Her Pussy Slave All Day

Terrence knelt naked on the rug, collar locked, the short leash coiled in Corinne’s hand. He was twenty-eight and had spent the last three evenings writing out exactly what he wanted: a full Saturday as her pussy slave, mouth and nose dedicated to her smooth cunt and small ass while she lived her ordinary day. She had read every line back to him, made him repeat the limits and the wants aloud, and only then agreed. Now she stood over him in a thin T-shirt, twenty-six, petite, her firm little butt and completely bare pussy already inches from his face.

“Last check,” she said. “You still want every part we wrote down? Sniffing, licking, cleaning me after I pee, eating my ass, facesitting while I do whatever I feel like. Say it.”

“I want it,” he answered at once. “I begged you for this. Please use me all day. I consent. I want your scent and your taste and the weight of you on my face.”

“Good.” She sat on the couch, spread her thighs, and tugged the leash. “On your back. Face up. You’re my seat.”

He lay down. She lowered herself slowly, settling the warm, hairless lips of her pussy over his mouth and the cleft of her small ass across his nose. The first breath he took was thick with her: clean skin, a deep musky sweetness from her cunt, and a fainter salty warmth trapped between her cheeks. She rocked once so the scent coated the inside of his nostrils.

“Sniff. Slow and deep. That’s all you do while I watch this.” She clicked the remote. The low murmur of a show filled the room. “Taste when I tell you. Right now just breathe me in and stay still.”

He obeyed, drawing long inhales that pulled her scent straight into his lungs. Her smooth outer lips rested soft against his mouth; the inner folds were already a little slick and warmer. Every few breaths she shifted, letting the faint tang from her ass drift across his upper lip, then settling her cunt more firmly so the musk dominated again. His cock ached, untouched, exactly as they had agreed it would stay until she decided otherwise. She reached down once, not to touch him, but to press his nose deeper into the crease where her small butt met her pussy.

“There. Hold that. Smell how I am right now. You asked to spend the whole day like this. Remember?”

“Yes,” he mumbled into her, voice muffled. “I remember. I want it. Thank you.”

She watched half an episode that way, occasionally lifting just enough for him to gulp air, then sitting again so his world narrowed to heat, softness, and the steady pulse of her scent. When the credits rolled she stood, leash in hand.

“Kitchen. Crawl. I’m calling Veronica and making a snack. You stay on my pussy or my ass the whole time. Nose in. Tongue when I say. You still eager?”

“Yes. Please. I want to keep smelling you. I want to lick wherever you put me.”

She dialed while he crawled behind her on hands and knees, the leash short enough that his face stayed inches from her bare ass. Veronica answered on the second ring. Corinne chatted easily about a recipe and weekend plans, voice light, while she opened the fridge. Terrence pressed his nose between her small cheeks the moment she paused, inhaling the richer, slightly deeper scent that lived there—still clean, but warmer, more private. She reached back, spread herself with two fingers, and pushed his face in harder.

“Deeper. Sniff my ass while I talk. Don’t lick yet.”

He did, breathing her in until his head swam. The phone stayed at her ear. She laughed at something Veronica said, then glanced down. “Tongue now. Long licks. From my pussy up over my asshole. Slow. I want to feel you worshiping both.”

He extended his tongue and dragged it upward, tasting the smooth, faintly salty skin of her perineum, then the tighter, muskier flavor of her rim. She was getting wet; the slickness from her cunt smeared across his chin as he worked. Corinne kept talking, describing a salad she was assembling, while her free hand rested on the back of his head and guided him. Every few sentences she reminded him, voice dropping just for him: “You wrote that you wanted to crawl after me and live in my smell. This is you getting what you begged for. Tell me you still want it.”

He pulled back only far enough to speak clearly. “I still want it. I want your ass on my tongue. I want to smell you all day. Please don’t stop.”

“Good boy.” She turned, leaned against the counter, and hooked one leg over his shoulder so her smooth pussy sat directly on his mouth. “Lick. Veronica’s telling me about her new couch. You just keep eating me like the pussy slave you asked to be.”

He lapped steadily, flattening his tongue over her hairless slit, gathering the growing wetness. The taste was brighter now, sweet-salt and intimate. She ground lightly, smearing herself across his lips and nose, then shifted so he had to nose into her ass again between licks. The kitchen smelled like cut fruit and her arousal. She finished the call with a casual goodbye, set the phone down, and looked at him, cheeks flushed.

“You’re soaked already and we’ve barely started. Stand up on your knees. I’m going back to the couch. I need to pee, and you wrote that you wanted to clean me after. Still true?”

“Yes. I want to. I asked for it. Please let me lick you clean. I want the taste.”

“Then watch.” She retrieved a wide bowl from the cabinet, carried it to the living room, and sat on the edge of the couch with her thighs spread wide. Terrence knelt between them, leash still clipped, eyes on her smooth pussy exactly as she had ordered. She held the bowl beneath herself. “You can see everything. Tell me again.”

“I want to watch you pee and then clean every drop off your pussy with my tongue. I consent. I crave it. Please.”

She relaxed. The clear stream left her and splashed into the bowl, the sound soft and close. He watched the way her lips parted around it, the way a few bright drops clung to her smooth skin when she finished. She set the bowl aside on the coffee table, still full, and stayed open for him.

“Now. Lick me clean. Every bit. Start at the bottom and work up. Tell me how I taste.”

He leaned in eagerly, tongue broad and flat. The fresh tang of her urine was sharp and clean on her skin, mixing at once with the deeper musk of her cunt. He gathered the clinging drops from her outer lips, then slipped between them to catch what had pooled at her entrance. She sighed and rested a hand on his head.

“That’s it. Taste all of it. You wanted this flavor. Describe it.”

“Tangy,” he said against her, licking again. “Fresh. Salty-sweet under it. Your pussy tastes like you and like this. I love it. More, please.”

She let him work until her skin was shining only with his saliva and her own renewed wetness. Then she stood, turned, and sat fully on his face, her small firm butt spreading over his nose and mouth, her smooth pussy pressed to his chin. The weight was perfect—enough to smother, not enough to hurt. Her asshole rested directly on his tongue.

“Rim me. Deep. Inhale while you do it. I want to come sitting on my pussy slave’s face. You still want to be under me?”

“Yes—god, yes. Smother me. I want your ass. I want to taste you and smell you until you come. Please ride my tongue.”

She settled harder. The scent of her ass was richer here, warm and concentrated, a private musk that filled every breath he managed. His tongue pushed against her tight rim, circling, then pressing inward the way she liked. She rolled her hips, grinding her smooth cheeks over his face, smearing the taste of her cunt down across his mouth whenever she shifted forward. He licked greedily, alternating between thrusting his tongue into her ass and sucking at the wet folds that kept sliding over his lips. Every inhale dragged more of her into him—the salty tang still lingering, the sweet arousal flooding now, the deeper earthy note of her rim.

“Smell me,” she ordered, voice tightening. “Nose right in my ass. Breathe it. That’s what you begged to do all day.”

He buried his face and inhaled until his lungs burned, tongue never stopping. She rode faster, small butt flexing, the wet sounds of his mouth on her filling the room. Her pussy dripped steadily onto his chin and chest. When she came she ground down hard, thighs clamping, a low moan breaking out of her as her asshole fluttered around his tongue and her cunt pulsed against his mouth. He kept licking through it, swallowing the rush of her taste, breathing her climax-scent in desperate pulls, exactly as she had told him he could.

She stayed seated a moment longer, trembling, then eased forward just enough that he could breathe freely while his lips still rested against her soaked, smooth pussy. Her hand stroked his hair, slow and proprietary.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “My good pussy slave. You gave me everything you asked to give. Stay right there.”

He nuzzled closer, collar warm against his throat, face nestled in the soft, satisfied heat of her, both of them quiet and content in the Saturday they had chosen together.