A tiny moan greeted this, and I redoubled my efforts. But after several minutes an impatient hiss shamed me, and my Mistress’ command urged me on to greater creativity.
“Find the clit, Boy! Find the clit and pleasure it!”
I was inexcusably young, stupid and inexperienced. I had theoretical knowledge of this, and the tenor of her screams as she’d f****d me were ample proof of the effectiveness of finding such mythical things as the clit and g-spot. But after a quarter of an hour or so of frantic ineffectuality, Mistress’ patience was up.
“You are useless, Boy! How many tests can you fail? How many undeserved opportunities to earn my favor can you possibly piss away?”
Here I heard an obvious echo of my soccer coaches. Yet they’d only dismayed me. Here I was absolutely crushed. Tears wet
