David Allan Peters (American, 1969), #5, 2012. Acrylic paint, layered and carved, on panel, 12 × 9 in.

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David Allan Peters (American, 1969), #5, 2012. Acrylic paint, layered and carved, on panel, 12 × 9 in.
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Tarocco (detail), 2011 oil on panel Luigi Benedicenti
“Um. Wh-what was I…?” Her next words flew out of her head as he filled her mouth with his cock, plunging deep down her throat with a single smooth thrust. She swallowed the whole thing almost effortlessly, and the tiny part of her mind that wasn’t instantly overwhelmed with the joyous sensation of being completely full of his penis was too busy being amazed at how easily she took him in to remember what she was saying. Her eyelids sank shut to allow her senses to focus in on his taste, his scent, the feel of him between her lips. He fucked her mouth hard and fast, once, twice, three times. Then withdrew.
“Um, I. I was, um.” Her eyes fluttered back open slowly. She had difficulty focusing them. Her gaze kept floating into the middle distance, hazy and unable to lock onto anything in particular. Her mouth was filled with the taste of precum, slick and salty and delicious on her tongue, and the saturation of her senses made it hard to think about anything except for the sudden, intense experience that had just started and stopped with equal unpredictability. “Sorry, I was…” And then the cock was in her mouth again.
It drove every thought out of her head as he pushed his way down her throat; it was all she could to do take his whole length in, and she reflexively swallowed over and over again as he pushed her head all the way down to the base. And then he was tugging her all the way back out to the tip, not yanking or jerking her head around but simply a smooth, forceful guidance up and down his hard shaft. It made her feel deliciously passive, her eyes slammed shut again as she allowed him to move her body like a puppet on a string. Once, twice, three times, and out again.
“Unnh… I, I… unnnh…” It was making her so fucking horny. She couldn’t even think about anything else. Her eyes opened slower this time, staring vacantly at nothing as the insistent demands of her cunt tugged her mind deeper into a trance of sexual heat. She was so hungry for his cock, but she couldn’t make sense of the rhythm of his sudden, hard thrusts into her mouth. Her brain descended deeper into a fog of confusion as she tried to tell him how hard it was getting to turn the pulses of arousal into words. “Wh-what–?” And then he was in her mouth again.
Deep, hard, fast fucking of her face. It felt astonishingly good, satisfying on some deep primal level that she couldn’t really process. She was open, she was willing, she was horny and obedient and he was filling her up with his cock. Her eyes closed again before he was even finished with his first thrust, her mind collapsed into passive and delicious bliss as she let him bob her head up and down on his cock. Once, twice, three times, and out.
It was so much harder to open her eyes again. They felt like they were stuck shut, her brain not wanting to leave the warm ecstasy of mindless cocktrance. When she finally did manage to pry them open, they were sightless and glassy, nobody home. She loved the feeling. She didn’t want it to end. She remembered vaguely, distantly, all the other times he’d programmed her with his cock like this, and knew what she needed to say now.
“Please, Master?” she whimpered, in a high, quiet voice. And with an indulgent grin, he allowed her to suck properly for a while.
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