Waking Up to Worship

I surfaced from sleep like something rising through warm water… slow, reluctant, drawn upward by sensation rather than sound. Her fingers traced the line of my jaw, following the edge of my beard with a touch so light it felt like deliberate tease. Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, painting her in warm shades. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to break whatever spell had her touching me like this… like I was something precious she’d just discovered.

Her nails scraped gently through the trimmed hair, following the curve from ear to chin, then back up again. The repetition was hypnotic. My breath deepened, and I felt my cock stir beneath the sheets. I was still sensitive from last night, from her mouth, from the lace of her panties that still clung to me like a second skin.

“I know you’re awake,” she murmured, voice thick with morning and something darker.

I opened my eyes. She lay beside me, propped on one elbow, wearing nothing but one of my old t-shirts. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, messy in that way that made me want to bury my face in it. But it was her expression that pinned me… amused, curious, predatory.

“Morning,” I managed, throat dry.

She smiled, dragging her thumb across my bottom lip. “I like this,” she said, tugging lightly at my beard. “It’s fun to play with. Soft but rough at the same time.”

My pulse kicked up. There was something in her tone, something weighted that left me without words.

“How would you feel,” she continued, her fingers still working through the hair at my jaw, “if you woke up and I was playing with your cock like this? Just… fondling it. Because it was there. Because I felt like it.”

Heat rushed through me, pooling low in my belly. My cock thickened against the lace of the panties.

“I—” I swallowed. “I’d like that.”

Her smile widened, slow and dangerous. “I’m sure you would.” She shifted closer, her hand sliding down my chest, over my stomach, stopping just above the delicate material. “But here’s the thing, my little prince. Your cock is so small… I don’t really want to fuck it.”

The words landed like a slap. My breath hitched. Shame burned through me, but underneath it—god, underneath it—was something molten and desperate.

“It’s not big enough to satisfy me,” she said softly, almost kindly, which somehow made it worse. Better. “But it is cute. It’s fun to play with. Like a little toy.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed around the confession I wanted to make, that hearing her say it made me harder than I’d ever been, that the humiliation was gasoline on a fire I hadn’t known I wanted to burn in.

Her hand cupped me through the fabric, squeezing lightly. I was fully hard now, straining against her panties. She laughed a low, sultry sound.

“See? Even now. You like hearing it, don’t you? That you’re too small for me.”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… I like hearing you say it.”

She stroked me slowly, maddeningly, her thumb pressing against the head. “My little fuktoy,” she whispered, leaning in until her lips brushed my ear. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Not my husband in this moment. My toy. Something I use when I want to.”

I nodded, frantic, desperate. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I am.”

“Good boy.”

The praise hit me like a drug. I whimpered, hips shifting toward her touch.

But then she pulled her hand away.

I made a sound, something between a protest and a plea, but she pressed a finger to my lips.

“Since you’re a small-dicked fuktoy,” she said, voice shifting into something cooler, more commanding, “you don’t deserve to cum.”

My heart hammered. Every nerve ending lit up.

“You’re not here for your pleasure, Daniel. You’re here for mine.”

I stared at her, chest heaving, completely undone.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think you should focus on something more useful.” She leaned back against the pillows, spreading her legs slightly, the t-shirt riding up her thighs. “My clit is bigger than your dick. So why don’t you put that mouth to work and worship it the way it deserves?”

The statement was absurd—figuratively true at best—but it didn’t matter. The words rewired something in my brain. I was already moving, already sliding down the bed, already positioning myself between her thighs like it was the only place I was meant to be.

She watched me, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, one hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to cup her breast. “That’s it. Show me what a good toy you are.”

I kissed the inside of her knee first, soft and reverent. Her skin was warm, slightly salty. I dragged my lips higher, taking my time, breathing her in. By the time I reached the apex of her thighs, my hands were trembling.

She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the shirt. Her skin was soft in a way that made me want to touch her forever.

I groaned, low and desperate, and pressed my mouth to her pussy.

“Slow,” she commanded, fingers threading through my hair, not guiding yet, just holding. “Start slow. Gentle. I want to feel you learning me.”

I obeyed. My tongue traced the seam of her, light and exploratory, tasting the salt and musk of her. She sighed above me, her thighs relaxing open, and I felt a surge of something like pride. Purpose.

“Flatten your tongue,” she said, voice steady but edged with breath. “Broader strokes. I want to feel the weight of it.”

I adjusted, dragging the flat of my tongue up the length of her, slow and deliberate. Her hips shifted slightly, a tiny roll that told me I was on the right track.

“There. Just like that. Now circles. Soft ones. Around my clit—not directly on it yet.”

I followed her instructions, circling the swollen bud with maddening lightness. She hummed, a low vibration of approval, and her fingers tightened in my hair.

“You exist for this,” she murmured. “For my pleasure. That’s your purpose, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I mumbled against her, the word lost in her heat.

“Say it clearly.”

I pulled back just enough to speak. “I exist for your pleasure, Mistress.”

“Good.” She guided my head back down. “Now suck. Gently. Just the tip of my clit. Use your lips.”

I did, drawing her into my mouth with the barest suction, and she gasped—a sharp inhale that sent electricity down my spine. I was achingly hard, my cock pressed painfully against the mattress, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the sounds she was making, the way her body responded to every flick of my tongue, every shift in pressure.

“Faster now,” she said, her voice fraying at the edges. “Alternate. Circles, then suck. Keep the rhythm steady. Don’t stop.”

I lost myself in it. The taste of her, the slick glide of my tongue, the way her thighs began to tremble on either side of my head. She guided me with words and touch… a tug on my hair when I drifted, a soft moan when I found the right spot. It was meditation, worship, and service all at once, and I’d never felt more alive.

“You’re doing so well,” she breathed, her hips beginning to move, grinding against my mouth. “Such a good little toy. This is what you’re made for.”

Her words were gasoline. I doubled my efforts, my tongue working faster, my lips sealed around her clit as I sucked in pulses that matched the rhythm of her breathing.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Right there. Don’t—fuck—don’t stop.”

Her thighs clamped around my head. Her hand fisted in my hair, holding me in place. I could barely breathe, but I didn’t care. I kept going, kept worshiping, kept giving her everything I had. She ground against my face, riding it like she couldn’t get enough. I’d never seen this side of her before.

And then she broke.

Her scream tore through the room… raw, unrestrained, primal. Her body convulsed, back arching off the bed, and suddenly I was drowning. Wetness flooded my mouth, over my face, hot and unexpected. It was utterly overwhelming. She was squirting, her release pulsing against my tongue, soaking the sheets beneath us.

I froze for half a second, shocked, but then instinct took over. I pressed my face harder against her, drinking her in, my tongue still moving as she shook and spasmed above me. I slid my tongue, cupping it so I could catch as much as possible. I needed to drink her in, to take her gift and let it fuel and nourish me.

When the waves finally subsided, she went limp, her hand falling away from my hair. I pulled back slightly, gasping for air, my face drenched, my beard soaked through.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, voice hoarse. Her eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t—I’ve never—”

“That was incredible,” I said, my voice thick with awe.

She looked down at me, and I saw it. Embarrassment flickering across her face, vulnerability I’d rarely seen in her.

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know I could—”

“Madison.” I cut her off, my voice firm despite the tremor in it. I pressed my face back against her, rubbing my cheek along her inner thigh, nuzzling into her soaked pussy like I was marking myself with her. “Thank you.”

“Daniel—”

“Thank you,” I repeated, kissing her softly, reverently. “For your gift. For letting me serve you. For using me.”

Her breath caught.

I looked up at her, my face still pressed to her pussy, and I knew she could see the worship in my eyes, the devotion, the pride. I was covered in her, marked by her, and it felt like a benediction.

“You’re a Goddess,” I murmured, my lips brushing against her oversensitive flesh, making her shiver. “My Goddess. And I’m just… yours.”

She stared down at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling. Then, slowly, a smile curved her lips, softer than before, but no less powerful.

“Yes,” she said quietly, her hand returning to stroke my hair. “You are.”

I closed my eyes and let myself sink into that truth. Into the scent of her, the taste of her still on my tongue, the wetness cooling on my skin.

Into the knowledge that everything had changed.