It's the control we have over each other. I have control over his pleasure, but he has control over me, knowing how much I love to do it. He knows that if he smacks me gently across the face with his cock or his open hand, I won't stop.
But it's also the entire act. The feeling of his balls slapping against my chin, my powerlessness as he grabs the sides of my head and thrusts in and out of my mouth, the feeling of his cock throbbing and his load shooting down my throat as he's cumming, the sensation of his balls contracting as he's doing so, the little slap on my cheek afterwards to emphasize who's boss, the taste of his semen that lingers on my tongue for the twenty minutes of rest before he's ready to go again...
Damn, where is he when I need him?
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