Belated Birthday Worship for Mistress From Pet

"Come quickly," the text message read. "It's urgent."

Her Birthday tryst must not have gone well. He had been told his services wouldn't be needed for some time, but evidently she had not gotten what she wanted, what she needed, or what she craved. She wasn't merely in need of pleasure, but of that special pleasure that only comes when the pleasure is meted out with subservient devotion. For her, carnal pleasures were somehow more intense when she was revered as the goddess she was – and anything else felt hollow and left her wanting.

She knew she could count on him. He was a little shy and a bit reserved, but utterly devoted. He was also smitten by the littlest things: her smile, her gaze, or a glimpse of her skin. But no matter how much their encounters filled him with want and lust, he always kept his needs in check and kept her needs paramount. She could count on him for worship, and worship was what the Goddess needed.

He arrived on time and she led him by the hand to her bedroom door, where she walked in to make herself comfortable but he dropped on all fours, head down, waiting for her to give her signal. She disrobed down to her lingerie, positioned herself comfortably among puffy pillows and cushions, and then took a deep, cleansing breath before melting into the mattress. Then she reached up and rang a small bell.

His head lifted and he crawled in on all fours, like the pet he was. From his low position, he mostly saw her bared legs dangling down from the bed. Gently he placed his palms on her thighs and caressed. He let his face get close to her altar and inhaled. Her eyes were closed, but she knew his reaction: his loins would swell as fast as his desires, but he would keep caressing the tension out of her quads and her soul. Eventually he pressed his lips devotedly on each kneecap, massaging her thighs and calves. He also kissed each foot – once as he massaged her feet, and again when he massaged each calf.

Finally she parted her knees. He had only been massaging for some minutes, but it probably seemed like an eternity to him. He inhaled the incense emanating from her altar again, but this time he pressed his face against her panties. She felt his tongue lap against the cotton and his nose press into her pleasure spot. A glorious intoxication began to stir in both of them.

After more lapping against the cotton, she whispered, "Take them off."  He obliged – not with eager tugging, but by slipping them off with reverence. He permitted himself one fleeting glance before resuming his oral worship, exchanging the taste of cotton with traces of her sweet nectar.

Glorious worship at last! The Goddess began to ascend as she felt his devoted tongue lap at her gateway and swirl over her pearl. His tongue worked over and through her folds and lapped unspeakable pleasure in her most intimate nerve centers. She almost could feel herself levitating in ecstasy as his moist warm tongue gave with dutiful zeal.

His tempo gradually increased as her moans began and then crescendoed. They had worked themselves into a perfect tempo and rhythm; him reading her cues to notch up the worship, and him dutifully intensifying the cunnilingus accordingly, all the while caressing her hips and channeling his increasing tension into his oral fervor.

Her tension, like his, was almost becoming unbearable. But hers would be slaked while his would be left unattended to. And why not? It went the other way around often enough. She smiled at the thought as she whispered one word: "Finger."

They both moaned as he felt that warm lubricant envelop his finger as it slid into her worship chamber: She moaned in pleasure and anticipation of even greater pleasure; he moaned in flustered unmet want. And yet, as she knew he would, he shelved his maddening yens and kept on with his devoted service. The sheathed finger wriggled as his mouth continued to pleasure her pearl, and, eventually, he pressed.

Everything intensified. Her rocking hips began to buck, her quiet moans turned into howls, his steady lapping turned into hungry devouring, and he added a second finger into the tightening sheath. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his mouth in closer, and ground herself into his face.

This cycle of pressing and intensification continued for a few more interactions, until she finally reached the precipice of culmination. "Let it go," he hoarsely mumbled. The  words were barely intelligible with his mouth so busy and buried between her trembling legs, but she knew exactly what he said, and she felt both compelled and relieved to comply. She almost screamed as all of her tension suddenly melted into a trickle of elixir which he hungrily lapped at as he worked her steadily through her climax. He drew it out for as long as he could while her body convulsed in wave after wave of sheer ecstasy. Finally the intense pleasure ebbed, and all her frustration had been successfully transferred into his throbbing loins.

It was some time before she could speak coherently again. "Well done, pet," she finally whispered hoarsely. "Now go make me some breakfast."

From Andretti to his Mistress Danielle