It is her Birthday. While Miss sleeps, I lie supine on the living room floor, waiting. I am naked, or nearly so.

It is her rule. When at home, I am to be naked at all times. Miss likes me to feel exposed, vulnerable, and defenseless, lest I otherwise become presumptuous, provocative, or even sassy. Being naked for her reminds me that I should not become too comfortable; that I must remember my place.

Being au naturel in her presence keeps me timorous and assailable. I am rarely afforded the illusory aegis that even scant undergarments might provide. There is no faux armor for my body… or for my mind; nothing that permits even the remotest distraction from my station and purpose.

Today I am violating her rule. But I do not think Miss will mind. I’ve only barely adorned my birthday suit by tying thin red ribbons on my protuberant nipples, creating cute little bows. I’ve tied the ribbons so tight; my nipples are white from lack of perfusion. They throb dearly and my areolas are becoming inflamed. I pray Miss wakes before the pain becomes unbearable.

Several moments pass before I hear Miss stirring in the bedroom. My heart races. I’ve planned this surprise for days and now it seems so inadequate. I am very anxious, as I want her Birthday to be perfect.

I hear her approaching footsteps as she enters the room; the familiar padded slaps of her bare feet on the cool hardwood. As she approaches her prostrate whore, she is curiously silent.

She hesitates, beyond my view. “Oh my!” I wonder, “What is she thinking? What is she doing?”

Another moment quietly passes before I hear the familiar but faint sound of fingertips briskly buffeting delicate damp folds. I try not to squirm; I try to lie still…submissively still, with my eyes focusing on the ceiling. But I quiver with anticipation, my laced fingers resting on my mound. I take measured breaths… waiting.

She is standing close behind. The sacred scent of her pungent morning pussy wafts over me, filling my lungs, causing the nerves in my clit to detonate and my nub to engorge noticeably. I hear her pleased giggle, and I blush.

Again she advances, appearing in the periphery of my vision. She deliberately positions her feet on opposing sides of my head, straddling me. I turn my face toward her tanned foot, and breathe in the scent of her tangy toes, drawing deeply, willingly. As always, her aromas are intoxicating. Arousing. Invasive. Her airborne essences possess me, inhabit me.

My eyes track up her lithe legs. Her legs are unblemished, tanned and taut. Slim, yet muscular. Powerful. Like she is. My eyes slowly trace her body, savouring, relishing her beauty. Her thighs flare just before giving bloom to her glorious derriere.

The bottom of her tee billows slightly, giving me a glimpse of the undersides of her pendulant breasts. Her nipples tent her tee, perking as they graze the cotton fabric. As I scan, she leans forward, her taunting smile coming into view.

“Good Moring, Whore,” she sings as she peers down at me.

Her voice! I am afflicted and infected by the sound of her voice. The temptation to respond with playful impertinence evaporates. Her glowing countenance instantly melts me. I respond with an ebullient whimper and enthusiastically whisper: “Happy Birthday, Miss.”

Miss smiles. “What a sweet surprise, my little whore.”

“Thank you, Miss... what would you like to do for your birthday?” I blurt anxiously, eagerly, hoping that atop her list is the desire to let me please her.

Grinning, she lifts one foot and pushes her toes, en pointe, into my mouth. She twists her foot, worming her toes in and out, then playfully slaps my lips several times with her wet digits.

Feigning indecision, she responds, “Well…it might be nice to start the day by cumming on your pretty face. But first…do tell Miss… what does my whore want? What would she like to do?”

“What do I want? Miss, this is YOUR Birthday!” I am momentarily perplexed. She knows that I want nothing more than to please her. “I just want to make you happy,” I coo.

I watch as she leans over further, her dangling hair framing her smile. I see her glimpse at her own sex, pleased with her burgeoning strands.

“Then let us share the gift, baby,” she intones. “After all, you are becoming me. In a way, that makes it your birthday, too.”

In wonderment, my eyes lock on her luscious pussy. Her wellspring. The place from which her essence emanates, her honey flows, sometimes spews. The sacred place where I feed and from which I am nourished.

Her wet folds glisten, sparkle even. I watch as the strands of her transubstantiated essence slowly elongate, dangling pearlescent beads of her infectious honey. Her siren cunt beckons me.

“Reach for it, baby,” she urges. And I do. As if I could do anything else! I strain, crane, and stretch open-mouthed, feverishly giving chase.

The descending globules rappel onto my tongue, sliding down my rapacious throat. Others splatter and spread, coating my face. Invading my nostrils. I swallow greedily, gulping madly. I feel her elixir beginning to infuse, smoldering within me. Preparing me to receive her.

Miss watches, then bends her knees, slowly lowering her gift. She glides over my face until her cunt slips into my mouth. Squirming slightly to part her folds, she impales her cunt on my tongue and begins to fuck my mouth. Slowly. Intently. Each thrust intensifying until, arching at the apex of her final thrust, her body shudders and with a long blissful groan she spasms, expelling her nectar...feeding me, infusing me, changing me, reclaiming me.

As I feel her surge inside me, I pull the tie-strings on my nipple bows. Renewed blood flow agonizingly restored, my nipples simultaneously engorge, disfigure, burn, and throb in unison with my clit. Transfixed, I thrash and writhe; the never-healing bite mark on my neck spontaneously weeps. Essentia explosively erupts from my orifices, as I arch and tremble. My heart beat spontaneously synches with hers. With each breath, my lungs tingle. I am reborn...reborn by her gift...

…subsumed in my Miss.