Chapter 55: Lesson on the head
The last golden threads of sunset bled through the blinds, striping the rumpled silk sheets and Sharon’s bare thigh. Alexey lay face down, the cool air a relief on his overheated skin. The deep, persistent ache radiating from his core was a constant, throbbing reminder – a brand Sharon had pressed deep into him the night before. He flinched as her cool fingertips brushed the sensitive skin just below the small of his back.
"Easy, cucky," Sharon murmured, her voice soft as the settling dusk. The sharp, clean scent of aloe vera and chamomile filled the air as she squeezed a dollop of thick, white cream onto her palm. "Just gonna make it feel better." Her touch was impossibly gentle, smoothing the cooling ointment over the tender, swollen flesh. The relief was instant, a balm against the raw soreness. He sighed, a long, shaky exhalation, sinking deeper into the pillow. Her fingers worked slowly, methodically, circling the tight ring of muscle, applying gentle pressure that made him gasp softly. "There," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "Poor baby. Took it so well last night. So brave." Her praise, laced with possessive affection, sent a conflicting shiver through him – soothing the sting while simultaneously tightening the knot of arousal low in his belly.
She wiped her hands on a towel, the scent of the cream lingering. Then she patted his hip. "Okay, up you get. Knees."
Alexey pushed himself up slowly, wincing as the movement pulled at tender muscles. Sharon was already arranging two plush pillows on the floor beside the bed. She stood before him, bathed in the fading light, utterly magnificent. Her dark hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders. She wore only a simple black silk robe, loosely tied, the deep V revealing the swell of her F-cup breasts. Her expression was soft, expectant. In her hand, she held the nine-inch silicone strap-on, its deep purple hue gleaming dully. It looked impossibly thick, menacing, yet familiar now.
"Here," she said softly, placing the pillows precisely. "Kneel here. Between my legs." She parted her robe slightly, revealing the harness straps secured around her hips, the base of the dildo nestled snugly against her.
Alexey’s throat tightened. He’d seen it, felt it inside him, but this… kneeling before it, preparing to put his mouth on it… felt profoundly different. More intimate. More submissive. His cheeks burned. He lowered himself gingerly onto the pillows, the softness a small mercy against his lingering soreness. He knelt upright, his gaze fixed somewhere around Sharon’s navel, unable to look higher. The sheer size of the silicone cock looming before his face was intimidating. He’d never… done this. Not to anyone. Not to anything.
"Look at me, Alexey," Sharon commanded gently, her fingers tilting his chin up. Her dark eyes held his, warm but unwavering. "It’s okay. Just relax. This is just practice. For me." She traced his lower lip with her thumb. "You want to please me, don’t you?"
He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. "Da," he rasped. "Yes."
"Good boy." She smiled, her dimples flashing. "Now, open your mouth. Just a little. Like this." She demonstrated, parting her own lips slightly. "Don’t try to take it deep yet. Just… kiss it. Get used to the feel."
He obeyed, leaning forward tentatively. The silicone was cool, smooth, and utterly alien against his lips. He pressed a hesitant kiss to the broad, rounded tip. The faint, sterile smell of the toy filled his nostrils. It felt ridiculous. Degrading. Yet Sharon’s approving hum vibrated softly above him.
"Good," she murmured. "Now, use your tongue. Just a little lick. Like you’re tasting ice cream."
He flicked his tongue out tentatively, tracing the smooth curve. The taste was faintly chemical, unpleasant. He pulled back slightly, grimacing.
"It’s okay," Sharon soothed, her hand resting lightly on the back of his head. "You get used to it. Try again. Gentle circles."
He leaned in again, focusing on the sensation. The cool smoothness. The slight give of the material. He traced slow circles with the flat of his tongue, trying to mimic what he imagined might feel good. Sharon’s fingers carded gently through his hair. "Mmm, yes. Just like that. Relax your jaw, Lesha. Soft."
He tried to loosen the tension in his neck and jaw. He focused on the rhythmic motion, the soft sounds of his own tongue against the silicone. Gradually, the initial wave of awkwardness began to recede, replaced by a strange, focused concentration. He was pleasing her. That was the point.
"Okay," Sharon breathed after a minute. Her voice held a new note, a subtle shift towards instruction. "Now, open wider. Try to take just the tip inside. Slowly."
His heart hammered against his ribs. He opened his mouth wider, leaning forward. The broad head pressed against his lips, then slipped past them. It filled his mouth instantly, a solid, unyielding presence pressing down on his tongue. He froze, his jaw straining. It felt huge. Obstructive. He couldn’t breathe properly through his nose.
"Breathe through your nose," Sharon reminded him softly, her hand applying the gentlest pressure on the back of his head. "Just hold it there. Get used to the stretch. Feel it."
He focused on sucking air through his nostrils, the scent of silicone stronger now. The weight on his tongue was intense. Saliva pooled rapidly. He fought the urge to gag, swallowing convulsively. Sharon’s thumb stroked his cheekbone. "You’re doing so well, cucky. Such a good boy for me." Her praise washed over him, anchoring him. He held still, breathing raggedly, feeling the unfamiliar stretch of his lips and jaw.
"Now," she whispered, her voice dropping lower, huskier. "Pull back slowly… then push forward again. Just the tip. Gentle bobbing."
He obeyed, pulling back until just the very crown rested on his lower lip, then pushing forward again, taking the head back into his mouth. Back and forth. Slow. Tentative. The rhythm felt unnatural, clumsy. His jaw ached.
"Faster," Sharon murmured. Her hand on his head became firmer, guiding the pace. "A little faster now. Use your tongue more. Flatten it against the underside."
He increased the tempo, bobbing his head with more purpose. His tongue pressed against the smooth shaft as he pushed forward. The sensation was strange, wet, slightly obscene. Drool escaped the corners of his mouth, slicking his chin. He felt utterly exposed, kneeling there, servicing this monstrous fake cock. Yet Sharon’s soft moans above him, the approving squeeze of her fingers in his hair, fed the desperate need to please her that warred with his shame.
"You know," she mused, her voice conversational yet thick with dark amusement, "when I was under that table with Mark today…" Alexey froze mid-bob, the dildo heavy on his tongue. His eyes snapped up to hers, wide and startled. She held his gaze, her expression knowing, a faint smirk playing on her lips. Her hand pressed down firmly, forcing him to keep moving. "Don’t stop, cucky. Keep going." He resumed the motion, mechanically, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"I was thinking," Sharon continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her hips shifting slightly, pushing the dildo fractionally deeper into his mouth with each forward bob she guided. "How different it feels. Sucking a real cock." Her thumb brushed away a trickle of saliva from his chin. "The heat. The way it pulses. The taste… salty, musky… alive." She sighed, a sound of pure, remembered pleasure. "Mark’s… god, Lesha, it’s so thick. Like trying to swallow a soda can." Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head forward firmly. "Feels like it’s choking you just trying to get it past your lips. Makes your jaw ache instantly." She pushed his head down, forcing him to take another inch. The silicone pressed against the back of his tongue. He gagged violently, eyes watering instantly.
"Shhh," she soothed, not letting up the pressure. "Just breathe. Like this." She demonstrated exaggerated nasal breathing. "See? You’re learning. Just like I had to learn today." She eased the pressure slightly, letting him pull back to just the tip, gasping. Tears blurred his vision. "Mark kept whispering, 'Take it deeper, baby, you can do it,'" Sharon murmured, her voice mimicking Mark’s low rumble. "And I tried, Alexey. I tried so hard." Her hand pressed down again, insistent. "Push forward. Deeper. Show me how hard you’ll try."
Choking back another gag, tears streaming freely now, Alexey pushed forward. The thick shaft filled his mouth, pressing relentlessly against his palate. He focused on breathing through his nose, ragged, wet sounds filling the room. Sharon’s thighs pressed against his ears, enveloping him. Her scent – warm skin, her floral shampoo, the faint musk of her arousal – mingled with the sterile silicone smell. Her fingers were relentless, guiding his head in a steady, demanding rhythm now. Back and forth. Deeper each time he pushed forward. The pressure on his tongue, the roof of his mouth, the back of his throat was immense. Gagging became a constant, wet counterpoint to the slick sounds of his efforts. Drool soaked his chin and neck. His jaw screamed in protest.
"Good," Sharon breathed, her voice thick with arousal. "So good, cucky. Taking it so well. Learning fast." She pushed his head down firmly, holding him deep for a count of three. He gagged violently, his body convulsing, eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming. "See?" she whispered as she finally allowed him to pull back, gasping and shuddering. "That’s the spot. Right there. Where it makes you choke." She wiped his wet face with her thumb again, her touch almost tender amidst the brutality. "You’ll get better. Just like I will with Mark." She tilted his chin up, forcing his watery, red-rimmed eyes to meet hers. Her gaze was dark, possessive, triumphant. "Ready to try again? For me?"
He managed a shaky nod, his throat raw, eyes still stinging. The phantom thickness of Mark’s cock seemed to linger in the air, replacing the taste of silicone. He leaned forward again, opening his mouth wider than before, determined. His jaw screamed, a dull ache radiating to his temples, but he pushed past it. The cool, smooth head slid over his tongue, a familiar invasion now, and he forced himself deeper, focusing on the rhythmic bobbing Sharon demanded.
“That’s it,” Sharon breathed, her voice thick with approval. Her fingers tightened possessively in his hair, guiding his speed, his depth. “Faster. Pretend it’s the real thing. Like Mark needed.” The comparison hit him like a physical blow, a fresh wave of humiliation heating his neck. He gagged as she pushed his head down firmly, the thick shaft bumping the back of his throat. Tears welled again. Drool dripped freely onto the pillow beneath him. He choked, pulling back gasping, chest heaving.
He stared at the gleaming purple shaft bobbing slightly before his face, a symbol of everything he was submitting to. The soreness in his ass throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His cock, ignored and straining against his briefs, felt painfully small, insignificant.Why? The question surfaced, sharp and sudden, cutting through the haze of exertion and shame. He looked up at Sharon, her face soft in the dying light, her dark eyes watching him with unnerving intensity. “B-but why?” he rasped, his voice wrecked. “Why are we doing this? You don’t feel the dildo.” He swallowed thickly. “Therefore any pleasure.”
Sharon threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing warmly in the quiet room. Her dimples flashed as she looked down at him. She ruffled his hair affectionately, almost playfully. “Oh, Lesha!” she chuckled, wiping a tear of mirth from her eye. “Because when your ass is sore and I can’t fuck it,” she leaned down, her face close to his, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper laced with glee, “you’re like a woman in PMS: at least you should please with your mouth.”
Alexey jerked back as if burned, his eyes wide with utter shock. The crassness, the casual comparison, the sheer unexpectedness of it… it stole his breath.
Sharon burst into another fit of giggles, rocking back on her heels. “Oooh, you’re too easy to tease, babe!” she gasped between laughs. Her expression softened then, warmth replacing the pure amusement. She cupped his damp cheek, her thumb stroking away a stray tear track. “But honestly,” her voice softened, becoming earnest, “you didn’t ask why before. You simply started learning to give a blowjob.” She held his gaze, her dark eyes serious now. “Because you’re a natural bottom, like I said before. And I want to explore this side of you.” Her fingers traced his jawline tenderly. “And I love you for letting me guide you. You’re truly brave, love.”
Alexey stared at her, the words washing over him. Brave? He felt broken open, raw, kneeling in his own spit and tears. Her earlier comparison still echoed, sharp and humiliating. Yet, beneath the sting, beneath the ache in his jaw and the deeper throb in his core, something else flickered. Affirmation. Acceptance. Her love, fierce and possessive, wrapped around the humiliation like silk over steel. He took a shuddering breath, the scent of her skin and the sterile silicone filling his senses. His gaze dropped back to the strap-on, glistening faintly in the last light. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward again, opening his mouth wide.
The cool, slick silicone slid past his lips once more, heavy and unyielding. Sharon’s fingers tightened fractionally in his hair, a grounding pressure. "Eyes up here, cucky," she murmured, her voice a low hum that vibrated through the quiet room. "Always watch me. Connection is everything." He forced his watering grey-blue eyes to meet her dark, unwavering gaze, the intensity almost as overwhelming as the intrusion in his mouth.
"Good." Her approval washed over him like warm oil. "Now, show me you want to please me. Not just going through motions. Enthusiasm." She gently pushed his head down. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard as he moved, trying to mimic the fervor he imagined she’d shown Mark. Drool escaped, thick and slippery, coating his chin and neck. The gag reflex hit instantly, sharp and choking. He jerked back, gasping, throat convulsing.
"Shhh," she soothed, not letting him retreat fully. "That’s okay. Gagging’s good. Means you’re trying." A knowing, almost amused glint lit her eyes. "Most men? They love it sloppy, Alexey. The messier, the wetter, the better. Makes them feel… worshipped." She wiped a strand of saliva from his jaw with her thumb. "Relax your throat if you can." He tried, a strangled noise escaping him as the phantom thickness of Mark’s cock seemed to constrict his airway. "Can’t yet? That’s fine. You will." Her confidence in him was absolute, terrifying.
She guided his head again, the rhythm steadier now. "Use your tongue," she instructed. "Lick the shaft on the way up. Like you’re savoring it." He obeyed, dragging his tongue along the underside of the dildo as he pulled back, the smooth surface tasting faintly chemical and metallic. It felt absurd, performative, yet the heat in his cheeks was matched by a treacherous throb lower down.
"Down you go," she urged softly. He descended, taking the head deep until his lips met the harness base. His jaw screamed. "Now, the balls," Sharon commanded, her voice dropping, intimate. "Gentle sucks, little licks. Show them love too." He shifted his focus lower, awkwardly nuzzling the silicone orbs fixed near her pelvis, pressing soft kisses, swirling his tongue. The position was deeply submissive, kneeling, bent, servicing this symbol of her power and Mark’s potency. He glanced up, seeking reassurance.
Her eyes held his, fierce and possessive. "Yes, just like that. Perfect." Her dimples deepened with her smile. "Mark mentioned he loves that. Attention on the balls." The casual drop of Mark's preference felt like a branding iron. Alexey flinched but didn’t stop, his tongue tracing the smooth swell of the fake testicles, the humiliation a familiar, sharp sting beneath the surface. His own neglected cock strained painfully against its confines.
"Eyes, Alexey," she reminded him, her tone gentle but firm. He snapped his gaze back to hers, the connection immediate and electric. He saw pride there, a dark thrill, and something deeper – love, twisted through with this intense, guiding dominance. He sucked harder on the shaft, bobbing faster, letting the drool flow freely now, gagging sporadically but pushing through. The sounds were obscene: wet sucking, choked breaths, the slick slide of silicone.
"See?" Sharon breathed, her own breath catching slightly, watching his flushed face, the tears mingling with saliva. "You are learning. Such a quick study."
Sharon’s praise hung in the air, warm and thick as the lingering scent of aloe vera. Alexey’s jaw pulsed with a deep, radiating ache, the muscles trembling from effort. He blinked, tears blurring the purple silicone inches from his face, his chin slick with cooling drool. The phantom thickness of Mark’s cock still seemed to constrict his throat.
Suddenly, her hands shifted. Both palms clamped firmly onto the sides of his head, fingers tangling in his light brown hair near his temples. The unexpected grip was firm, anchoring, leaving no room for retreat. "Hands behind your back, Alexey," she commanded, her voice low, stripped of its teasing lilt, pure instruction. "Now."
He flinched, startled, but obeyed instantly. His arms folded awkwardly behind him, palms pressing flat against the small of his own back. The position made him feel utterly exposed, vulnerable, kneeling helpless before the gleaming dildo. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet hum of the fan.
"Good boy," she murmured, a predatory glint flashing in her dark eyes. "Now. Listen." She leaned forward slightly, the strap-on bobbing. "I'm going to fuck your mouth. Hard. Like Mark needs it." The name dropped like a stone. "You hold still. You take it. For one minute. One. Full. Minute." Her thumbs pressed into his cheekbones. "You manage that? Without pulling away? You get a reward. Fail?" She tilted her head, dimples flashing briefly in a way that held no warmth. "We start over. Longer."
Alexey swallowed, the movement painful in his raw throat. He met her gaze, searching for mercy, finding only fierce expectation. The sheer size of the thing terrified him. But the promise of relief, of pleasing her, of stopping, was a siren song. "Da," he rasped, the word barely audible. "Okay."
"Deep breath," she ordered. He sucked in a ragged gasp through his nose. Then she pulled his head forward, hard.
The thick, cool silicone slammed past his lips, filling his mouth instantly, driving deep towards his throat. He choked, a wet, guttural sound ripping from him as it hit the back wall. His eyes flew wide, watering instantly. She held him there, impaled, for a brutal beat. The pressure was immense, suffocating. He fought the instinct to retch, sucking air desperately through flared nostrils.
Then she pulled him back, just enough for the head to catch on his palate. Before he could even gasp properly, she slammed him down again. Harder. Deeper. A fresh wave of tears blurred his vision. The rhythm began – a relentless, driving piston action. Down, deep, gagging choke. Up, brief gasp. Down, deeper, harder gag.
Spit flew, coating his chin, neck, her thighs. The wet, obscene sounds of suction, gagging, and the slick slide of silicone filled the dimming room. Every downward thrust felt like it would break his jaw. His throat spasmed violently. Tears streamed unchecked, mingling with the drool. Ten seconds in, his body was rigid, trembling with the effort to stay still, hands clenched white-knuckled behind his back. His neglected cock throbbed painfully, a traitorous counterpoint to the agony in his face.
Twenty seconds. Sharon increased the tempo. Faster. The impacts became jarring. His head snapped forward and back with her force. A thin line of spit stretched from the corner of his mouth to the dildo on the upstroke before snapping. He gagged constantly now, a wet, choking hiccup punctuating each descent. The taste of rubber and bile flooded his mouth. The burn in his throat was raw, scraping.
Thirty seconds. Roughness. She wasn’t just pushing down; she was grinding the head against the back of his throat on the downstroke, twisting his head slightly side-to-side. The pressure was blinding. Spots danced in his vision. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning on air and silicone. A desperate, animal whimper escaped his choked throat. His hands flexed behind his back, fingers digging into his own flesh, the only outlet. Hold still. Hold still. Sharon’s face above him was a blur of concentration, her own breath coming faster, a flush creeping up her chest.
Forty seconds. Brutal. The pace was punishing, jackhammer-fast. She used his head like a handle, skewering him onto the rigid length with brutal efficiency. The gagging was almost continuous, wet, ragged heaves that shook his entire frame. Snot joined the mess on his face. His jaw felt unhinged, muscles screaming. Time stretched, warped. Each second was an eternity of suffocation and relentless pressure. Mark. She does this for Mark. Takes this for Mark. The thought was a jagged shard in his panicked mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming.
Fifty seconds. Ruthless. She leaned her weight into it, using her body to drive him down harder. A guttural sob tore from him, muffled by the silicone filling his mouth. He felt his control fraying, the primal urge to fight, to shove her away, rising like a tide. His hands strained against his back. One minute. Reward. Please. He focused on the dimples he couldn't see, the warmth beneath the dominance. Air. He needed air. Blackness nibbled at the edges of his vision.
Sixty seconds. She stopped.
The pressure vanished. She yanked his head back sharply. Alexey collapsed forward onto his hands, bracing himself against the pillows, his body convulsing. Violent, wracking coughs exploded from him, spraying drool and bile. He gasped, huge, shuddering lungfuls of air, his throat on fire, tears and snot streaming down his face. He trembled uncontrollably, every muscle quivering with exhaustion and shock. The cool air on his wet face felt like a benediction.
Silence, broken only by his ragged, desperate breathing and the quiet hum of the fan. He couldn't look up. Couldn't move. Just breathed, shuddering, emptied.
Sharon’s fingers, surprisingly gentle now, brushed the damp hair back from his forehead. Her thumb wiped tenderly at the mess on his cheek. Her voice, when it came, was a low murmur, thick with an emotion he couldn't name.
"One minute, cucky."