Feed Me

Picking up after you, no great chore for you aren’t untidy just, now and then, less than careful when you’ve something in your hands; Clothing seems to be your favourite thing to drop. Like now. A pair of your briefs….remember when I asked you to start wearing them? The dozen pair I accidentally sent to you? Now, with the ones I brought, we’ve at least three dozen pair...my very modest fetish….maybe. I hold the fabric, notice there’s a white smudge where your cock would have been, you’ve left semen. I lick it. Fall to my knees then press the area that would bulge into my mouth to give it the greatest moisture, hold it there, my seminal gag, allow the spit to begin to loosen...you.

I think about your cum, all the ways I take it from you, how much you allow me each time. Looking up as I suck your cock, feeling the beads on my lips as I move my mouth back and forth trying to jerk you to spill your male seed into me, mate it with mine. In the dark rolling over to find your limp stake which will be soon stiffen as I massage it, making you moan as you hover between wakefulness and dreams of orgasm that will send to me….you….or a part of you. Reaching up to rub your nipples, pulling lightly on the rings, seeing if that stimulates you...waiting...patiently...watching your belly begin to rise and fall when your mind tell you to surrender that most intimate part of you to the man who loves you and it. Laying in the sun, naked, eyes closed….my hand gracefully covering the sea slug  where your legs join, caressing it, making the gelatinous interior spit onto my hand a treat. I eat it, smile at you, know you know I love you and it.

I stand in the semi darkened room, your body behind me tied spread eagle on the bed, gagged, blind folded waiting for me to begin the long supper that is your semen over and over and over until your thrashing to be quit of my infernal demanding you feed me….but why pause when I have you, my source of life, my fount of love, my tank of food that only a man can provide so...Feed Me.