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They moved through the woods like that for some time. She tried to be creative, but repeated herself a lot. The first time she called herself a cocksucker, he nobly allowed her to lick the pre-cum off his dick and she actually felt a vague gratification from it. She told him how she had never liked sucking cock. How her first boyfriend used to make her blow him. How she had not swallowed since she was fifteen, but always spit the disgusting stuff out. How her ex and her used to fight because he wanted blowjobs but she wouldn't demean herself. She tried to express her absolute revulsion at begging him like this. He asked for more details, especially about her first experiences. He had her beg for just one taste, and then "allowed" her to mouth his entire length just once, before they continued, his cock glistening with her spit.
She crawled in mud, on sharp rocks, through brambles that scraped and scratched her from her breasts to her toes, and on the solid, course granite of the ridge they had crossed yesterday. A small stack, a blanket, a pot, his whip, and some rope lay on the ridge, waiting for them. There he stopped, and asked her, still in the spirit of this strange rapport, if, honestly, she wanted to suck his cock. Honestly? So, honestly she told him, no, but it was less degrading then begging, and she didn't want him to hurt her.