THE
GIFT OF TONGUE |
By
Ra's Elf the Younger |
In the wee hours, BJ would take me out,
shower me, and place me bare-assed on a cushion
on the floor in her cozy little custom-made backroom
bar in the rear of her trailer. The bar was backed
by a floor-length mirror, and it had two tall barstools
and a very simple slate shelf that served as the
bar proper. To the side BJ kept her small cooler,
and at that same end of the bar proper she kept
her computer set-up, her boombox, and her telephones.
Along the other side wall, attached in various ways,
were BJ's toys
From where BJ placed me on the floor, I
stared up at her hindquarters from behind, or I
stared up at her underparts from the front side
thru the mirror. My orders were to keep my eyes
glued to her parts and quarters while she placed
her phone calls, and to stay ready to assist her
if she needed assisting. To prevent self-abuse,
BJ kept my hands in restraints behind my back. She
attached a collar around my neck with a cord she
held in her hand. When BJ wanted me near her, she
would use the cord to pull me near her. And because
I always had a hard time with being so cold at first,
what with having been kept so long in a very warm
and snug place, BJ would lather me with generous
amounts of sizzle-grade analgesic cream on my nipples,
balls, and up in the crack of my ass. Once, when
I told BJ that the collar and restraints were not
necessary, she gave me a mighty whack across my
face that bloodied my mouth.
"Hello, Carl, you worthless bastard,"
she said into the phone, her first call that night,
"How are the burning hills of Idaho treating
you?" BJ placed the two tall barstools close
enough together that she was seated on both of them
simultaneously, a cheek on each stool. Although
close together, the two tall stools left just enough
room for a man on his knees. BJ tugged at the cord,
and just that quick the man on his knees between
the two tall barstools was me.
"I got some burning hills of my own,
Carl," BJ said and she yanked on my cord, which
was between her legs. "Carl, you hungry shit,
how's about you get down on your knees and give
the hills of Kentucky some overdue attention, you
sorry crud. Louder, Carl, suck louder -- we seem
to have a bad connection here." Since BJ no
longer worked fulltime as a dancer she had put on
weight, and now what was already a full figure was
gigantic indeed. BJ's grip on the cord tightened,
forcing my face squarely up between the cheeks of
her truly mammoth buttocks.
"You better start using that worthless
tongue of yours for more than telling lies, Carl,"
BJ cracked over the telephone, "because your
last check bounced." BJ tugged sharply at the
cord, and I had a pretty good idea what that meant.
My tongue found her puckered asshole and began the
long and intimate process of loosening it up.
"You like having your tongue up my
ass, don't you, Carl," she cooed, "You
think by eating my shit long distance I might forget
the check, but that ain't how it works, you bum."
BJ loosened her hold on the cord and adjusted me
around to her front side. She spread her heavy thighs
wide & pulled the cord tight again so that my
mouth was snug on her gaping cunt.
"I want a check that don't bounce,
and wire it to me in the morning, Carl, and if it
ain't here by noon it's piss on you, you'll never
get another call from me." With those words,
BJ let loose her bladder, the hot and pungent force
of it filling my mouth. I gulped it directly down,
fast to keep from gagging. This was BJ's other technique
for warming up my shivering body. When the heat
of her urine hit the pit of my stomach I felt both
nauseous and grateful.
"Did you get all of that, Carl? Well
good night then, and don't squat on any cactus till
you hear from me, jackass." BJ hung up on Carl
and started dialing up other clients immediately.
I got to go back to sitting bare-butt on the cushion,
staring dutifully up at BJ's broad and heavy lower
immensities till she needed me again.
Sometimes BJ's telephone traffic went great,
lots of laughs and robust obscenity and I'd even
get to cum sometimes. Sometimes BJ'd make me cum
a couple of times. But too often lately the sex
phone-call biz frustrated BJ and made her angry.
She hadn't let me cum for over a week and my balls
were swollen and aching. The hot cream made them
throb impressively. That night BJ had way too many
Carl-type calls, and that made it very difficult
for me. She cussed out a few more customers, which
wasn't bad for business at all, but it put her in
one monumentally testy mood. A big woman like BJ
in such a monumentally testy mood could get dangerous.
BJ drank way too much that night, one after
the other, and that meant I ended up drinking way
too much of what soon became some pretty foul tasting
piss. She started to slap me around some, too, and
I began to suspect the worst was yet to come. My
suspicion was dead-on. At one point, she even tied
me on my belly to one of the tall barstools, my
arms restrained along its legs down one side, my
own legs kept widely parted with a spread bar tied
to my ankles. She had a flick-whip and she after-thoughted
my ass and testicles continuously with it while
she cussed out the phone trade. She stung my balls
and crammed my ass with the whip's handle and then
she started getting serious.
From her selection of toys, she snatched
down a couple whoppers. Then she used her thickest
strap-on like she wanted to disembowel me, hammering
it deep up into my guts, and when I yelled out BJ
cuffed both my ears and pulled the thick thing out
and then made me lick my own shitty ass-residue
off till it was clean, at which point she dipped
it into her anlgesic jar, then rammed it up my ass
again, walloping my sore buttocks all the while.
She even put the phone to my mouth so that her trade
could hear me screaming in protest, but when my
bellowing began to bother her she gagged me with
the same funked washcloth she cleaned her underparts
with, securing it with a wide strip of duct tape.
She put on her gloves and punched me like I was
practice, like I was nothing. Tears of rage and
pain spurted from my eyes as BJ continued the beatings.
Morale did not improve.
It was just before dawn when BJ called
up an associate and arranged to sell me off:
"Hullo, Carmella, it's BJ," she
slurred into the phone, "You know that slut
Homer I've had up my ass for the last coupla months?
I'm so sick of him I wanna kill him, and I got him
strapped to a stool right now, been kicking his
ass all night."
They arranged a price for me and then,
without warning, BJ undid the restraints and grabbed
a fistfull of my hair and spun me to the floor onto
my belly, grunting and mumbling incoherently into
the phone while she did this. The spread bar was
still attached to my ankles and BJ stepped between
my legs and when the swung side of her foot collided
with my already bruised balls I prayed she would
kill me off, right then and there. She squatted
onto my flailing head and I struggled against her
devouring hugeness, involuntarily giving the sadistic
bitch even more nasty thrills by writhing against
her. "I just untied him and I'm sitting on
his head ... I got a meat cleaver in my hand, Carmella,
and I don't know if he'll still be in one piece
when you get here ... you get him for half price
if I cut him in two." My silent screams continued
till I passed out.
I awoke to darkness and roaring and it
became apparent I was in a car trunk and the car
was moving. I heard the sounds of the car being
parked in a garage and when the trunk opened I got
my first look at Carmella and I cringed not only
because she was even bigger than BJ, but her face
was disfigured and her expression was craven and
pitiless. Once I had actually loved BJ, I guess,
at least until she turned into a drunken sadistic
phone-call slob, but as I beheld the monstrous Carmella,
I figured this was a woman I could never feel the
slightest affection for, a woman who would spare
me no end of vicious treatment. I had no idea what
Carmella intended to do, but I was convinced pleasure
would play no part in her plans for me. Escape was
my only option.
"BJ kicked your ass pretty good, didn't
she?" Carmella smirked as she reached in and
lifted me roughly out of the trunk and stood me
beside the car, which was a long new Lincoln Continental.
I was naked and bruised and bloody and exhausted.
"I like a man who knows who the boss
is," Carmella rasped, and she drove her fist
into my stomach, taking my breath away and causing
me to crumple. Hard as she hit me, I could tell
she'd used only a fraction of the power at her command
She used her booted foot to turn me onto
my back and then she put the boot on my throat and
I stared up her leg to where it disappeared under
her leather apron. It was a muscled leg, thick and
long, and I guessed that Carmella was much, much
taller than the husky BJ, a true amazon. If I had
any notion of escape from this situation, it would
be imperative that I never forget Carmella's strength
advantage. She could take my life with the flick
of a wrist.
She moved her boot from my throat to my
mouth and she didn't have to say it: I began licking
the underside of her boot's toe. Carmella just laughed,
a guttural grunt of a laugh. She moved her boot
to the side and kicked me, lightly but contemptuously.
"Big Carmella needs lots of things
licked, but not her boots. Others here at my house
might need their boots licked, but not Carmella.
Still, it is good to know you know how to perform
this service. You will make a good addition to my
stable. Follow me now - on your hands and knees."
As I crawled behind her, I sneaked peeks
up at her. She really was a giant, and from the
rear she was profoundly compelling, enough so that,
damn my pervert's soul, I even kind of looked forward
to learning what kind of sexual services she would
demand. Although I was well and thoroughly frightened
and knew I had to escape, the thought did occur
to my battered senses that maybe this could get
interesting. Just to wonder about such things revealed
how truly low I'd sunk.
Carmella unlocked a door in the back of
the garage.
"When you get to the bottom of those
stairs get back on all fours. You will address the
one you meet down there as Sir, and you will never
speak to her without her permission. From this moment
on your name is Face. When you see me again, you
will address me as Loveliest. Got that?"
"Yes ... Loveliest."
Carmella locked the door behind my descending
steps. As she instructed, I got back down to my
hands and knees when I reached the bottom. I maintained
that humiliating posture as I looked around, trying
to get my bearings. The basement was dimly lit by
a sole low wattage bulb in a small lamp lamp that
sat on a table in a far corner. Before I was able
to adjust my eyes to the dimness around me, a stern
female voice sounded out from somewhere behind me.
"Put that head down till I say otherwise,
Face!" came the command.
"Yes ... Sir."
Her footsteps advanced and it seemed she
must be barefoot from the soft sound they made.
Suddenly a circle of light lit the floor directly
in front of me and a single bare foot entered into
that light.
I'd always heard you could tell the size
of a guy's joint by the size of his big toe. If
that was true, my lips then wrapped themselves around
a clue that my Sir-bitch was one helluva stud.
"They told me you were talent, Face,"
she said, "I'd have to agree -- takes real
talent to make a mean gal like me fall for the sucking
action of a mouth like yours." I'd given it
my all, hoping to make a good first impression.
Sir wriggled her long thick big toe in my sucking
mouth appreciatively.
She played the flashlight over my back,
then turned me over and looked at me some more.
"Whoever's been working you over was
one careless cunt. Whips and paddles and punches
and a dildo big as a horse's cock'd be my guess,
and not giving a damn how much damage she got done.
And from the size of those balls I'd say you ain't
been milked for better'n a week or so, eh? I'll
have to tighten that bung up to spec, tho' - - not
to worry. Follow my orders, Face, and when those
heffers upstairs get at you, they'll think they're
getting a cherry. I'll have you fit to be tied up
again in less than a week. No problem. You're in
good hands now."
I was bathed & given an enema and my
bruises were treated and then Sir used a needle
to put me to sleep. Not that I needed a shot to
get to sleep, but it was a considerate thing for
Sir to do.
All the next week I was put to work as
a cleaning servant. They had me mummified in a snug
full body set of cover-alls and a head mask, all
to hide my bruises while I healed. There was a bracelet
around my ankle that served double duty: it could
administer a powerful electric shock, and it could
send out a tracking signal. All for if I was disobedient,
or if I tried to flee. After the first time they
shocked me - it was a run-thru kind of test to see
if the unit was working - I knew I'd be as compliant
as they wished. A model of obedient comportment,
all speed and efficiency, a yes man with a pronounced
penchant for groveling. They didn't have to break
a board over my head. I was their Face In A Mask
- at least until I figured out a way to defeat them.
My duties gave me access to the entire
upstairs of the house, both floors and the attic.
It was all pretty well appointed but with a purpose:
Carmella's place was a brothel of sorts, the kind
of house that served rich, older women. I studied
the operation and it soon became clear that those
older clients came to beat and be beaten, to eat
and be eaten, to screw and be screwed. Carmella's
stable comprised both males and females, all ages,
all sizes, eleven of us. The stable had its own
quarters, but myself and Sir were the only ones
occupying the basement. I was on call 24/7, but
things were usually pretty quiet from midnight till
noon -- the old gals liked to come by in the early
afternoon and early evenings mostly, although a
few would stay late.
As my bruises healed, my uniform was adjusted:
Sir would cut my pants legs, and my sleeves, depending
on the progress of my healing. Sir seemed to get
a kick out of tailoring my apparel, and she even
clucked approvingly as my bruises slowly faded.
Eventually, Sir had me wearing short shorts and
a skimpy halter-top. The old gals thought I was
cute, but Carmella kept me in my cleaning role.
The old gals got a kick out of tipping their drinks
onto the floor so I'd have to get on my hands and
knees to clean up after them. I'd be wiping up the
mess and feel their feet groping me between my legs,
which was actually very arousing, given the fact
that Sir wouldn't allow me to cum and my balls were
fat and heavy with pent-up jism. At night Sir wrapped
my groin in an icepack before giving me my goodnight
shot. During the day I was not even allowed to go
to the pisser alone -- it was always, "Sir,
I need to use the facility." Sir would hold
my cock while I pissed, and her grip was firm but
non-erotic, avoiding my sensitive balls with a care
that bespoke a certain kind of consideration for
my discomforts. I was given enemas frequently, and
the special supplemented liquid diet Sir prepared
each day for me gradually restored my strength.
But I was plagued by frequent and painful erections,
and the old gals loved to get me started. It became
a running gag at the house for them to fondle my
swollen balls thru my short shorts with their feet.
I was under a table wiping up a spilled
drink when I felt the note being pushed under my
shorts. I glanced up to see a chubby and heavily
mascara'd middle-aged blonde wink and turn away.
Since I didn't get to be alone at all, not even
to piss, I knew Sir would find the note. I wondered
what it said.
"She slipped you her phone number,"
Sir told me later. "She's never been here before.
Carmella will talk to her about it. Don't go getting
no ideas, Face."
But I did get ideas. And when Carmella
called me into her office, if was as if she could
read my mind.
"Out of those clothes, Face."
I stood with my feet apart and my hands behind my
back as Carmella walked slowly around me, examining
my condition.
"You're healed and you're horny and
my customers are getting antsy. They are like hyenas,
they can't wait. And I don't even know if you're
worth a fuck -- already you're getting notes, and
you're plotting to return the favor, maybe get one
of those fat old cows to rescue you. On your knees,
Face!"
She grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled
my head back. I stared up into her disfigured features.
The look in her crazy black eyes was merciless and
cold, appraising her hyena-prey.
"As of right now, you're off the cleaning
detail. From now on you wear the collar and you
go where I go." She fastened a studded collar
around my neck. When she left her office, the collar
and the ankle bracelet were all I was wearing as
I followed her on my hands and knees. Carmella held
the collar's cord tight in her hand, and I had an
ominous and uneasy flashback to BJ's use of her
collar on me.
Carmella led me into the parlor where several
of her customers were lounging. It was early evening
and these women were early birds who hadn't decided
yet on how they wanted to pleasure themselves --
beat or be beaten, eat or be eaten, screw or be
screwed ... which??
Carmella paraded me boldly to the center
of the parlor. The women rustled and gasped, gaping
at my naked humiliation, and they tittered and shifted
their wide bottoms in their soft easy chairs with
blatant expectation .
"This is the house's new attraction,
ladies, and his name is Face. Stick out your tongue
for the ladies, Face." I did so. The titters
from the paying customers grew a bit more appreciative.
"It's your lucky evening, Ladies.
Face is going to pleasure his mistress. On your
back, Face!"
"Yes, Loveliest," I replied,
sinking onto my back on the floor.
"Sir! Bring me my funnel!"
"Yes, Loveliest!"
With her spread buttocks directly above
me, Carmella squatted to my lips. She'd hiked up
her leather skirt and she was not wearing panties.
Her ass was stupendous. And muscled. And I could
feel my soft prick becoming engorged at the sight
of it, despite my hatred for Carmella. The titters
grew edgy with keen, almost rabid expectation.
"Maybe you gals would like to shift
yourselves around for a better view. They tell me
Face has an outstanding gift for Ass Worship."
Murmurs of breathlesly mounting approval from that
shifting peanut gallery of hussies.
Carmella's sphincter was adept in ways
BJ had never dreamed. Her asshole gripped my tongue
like a hand and when Carmella pulled away my tongue
stretched out of my mouth, imprisoned by her anus.
Gasps from the ladies as Carmella started to slowly
ride up and down, fucking my tongue like it was
my cock. I could feel the well developed muscles
inside her ass playing along the length of my tongue,
those muscles rippling and gripping in complex patterns
of undeniable and relentless skill, and it was beyond
my comprehension but it seemed like my swollen cock
and my anally enclosed tongue were one and the same,
as if by fucking my tongue Carmella was also milking
my prick! I started to cum and the hot jets were
incredibly vigorous, spurting forth streams of my
thickly pent-up cream as high as my neck and continuing
until my chest and belly were painted with puddles
of jism. Only when my cock stopped its spurting
did Carmella allow my tongue to slide out of her
crafty asshole. I was agape beneath her, wide-eyed
with wonder -- she hadn't even touched my cock,
and yet the massaging action of her inner ass, its
strong rippling grip on my stretched tongue, had
made me erupt. Carmella rose up standing and began
playing with the puddles of my cum with her feet,
and she spread my cum up onto my lips with her foot.
I knew what was expected and I licked my cum from
my own lips and Carmella kept up this operation
over and over till my cum was totally removed from
off my belly and chest. I knew I was expected to
clean any and all cum-residue off Carmella's feet
and I did so with the trademark and thoroughgoing
care that was my shame and glory, slowly and carefully
sucking and licking between her toes and lapping
her sole. And then the funnel was there, in my mouth
and pushed deep down my throat ...
"Sir, I think Face needs some mouth
wash," Carmella advised, and Sir, who had never
to that point had the slightest sexual deviancy
toward me, now suatted over the funnel, pissing
a bladder full of what turned out to be the sweetest
of sour urine I could imagine. I had never tasted
anything quite like it and I could feel my spent
cock stirring in response. The customers broke into
applause as Sir continued to drain her bladder and
I continued to swallow it. I stared up into Sir's
eyes as I gulped her savory piss and was amazed
to see a flash of commiseration there.
"If any of you ladies need to drain
your randy selves," Carmella urged, "Now's
the time!"
And those big, horny hags came to me and
squatted and pissed and some of them didn't aim
so well and their piss got in my eyes and hair and
none of them had the sweet and sour allure that
Sir's piss had had and I could feel myself getting
sick with all I had swallowed but then it was over
and the funnel was removed. My belly was swollen
with the couple of gallons of old biddy piss I'd
swallowed and then Carmella came up to me and put
her foot on my belly and then she put all her weight
on that foot and I vomitted violently, a great fountain
of regurgitated yellow fluids.
"Oh look, girls" Carmella cooed,
"Face spilled his drink. Bring some towels,
Sir."
As I swabbed up my mess, down on my hands
and knees again, Carmella passed out strap-ons to
the customers so that pretty soon they were taking
turns at my ass, fucking me with big dildoes where
once they had teased me with their probing feet.
There was obscene cackling laughter and pretty soon
those randy old bitches spread the action around
between themselves as they got busy fucking each
other with the strap-ons. Carmella pulled the cord,
guiding me off to the side where she sat on a stool
with her great and powerful thighs widespread so
that I could eat her sopping thick-lipped cunt while
she watched the old gals fucking each other. Carmella
cheered them on. "Hey, Auntie," Carmella
called, "See if Granny can take it up the ass!"
Granny not only took it but did so avidly, grunting
happily as the grotesquely outsized shaft plunged
into her bowels up to the hilt, and when Auntie
finally pulled it out the thick thing was streaked
with Granny's brown juices and I knew Carmella had
even fouler uses in mind for me and my talented
mouth.
Before I was led away, I'd sucked half
a dozen of those slimed strap-ons clean. It was
my introduction to a degradation I suspected Carmella
planned to keep me mired in for the duration. When
she got me back into her office I was ordered to
stand in the center of the room. Carmella sat in
a swivel chair that squeeked in protest when she
sank her huge frame onto it. Thoughtfully she put
her feet up onto the desk, crossing them at the
ankles, taking her time Then she spoke:
"Nice to be home, isn't it, Face?"
she mocked. "I wouldn't have believed it, but
you really do have a miraculous tongue. Did you
know some tongues are like muscles, they get larger
and stronger with vigorous usage? I think that's
the kind of tongue you have, Face, and I'm going
to do everything in this house's power to make sure
it gets plenty of daily vigorous exercise. That
tongue's gonna make me a ton of money and by the
time this year is up it'll be so large you'll be
able to lick your own eyebows with it. Face it,
Face -- you're about to become a legend!"
And so it went, but that was actually a
few years back. True to her word, Carmella kept
my tongue busy. Non-stop and in every orifice that
paid cash money. And when I wasn't servicing her
rich fat assed customers, it was Carmella herself
I tongued. And my tongue was in Carmella morning,
noon, and night, sometimes with an audience but
just as frequently whenever and wherever she ran
into me. My tongue grew strong and thick and long,
just like the hated Carmella said it would.
Ah but,things have changed for me. Today
I run Carmella's house and it is I who call all
the shots. You see, after that first year my tongue
had lengthened and strengthened and thickened to
the degree that at dawn one morning I was able to
lick Carmella into the most extraordinary series
of orgasms she'd ever experienced, so much so that
while she was utterly delirious with the rolling
orgasmic waves she was experiencing, I was able
to lick my way up along the deep crease of her spine
all the way to her neck and then under her chin.
Had my tongue been just a few inches longer I would
have wrapped it around her neck and taken her life
that way. As it was, I held my mouth poised above
Carmella, studying her enraptured features, amazed
at what my tongue had wrought. God! but this was
one ugly woman, what with her disfigured face all
so ecstatic and craven. It occurred to me in a flash
that my window of opportunity was right there, spread
wide open in her frenzy. I quickly and without another
thought sank the entire length of my fattened-up
9-inch tongue all the way down her throat. Carmella
couldn't breathe, you see, and as she thrashed and
suffocated with my fabulous tongue blocking her
air vent, I, too, experienced an incredible orgasm,
great buckets of my cum pouring in creamy spurts
out onto her -- I cupped scoops of my juices in
my hand and spread it over her dying eyes and into
her dying ears, encasing my tormentress in a hardening
paste of my jism.
After Carmella died, I sat up on her chest
and slapped idly at her face with the head of my
cock. My tongue was hanging down on my chest and
I was grinning stupidly but triumphantly when Sir
came thru the door. She took one look at the scene
and let out a great whoop of joy. I always kind
of liked Sir, ever since she helped me heal that
first week. And I still do. I even have a very special
preference for the rare sweet and sour taste of
her piss, which always seemed to have such a bracing
effect on me. She has learned to milk my tongue
as well as Carmella ever did, and I do so love to
let Sir mount me with her puckered asshole at my
lips ... I take great delight in loosening that
pucker of hers slowly, with great care and affection.
I don't have to have my cock touched in order to
cum when Sir fucks my tongue, and Sir always laughs
with deep delight when I cum while she's up there.
I can feel her laughter shaking down thru her butt
as it grips my tongue, and it adds real spice to
the throes of my cumming. With my Sir,it is a mutual
pleasure to engage this way: I cherish my Sir so
much, you see. Why, now and then I'll even take
her great big toe into my mouth, drawing it deep
into my jaws slowly, thoroughly -- I've gotten so
good at it that I can make my Sir cum by my suckling
action on her big toe ... so perfect is my action
on that big toe that Sir herself will get to cumming
without being touched on any other part of her body,
either! Sir is my butt-buddy, my big-toe buddy,
2nd in command, not hardly my Loveliest, nor even
my employee. I am still Face, but only to my Sir.
And only when we are alone behind closed doors.
To the staff and to the rich bitch client base I
am, simply enough, "Tongue."
Aye, and Tongue rules. You'd better believe
it!
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