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how to be eaten by a woman

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There’s a reason Alfred submits to Madeline time and time again.

He’s just not sure which reason it is.

The ceiling above him is boring, white, but perfect for focusing on. And he’s got to keep his focus on something while he waits for Madeline, his sweet Mistress Madeline, to turn her attention back to him. It’s only been a few moments since she’s exited the room, leaving Alfred with a simple command, impossible to disobey.

Stay.

Impossible to disobey because should he want to move — which he doesn’t — he can’t. Not with his wrists and ankles bound as they are, by well-oiled leather cuffs linked to the four posts of their bed. Alfred flexes, tugging at them gently, a mild thrill twisting in his belly at the resistance of his bindings. There’s enough give to be comfortable, but he is absolutely, by all definitions of the word, restrained.

Eyes still on the ceiling, Alfred’s lips quirk up in a grin before he licks them distractedly, trying to quell the excitement wiggling around inside of him. He usually doesn’t have to wait like this; direct and to the point with no taste for pomp and circumstance, Mistress Madeline is nothing like Madeline Madeline.

Until she gets an idea.

Alfred shivers, anticipatory, fantasies of what Mistress may be planning playing at the edge of his mind. It’s an easy trap to fall into, and when Madeline finally reappears, sweetly calling his name, Alfred finds he is not the cool and collected he wanted to be. He’s already panting, open-mouthed, when he turns his head to her direction; his cock is already hard and throbbing from thinking of her.

“Yes, Mistress,” Alfred answers to his name, voice low and deferent. Keeping his gaze just as low means that he’s eye-level with Madeline’s bare crotch; that all that fills his vision are dense blonde curls, tapering down neatly to the point where her thighs touch. He licks his lips again, almost compulsively, desire tugging at his core.

Madeline’s voice, like warm honey, seems to float down to him from on high. “Are you admiring me?” she says, dragging Alfred’s attention up.

Up over her belly, soft and a little round; her breasts, full and heavy; her face, gently amused. This time the tugging is right under his ribcage when he grins and answers again,

“Yes, Mistress.”

Madeline laughs, bending close. She smells of vanilla as her lips brush over Alfred's. “Such a good boy so far. Let's see if you can stay that way, eh?”

Metal clicks briefly and Madeline draws back, a thin leather strap — leash — unraveling from her fingertips. Oh.

Alfred swallows, suddenly, acutely reminded of the snug press of soft leather at his throat. Mistress tugs just once, testing; Alfred gasps, jerking sharply, and yes, yes, he definitely wants her to do that again.

Instead, he feels the bed dip with Madeline's weight as she perches next to him, bare skin brushing bare skin. Her fingertips skim over his torso softly; it’d be ticklish if he weren't already keyed up and yearning.

Alfred exhales, desire fluttering in his belly as he tries to stay still. It's hard when her fingers slide over his nipples, casually, repeatedly; as if she doesn't know it makes his cock twitch and swell every single time. It’s even harder when her fingers smooth through the hair at the base of his cock, coming so close, but not close enough, to where he wants to be touched the most.

She's thinking, he can tell. Mesmerizing violet eyes cast towards the ceiling, it's as if Mistress is temporarily somewhere else. Her hair, long and golden and loose, cascades over her shoulders; Al itches to touch it.

Instead, he’s left to watch; wait; wonder; want. Her.

Trembling and flushed all over, Alfred’s on the verge of cracking; of finally saying Mistress, please, when Madeline’s touches stop, just at his navel. He allows himself to meet her gaze for the briefest of moments as she says, her voice like a caress in its own right,

“I think that’s enough.”

Alfred lets out a shaky breath, one he didn’t realize he was holding, his skin tingling faintly with aftershocks. His entire body is tuned in now, warm and sensitive in the wake of easing tension. The pleasure that pulsed so strongly just a moment ago ebbs away, a rolling boil brought down to a simmer.

“Now,” Mistress continues, as if she hadn’t stopped talking at all. The bed rocks a little as she moves, hooking a leg over Alfred’s torso so that she can straddle him. “You're going to open your mouth for me, aren't you, sweetie?"

It’s clear to Alfred what she means. The wetness of Madeline’s cunt leaves a slick trail over his skin as she moves up, up, until she’s hovering above his face. Head bracketed by her creamy, pale thighs, Alfred breathes his answer — yes, always yes to Mistress Madeline — into the slick, pink folds of her cunt. It’s close enough that if he stuck out his tongue, just a little, he could—

“Go on,” Mistress encourages, lowering herself further, so that the damp lips of her cunt rest gingerly against Al’s mouth.

Groaning deeply, Alfred spreads his lips apart, wetting them with Madeline’s slickness. When she shivers and sighs atop him, he sucks her cunt lips between his own, flattening his tongue against them. His cock pulses as Madeline presses harder against his face, smearing his mouth and nose with her wetness. Inhaling deeply, he tries to lick away as much of it as he can, swallowing down her taste greedily.

“Yes, such a good boy Alfie,” he hears from above, his Mistress’s voice breathy and sultry and praising.

Alfred groans again, tries to press his face up further into Madeline’s cunt, sucking and licking everywhere he can reach. Her thighs flex against his head, squeezing, and there’s a moment where Alfred can’t breathe at all, blood rushing in his ears, surrounded by warmth, softness, dampness. It’s gone, so he drives his tongue deeper, and it’s there again, the moment where he’s dizzy with nothing but Madeline covering him, taking her pleasure from him mercilessly.

The desire to grip her thighs, to keep her in place and stealing his breath away, is strong; yet Alfred can only hold on, fingers curling and gripping the sheets, sipping his breaths between flicking and flattening his tongue and the wiggle-press of Madeline’s wet cunt.

Madeline comes silently, the only indicator a deep, long shudder that makes Alfred ache with desire. There’s a cool rush of air over his face as Mistress pulls away and, with proper breath, awareness comes: of the way his chest is heaving, starved of breath; of his cock, hard and throbbing and dripping pre-come all over his belly.

God.

Alfred blinks slowly as Madeline’s face, flushed pink and smiling, fills his view. He can’t help but smile back, though his lips feel tender and bruised as they curve. Madeline’s hand comes to touch his cheek gently, through the curtain of her hair; Alfred leans into her warmth, eyes sliding closed again. He finds his breath finally returning to normal.

“You did so well,” Madeline tells him softly, her praise seeping under his skin like liquid sugar. “I only want a little more, alright?”

Completely addicting.

Alfred means it utterly when he answers next, his lips forming the words against Madeline’s palm.

“Yes, Mistress, anything.”