot and damp against my skin, and I could feel her lips grazing the fabric of my boxers.

My cock was straining against it, a wet spot already forming at the tip where my pre-cum was soaking through.

She lingered there.

Her tongue traced the edge of my boxers along my left thigh, then crossed over and traced the right, her nose brushing against the bulge of my shaft, and I could feel every exhale through the thin cotton.

Warm and maddening.

But she didn't go for it.

Not yet.

Instead, she moved upward.

Her fingers found the buttons of my shirt, undoing them gently, one at a time.

She peeled the shirt back, then the undershirt, exposing my chest, and her mouth descended on my stomach.

She licked a line from my navel to my sternum.

Long, flat strokes across my abs. Her tongue warm and wet, tracing the lines of muscle, dipping back into my navel, then moving up, up, until...

She licked my nipple.

What the...

Okay. That was new.

Gretch had never done that before. Not once.

Not in all the weeks of fucking and sucking and every other act I'd made her perform.

It felt...

Weird?

But not bad weird.

Her tongue circled one nipple, then the other, and I felt them stiffen under her attention.

A strange tingling sensation that I didn't know what to do with.

I decided not to overthink it.

This was going well.

She was giving me everything she had.

Following my order.

I could feel her body worshiping mine.

And hopefully… the people behind the camera could as well.

Her body was on top of mine now.

I felt every inch of her.

The warmth of her skin, the slickness of her sweat, her e-cup tits pressing against my chest.

Those new tits.

The ones I'd upgraded.

Firm and round and heavy, dragging across my skin as she moved up my body.

Her mouth found my neck.

She licked a line from my collarbone to my jaw, and then...

Her teeth.

Soft.

Gentle.

Nibbling on my earlobe.

Her breath was hot in my ear.

I could hear every tiny sound she made.

The wet click of her mouth.

The soft, desperate little whimpers she couldn't vocalize because I'd told her to stay quiet and she was still obeying.

It felt… pretty fucking nice.

I had fucked a lot of women in the last month.

Hard, rough, degrading, dominant.

I had cum in so many lovely tight holes.

I had been feared and obeyed.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn't obedience.

This was... devotion.

This might actually be what it felt when a woman truly… deeply…

…felt something for you.

And the shocking thing was, I wasn't even in a hurry to cum.

I just wanted this to last.

Right now I was lying on a king-sized bed with my eyes half-closed and a gorgeous bitch was exploring my body with her tongue like every part of me had a new, exciting taste.

It was so relaxing that I felt like my troubles were just melting away.

I closed my eyes.

For a moment, just a moment, I forgot about the camera. About Daphne. About the judges. About everything.

It was just this.

Her body on mine. Her mouth on my skin. Her weight pressing me into the mattress. The heat of her cunt through my boxers, right there against my shaft, and I could feel how wet she was, the cotton soaking through

But then…

Gretchen pulled away.

The warmth left my body.

I opened my eyes.

She had climbed off the bed and was standing beside it, her ass jiggling as she was scanning the room's collection of equipment.

Her eyes moved across the walls of toys and tools, until they focused on something.

A bottle of baby oil.

She picked it up, uncapped it and poured a stream into her palm, then, with only small hesitation, began spreading it over her body.

Across her shoulders, down her arms, over those magnificent tits, across her flat stomach, down her creamy thighs.

And she smiled to me seductively as she was doing this.

Her skin went glossy, catching the light, every muscle and curve suddenly glistening like she'd been dipped in liquid gold.

With the oil and those tits...

She looked like a proper porn star.

No.

Better than a porn star.

My own personal porn star.

Her hand stopped.

She spotted something else on the wall.

A collar.

Black leather with a silver ring. And a chain leash hanging from it.

She turned to me.

Her eyes asked the question her mouth couldn't form.

Do you want me to put it on?

I almost nodded.

Almost.

But then I caught myself.

Would a nod count as a command? As an order? As direction?

I kept my face perfectly still, hoping she could read my thoughts.

And Gretch...

Gretch did seem to have some telepathic skills.

She took the collar from the wall, wrapped it around her own throat, and buckled it snug.

She picked up the leash, walked to the bed, and nervously placed the leather loop in my hand.

She collared herself.

For me.

Without being told.

Because she knew I would like it.

I couldn’t handle myself anymore. I had to have her.

I wrapped the leather leash around my fist and pulled.

She came. Sliding onto the bed, onto me, all that oiled skin slipping against mine. Soon she was straddling me, her slick cunt pressing against the tent in my boxers, soaking the fabric even further.

I could feel the heat of her pussy lips spreading around my shaft through the cotton, the wet friction as she started grinding, slow figure-eights that dragged her clit along the ridge of my cock.

She pressed her tits against my chest and slid upward, the oil eliminating all friction, her nipples dragging hard lines up my torso.

Then she slid down, her stomach gliding over mine, the slick skin-on-skin contact sending sparks along every nerve.

A body massage. She was actually giving me an oily body massage.

She shifted to one side and rubbed her body along my flank, like a cat marking its owner, her hip bone pressing against mine, her thigh sliding between my legs.

And just when I felt my cock couldn’t handle her ass bumping against it anymore…

She turned me over.

Gently. Insistently. Her hands on my shoulders, guiding me onto my stomach.

And now she pressed her body against my back.

I felt her tits flatten against my shoulder blades, her hips against my ass, her thighs along the outside of mine.

She moved in slow waves, her oiled body undulating against me, and the pressure and the warmth and the slickness of it all was so overwhelming that I actually groaned into the mattress.

Gretchen.

My Gretchie.

Six weeks ago this cunt made me stay late to proofread pullquotes. She scheduled meetings at 7 AM specifically because she knew I was not a morning person. I meant less to her than dirt at the bottom of her high heel shoes.

And now she was nude, oiled and collared, grinding herself against my back like her only purpose in life was to make her God feel good.

The app had started this.

But this?

Right now?

This wasn't the app.

This was her.

Nothing about my simple order was forcing her to go these lengths.

In fact, she could have just stayed down on her knees in a worshiping position, and the literal wording of the order would have been obeyed.

This…

This was her wanting to please me, because…

…

She wanted to?

Suddenly, I could feel my boxers starting to slide down.

She was still straddling my back, her fingers picking up the waistband of my boxers and pushing them off me.

I was naked now.

Completely bare.

And then...

I felt her hands on my ass.

Spreading my cheeks apart.

Oh.

Oh, FUCK.

Her tongue.

Flat. Wet. Hot.

Pressing directly against my asshole.

Gretchen was rimming me.

Voluntarily.

Without being told.

She was spreading my ass open with both hands and licking my hole like it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

Her tongue circled the rim, slow and deliberate, tracing the puckered skin.

Then she pushed.

The tip of her tongue pressed against the center and eased inward, just barely, just enough to make every nerve ending in my body fire at once.

She licked faster.

She spat on it.

I felt the warm glob hit and then her tongue spread it around, working it in, and she pushed deeper this time, her tongue actually penetrating me, and my hips bucked back against her face involuntarily.

Holy SHIT. Just the fact that she was actually showing my ass this much devotion was ready to make me explode.

But then her tongue traced lower. Found my balls.

She sucked each one into her mouth, rolling them gently, her tongue swirling, showing both of them the love they deserved.

And then she was turning me over again, pushing at my hips.

I had no problems complying.

We were in a 69 position now. Her knees on either side of my head, her dripping pussy hovering above my face, and her mouth descending on my erect cock.

And then…

She finally took me in.

All of me.

Slow.

So slow.

Her lips stretching around my shaft.

Her tongue pressing against the underside.

Her throat opening as she slid down inch by inch until her nose was buried in my pubes.

Her deepthroating skills had truly bloomed. Forcing my cock down her throat so many times had been a good way to train her.

I could feel the muscles of her throat contracting around the head of my cock.

And then she pulled back.

And went down again.

And again.

Each stroke impossibly slow, impossibly deep, impossibly wet, her tongue doing things during the upstroke that I didn't know a tongue could do, swirling around the head, flicking the frenulum, pressing into the slit.

Holy fuck she was… she was getting really fucking good at that.

Had she been practicing in secret or something?

This shit was almost as good as Lana.

This wasn't a blowjob anymore.

It was… was like a sacrament.

And her pussy was right there above my face.

Wet. Swollen.

I could see every detail, the pink folds glistening, her clit peeking out, a thread of arousal stretching between her lips.

For one insane second, I actually considered...

Licking it?

Returning the favor?

What the FUCK was wrong with me?

No. I was not into that. Never had been. Never would be.

And besides, she was here to worship me. Not the other way around.

I grabbed her ass instead.

Both hands.

Hard.

Digging my fingers into that firm, round, oiled flesh, squeezing until my fingerprints would be bruised into her skin for days.

She made a sound around my cock.

A vibration in her throat.

Not quite a moan, because she couldn't moan, but the involuntary hum of a woman whose body was responding to stimulation whether her voice was allowed to or not.

She was getting close.

I could tell.

Her thighs were trembling on either side of my head.

Her hips kept making these small, aborted little grinding motions, searching for friction that wasn't there.

But she didn't stop sucking my cock.

She didn't pause.

She just kept worshiping.

I was close too.

That slow, relentless rhythm was building something at the base of my spine, a pressure that was growing with every stroke, every swirl, every wet sound her mouth made around me.

I was about to explode into her mouth.

Which was fine, but…

Somehow…

Such an anticlimax after all this buildup.

No.

I wanted more.

I wanted to be… inside her.

Stuff her pussy.

Paint her insides.

Have her cunt overflow with my swimmers.

I pushed at her hips. Gently. Just enough pressure to communicate intent without forming it into a command.

I was taking a risk here, I knew it.

But doing it like this… it was just enough that I didn’t think it could really be interpreted as an order.

Just a suggestion.

Thankfully, she understood almost instantly.

She released my cock from her mouth with a wet pop, a rope of spit stretching from her swollen lips to my glistening shaft before snapping.

She turned around, swung her leg over, and repositioned herself above me.

Straddling my hips.

Her pussy hovering directly over my cock.

Our eyes locked.

The leash hung between us, a slack loop of leather connecting her throat to my fist.

She was once again asking for permission with her eyes.

I didn’t even give her a blink.

But she read my mind.

She reached down, wrapped her fingers around my shaft, positioned it at her entrance.

And sank down.

Slowly.

So. Fucking. Slowly.

I watched myself disappear inside her, inch by inch, her slick pussy stretching around me, swallowing me, and the heat of her was extraordinary.

So tight.

So wet.

So gripping.

She bottomed out with a shudder, her ass resting on my thighs, every inch of me buried inside her.

And then she started to ride.

Rolling her hips in slow circles.

Rising up until just the head remained inside, then sliding back down with a wet, sucking sound.

Her hands on my chest for balance, her oiled tits bouncing with each movement, the collar gleaming at her throat.

I couldn't take it anymore.

This experience… It was so perfect.

And she was so beautiful.

So horny.

So submissive.

So perfect.

I had to do something I never really did.

I pulled the leash.

The chain went taut, the collar bit into her throat, and her face came down to mine.

Close.

So close I could feel her breath on my lips, see the individual flecks of darker blue in her eyes, see the tears that had gathered at the corners but hadn't fallen.

I pulled her head even closer…

and I kissed her.

Deep.

My tongue plunging into her mouth, tasting myself on her, tasting baby oil and sweat and something else, something that was just her, and she kissed back with a desperation that made my chest ache.

Her hips never stopped moving.

Grinding down on me as my tongue explored her mouth, and I felt the pressure building, building, crossing some threshold that I couldn't pull back from.

And I came.

Hard.

Harder than I'd cum in weeks.

Pumping load after load into her, my cock pulsing inside her tight, wet cunt, my fingers tangled in the leash, my other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.

I was still kissing her. Still pulling the leash. Still buried inside her. And the orgasm went on and on and on like it was never going to stop, each contraction of her cunt pulling another pulse from my balls until I was empty, hollowed out, wrung dry.

When it finally faded, we stayed like that for a few breaths.

Connected.

Foreheads touching.

Our eyes locked.

And something passed between us.

I don't know what it was.

I don't have a word for it.

All this time… we had been orbiting at different altitudes.

Boss and employee, predator and prey, user and subject...

…and had finally, in this moment…

We had found the exact same frequency.

For a second I thought about letting her finish as well.

She was close.

I could feel it in the way her thighs trembled against my hips, see the desperation on her face, in the involuntary grinding she was doing against my pelvis, her swollen clit dragging across my pubic bone.

She deserved it.

She had absolutely, unequivocally earned it.

But... I couldn't.

Not yet.

If allowed her to cum, would the judges interpret that count as a second command?

I couldn't risk it.

Not with everything on the line.

And then…

The moment ended.

I wanted it to last longer, but Gretchen moved.

She lifted herself off me with deliberate slowness, my cock sliding out of her with a wet sound, followed by a thick stream of cum that dripped from her pussy onto my shaft.

She was still working.

Still worshipping.

She following the order I gave her.

She repositioned herself between my legs, lowered her head, and began to clean me.

Her tongue traced every inch of my softening cock, lapping up the mixture of cum and her own juices, thorough and unhurried, making sure not a single drop was left.

I lay there, spent, staring at the ceiling.

Could Daphne beat this?

Could whatever she was doing in that other room with her... “mommy”... could it possibly match what Gretchen just did?

Maybe.

Probably.

Daphne was a psychopath who could easily break human beings.

But what Gretchen just did wasn't broken.

That was the thing.

What I just witnessed wasn't a shattered woman performing tricks for her handler.

It was...

Something else.

Right?

Was I just fooling myself?

And if it was… Was that even a good thing?

Would the judges have preferred her to be broken?

A shell of her former self?

A demented fucktoy?

Please, God, please let them appreciate the artistry I had built with her.

Gretchen finished cleaning my cock.

Seriously, the only thing that could have made this experience more pleasant, was if she…

She looked up at me.

Her blue eyes steady.

She couldn’t actually be…

No, she was.

She knew what I wanted to do.

And…

She was ready.

I could see it.

In the set of her jaw, in the stillness of her breathing, in the way she settled herself between my legs with the easy comfort of someone who had found exactly where she belonged.

She opened her mouth.

Took my soft cock between her lips.

And waited.

I looked down at her.

This woman.

This infuriating, brilliant, ruthless, beautiful woman who used to make my professional life a living hell.

She was lying between my legs with her mouth around my cock and a collar around her throat and she was asking me, with nothing but her eyes, to do the one thing that would complete the worship.

And I was more than fine with that.

I let go.

The stream started slow, just a trickle, my bladder releasing after hours of stress and adrenaline.

It hit the back of her throat and I heard her swallow.

A wet gulp.

Then another.

Then the flow increased, steady now, warm piss filling her mouth, and she swallowed in rhythm, her throat working visibly, the muscles in her neck contracting and releasing, contracting and releasing, her eyes never leaving mine.

Not a single drop escaped her lips.

Not a dribble down her chin.

She took every ounce of it, swallowed it, and kept my cock in her mouth until the stream tapered to nothing.

Then she licked me clean.

Again.

Every last trace.

And stayed there.

Waiting.

The leash slack in my hand.

I looked at her.

She deserved something.

She was exhausted, sweating.

Her jaw looked like it was hurting from the endless amount of licking and sucking she had done.

Right now… my bitch of a boss was the most perfect example of devotion and servitude I had ever seen.

She fucking deserved something.

And I didn't give a fuck about technicalities anymore.

“Cum, slave.”

And oh boy…

She did.

---

Author's note: I have new short story available over at my Subscribestar!

Turns out a women's soccer gets much more fun when you have a magical whistle!

Nearly 11k words, 14 pictures.

Become tier 3 subscriber today to gain access to it and 9 other hot stories!

---

Hey, if you like my stuff and want early access to the next chapters, join my Subscribestar!

https://subscribestar.art/drek

My goal is to make writing these stories my actual career, and every single contribution brings me one step closer to doing this full-time. If you've enjoyed my work, I'd love your support!

Here's what I'm offering across three tiers:

Tier One – You'll get early access to three further chapters in all my stories! That's three chapters ahead in Submission Accelerator, My Idle Harem, and The Sweetest Corruption!

Tier Two – Early access to six chapters in Submission Accelerator and My Idle Harem! You'll read the latest chapter the moment it drops. You'll also get voting privileges on story directions—choosing traits, deciding which heart Ron pursues next, and more. Check out also the new realistic vids for the early chapters of The Submission Accelerator, new updates every week!

Tier Three – Everything above, plus access to exclusive short stories. This includes all stories from my previous Patreon run—the Victory Suite Tales 1-7—now revised and updated with AI-generated artwork. I also have a new short story, "The Cop Collector & Privileged Prey", available! (Both have about 10k words, 10-13 pictures each.) I plan to write a new short story every month exclusively for this tier that you guys get to choose with a poll.

So I'm hoping I'll see you there!