Sex Education

Paul Keller
Paul Keller

“Spit and suction. This is the secret.”

He held court with authority at the front of the room. Over six feet tall, his strong shouldered frame was draped in a uniform of black; a string vest, leather trousers and rock-star boots, with luxurious hair falling to his waist. Chunky silver jewelry glistened across his knuckles, as he domineered with instructions.

“Hold the lollipop out for the girl next to you and make encouraging noises as she licks it.”

The girl next to me was a gregarious redhead who volunteered to go first. She ripped apart the plastic wrapper and started seductively sucking on the melting ice. God, I thought, she’s good at this, trying to hold my hand steady. As her head bobbed rhythmically up and down the traffic stop colored shaft, I eyed her soft cleavage, a pink bra flashing itself vividly.

“In the dungeon, to perfect oral attention, we would practice this for at least a month…”

Minty breath warmed over my face as he leaned into our two-some. Attempting to avoid eye contact, he met me with a salacious grin. He was regal and intimidating, king of this erotic emporium. “Relax your throat sweetheart.” With firm hands he lowered her head slightly, saliva dripping out of her mouth and down my wrist. “That’s it,” he praised, “lots of spit, spit spit!”

“He’s famed for his ability with the cane,” the redhead whispered, taking a moment’s reprieve, wiping her sleeve across her chin.

“Lubrication, ladies, is essential. I prefer flavored. Only buy organic though, cheap oils are full of chemicals!” Here we are, I thought, all so depraved, but if you cannibalized us we’d serve up pure of toxins, fit for a delicatessen.

“Cover the teeth with your lips; pull them back and in.” He demonstrated the maneuver, like a high school choir mistress, encouraging the use of an oval mouth. “This creates a unique, tight, sensation.”

Performance anxiety rushed through me. I had to perform fellatio on a lollipop in a room full of strangers and my mouth was getting dry. “How do we know we aren’t part of some elaborate fantasy?” I accused, looking around at the women in his chamber, moaning and giggling, with sticky, sugared faces.

He laughed, arrogantly. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t even begin to imagine my elaborate fantasies.”

“Touché,” I said. I couldn’t.

He winked, kneeling me to the floor with a tip of a worn leather whip. “Open wide for Daddy!” Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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