The Gift of Tongue By   Ra's Elf the Younger Back.

In the wee hours, BJ would take me out, shower me, and place me bare-assed on a cushion on the floor in her cozy little custom-made backroom bar in the rear of her trailer. The bar was backed by a floor-length mirror, and it had two tall barstools and a very simple slate shelf that served as the bar proper. To the side BJ kept her small cooler, and at that same end of the bar proper she kept her computer set-up, her boombox, and her telephones. Along the other side wall, attached in various ways, were BJ's toys.

From where BJ placed me on the floor, I stared up at her hindquarters from behind, or I stared up at her underparts from the front side thru the mirror. My orders were to keep my eyes glued to her parts and quarters while she placed her phone calls, and to stay ready to assist her if she needed assisting. To prevent self-abuse, BJ kept my hands in restraints behind my back. She attached a collar around my neck with a cord she held in her hand. When BJ wanted me near her, she would use the cord to pull me near her. And because I always had a hard time with being so cold at first, what with having been kept so long in a very warm and snug place, BJ would lather me with generous amounts of sizzle-grade analgesic cream on my nipples, balls, and up in the crack of my ass. Once, when I told BJ that the collar and restraints were not necessary, she gave me a mighty whack across my face that bloodied my mouth.

"Hello, Carl, you worthless bastard," she said into the phone, her first call that night, "How are the burning hills of Idaho treating you?" BJ placed the two tall barstools close enough together that she was seated on both of them simultaneously, a cheek on each stool. Although close together, the two tall stools left just enough room for a man on his knees. BJ tugged at the cord, and just that quick the man on his knees between the two tall barstools was me.

"I got some burning hills of my own, Carl," BJ said and she yanked on my cord, which was between her legs. "Carl, you hungry shit, how's about you get down on your knees and give the hills of Kentucky some overdue attention, you sorry crud. Louder, Carl, suck louder -- we seem to have a bad connection here." Since BJ no longer worked fulltime as a dancer she had put on weight, and now what was already a full figure was gigantic indeed. BJ's grip on the cord tightened, forcing my face squarely up between the cheeks of her truly mammoth buttocks.

"You better start using that worthless tongue of yours for more than telling lies, Carl," BJ cracked over the telephone, "because your last check bounced." BJ tugged sharply at the cord, and I had a pretty good idea what that meant. My tongue found her puckered asshole and began the long and intimate process of loosening it up.

"You like having your tongue up my ass, don't you, Carl," she cooed, "You think by eating my shit long distance I might forget the check, but that ain't how it works, you bum." BJ loosened her hold on the cord and adjusted me around to her front side. She spread her heavy thighs wide & pulled the cord tight again so that my mouth was snug on her gaping cunt.

"I want a check that don't bounce, and wire it to me in the morning, Carl, and if it ain't here by noon it's piss on you, you'll never get another call from me." With those words, BJ let loose her bladder, the hot and pungent force of it filling my mouth. I gulped it directly down, fast to keep from gagging. This was BJ's other technique for warming up my shivering body. When the heat of her urine hit the pit of my stomach I felt both nauseous and grateful.

"Did you get all of that, Carl? Well good night then, and don't squat on any cactus till you hear from me, jackass." BJ hung up on Carl and started dialing up other clients immediately. I got to go back to sitting bare-butt on the cushion, staring dutifully up at BJ's broad and heavy lower immensities till she needed me again.

Sometimes BJ's telephone traffic went great, lots of laughs and robust obscenity and I'd even get to cum sometimes. Sometimes BJ'd make me cum a couple of times. But too often lately the sex phone-call biz frustrated BJ and made her angry. She hadn't let me cum for over a week and my balls were swollen and aching. The hot cream made them throb impressively. That night BJ had way too many Carl-type calls, and that made it very difficult for me. She cussed out a few more customers, which wasn't bad for business at all, but it put her in one monumentally testy mood. A big woman like BJ in such a monumentally testy mood could get dangerous.

BJ drank way too much that night, one after the other, and that meant I ended up drinking way too much of what soon became some pretty foul tasting piss. She started to slap me around some, too, and I began to suspect the worst was yet to come. My suspicion was dead-on. At one point, she even tied me on my belly to one of the tall barstools, my arms restrained along its legs down one side, my own legs kept widely parted with a spread bar tied to my ankles. She had a flick-whip and she after-thoughted my ass and testicles continuously with it while she cussed out the phone trade. She stung my balls and crammed my ass with the whip's handle and then she started getting serious.

From her selection of toys, she snatched down a couple whoppers. Then she used her thickest strap-on like she wanted to disembowel me, hammering it deep up into my guts, and when I yelled out BJ cuffed both my ears and pulled the thick thing out and then made me lick my own shitty ass-residue off till it was clean, at which point she dipped it into her anlgesic jar, then rammed it up my ass again, walloping my sore buttocks all the while. She even put the phone to my mouth so that her trade could hear me screaming in protest, but when my bellowing began to bother her she gagged me with the same funked washcloth she cleaned her underparts with, securing it with a wide strip of duct tape. She put on her gloves and punched me like I was practice, like I was nothing. Tears of rage and pain spurted from my eyes as BJ continued the beatings. Morale did not improve.

It was just before dawn when BJ called up an associate and arranged to sell me off:

"Hullo, Carmella, it's BJ," she slurred into the phone, "You know that slut Homer I've had up my ass for the last coupla months? I'm so sick of him I wanna kill him, and I got him strapped to a stool right now, been kicking his ass all night."

They arranged a price for me and then, without warning, BJ undid the restraints and grabbed a fistfull of my hair and spun me to the floor onto my belly, grunting and mumbling incoherently into the phone while she did this. The spread bar was still attached to my ankles and BJ stepped between my legs and when the swung side of her foot collided with my already bruised balls I prayed she would kill me off, right then and there. She squatted onto my flailing head and I struggled against her devouring hugeness, involuntarily giving the sadistic bitch even more nasty thrills by writhing against her. "I just untied him and I'm sitting on his head ... I got a meat cleaver in my hand, Carmella, and I don't know if he'll still be in one piece when you get here ... you get him for half price if I cut him in two." My silent screams continued till I passed out.

I awoke to darkness and roaring and it became apparent I was in a car trunk and the car was moving. I heard the sounds of the car being parked in a garage and when the trunk opened I got my first look at Carmella and I cringed not only because she was even bigger than BJ, but her face was disfigured and her expression was craven and pitiless. Once I had actually loved BJ, I guess, at least until she turned into a drunken sadistic phone-call slob, but as I beheld the monstrous Carmella, I figured this was a woman I could never feel the slightest affection for, a woman who would spare me no end of vicious treatment. I had no idea what Carmella intended to do, but I was convinced pleasure would play no part in her plans for me. Escape was my only option.

"BJ kicked your ass pretty good, didn't she?" Carmella smirked as she reached in and lifted me roughly out of the trunk and stood me beside the car, which was a long new Lincoln Continental. I was naked and bruised and bloody and exhausted.

"I like a man who knows who the boss is," Carmella rasped, and she drove her fist into my stomach, taking my breath away and causing me to crumple. Hard as she hit me, I could tell she'd used only a fraction of the power at her command

She used her booted foot to turn me onto my back and then she put the boot on my throat and I stared up her leg to where it disappeared under her leather apron. It was a muscled leg, thick and long, and I guessed that Carmella was much, much taller than the husky BJ, a true amazon. If I had any notion of escape from this situation, it would be imperative that I never forget Carmella's strength advantage. She could take my life with the flick of a wrist.

She moved her boot from my throat to my mouth and she didn't have to say it: I began licking the underside of her boot's toe. Carmella just laughed, a guttural grunt of a laugh. She moved her boot to the side and kicked me, lightly but contemptuously.

"Big Carmella needs lots of things licked, but not her boots. Others here at my house might need their boots licked, but not Carmella. Still, it is good to know you know how to perform this service. You will make a good addition to my stable. Follow me now - on your hands and knees."

As I crawled behind her, I sneaked peeks up at her. She really was a giant, and from the rear she was profoundly compelling, enough so that, damn my pervert's soul, I even kind of looked forward to learning what kind of sexual services she would demand. Although I was well and thoroughly frightened and knew I had to escape, the thought did occur to my battered senses that maybe this could get interesting. Just to wonder about such things revealed how truly low I'd sunk.

Carmella unlocked a door in the back of the garage.

"When you get to the bottom of those stairs get back on all fours. You will address the one you meet down there as Sir, and you will never speak to her without her permission. From this moment on your name is Face. When you see me again, you will address me as Loveliest. Got that?"

"Yes ... Loveliest."

Carmella locked the door behind my descending steps. As she instructed, I got back down to my hands and knees when I reached the bottom. I maintained that humiliating posture as I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The basement was dimly lit by a sole low wattage bulb in a small lamp lamp that sat on a table in a far corner. Before I was able to adjust my eyes to the dimness around me, a stern female voice sounded out from somewhere behind me.

"Put that head down till I say otherwise, Face!" came the command.

"Yes ... Sir."

Her footsteps advanced and it seemed she must be barefoot from the soft sound they made. Suddenly a circle of light lit the floor directly in front of me and a single bare foot entered into that light.

I'd always heard you could tell the size of a guy's joint by the size of his big toe. If that was true, my lips then wrapped themselves around a clue that my Sir-bitch was one helluva stud.

"They told me you were talent, Face," she said, "I'd have to agree -- takes real talent to make a mean gal like me fall for the sucking action of a mouth like yours." I'd given it my all, hoping to make a good first impression. Sir wriggled her long thick big toe in my sucking mouth appreciatively.

She played the flashlight over my back, then turned me over and looked at me some more.

"Whoever's been working you over was one careless cunt. Whips and paddles and punches and a dildo big as a horse's cock'd be my guess, and not giving a damn how much damage she got done. And from the size of those balls I'd say you ain't been milked for better'n a week or so, eh? I'll have to tighten that bung up to spec, tho' - - not to worry. Follow my orders, Face, and when those heffers upstairs get at you, they'll think they're getting a cherry. I'll have you fit to be tied up again in less than a week. No problem. You're in good hands now."

I was bathed & given an enema and my bruises were treated and then Sir used a needle to put me to sleep. Not that I needed a shot to get to sleep, but it was a considerate thing for Sir to do.

All the next week I was put to work as a cleaning servant. They had me mummified in a snug full body set of cover-alls and a head mask, all to hide my bruises while I healed. There was a bracelet around my ankle that served double duty: it could administer a powerful electric shock, and it could send out a tracking signal. All for if I was disobedient, or if I tried to flee. After the first time they shocked me - it was a run-thru kind of test to see if the unit was working - I knew I'd be as compliant as they wished. A model of obedient comportment, all speed and efficiency, a yes man with a pronounced penchant for groveling. They didn't have to break a board over my head. I was their Face In A Mask - at least until I figured out a way to defeat them.

My duties gave me access to the entire upstairs of the house, both floors and the attic. It was all pretty well appointed but with a purpose: Carmella's place was a brothel of sorts, the kind of house that served rich, older women. I studied the operation and it soon became clear that those older clients came to beat and be beaten, to eat and be eaten, to screw and be screwed. Carmella's stable comprised both males and females, all ages, all sizes, eleven of us. The stable had its own quarters, but myself and Sir were the only ones occupying the basement. I was on call 24/7, but things were usually pretty quiet from midnight till noon -- the old gals liked to come by in the early afternoon and early evenings mostly, although a few would stay late.

As my bruises healed, my uniform was adjusted: Sir would cut my pants legs, and my sleeves, depending on the progress of my healing. Sir seemed to get a kick out of tailoring my apparel, and she even clucked approvingly as my bruises slowly faded. Eventually, Sir had me wearing short shorts and a skimpy halter-top. The old gals thought I was cute, but Carmella kept me in my cleaning role. The old gals got a kick out of tipping their drinks onto the floor so I'd have to get on my hands and knees to clean up after them. I'd be wiping up the mess and feel their feet groping me between my legs, which was actually very arousing, given the fact that Sir wouldn't allow me to cum and my balls were fat and heavy with pent-up jism. At night Sir wrapped my groin in an icepack before giving me my goodnight shot. During the day I was not even allowed to go to the pisser alone -- it was always, "Sir, I need to use the facility." Sir would hold my cock while I pissed, and her grip was firm but non-erotic, avoiding my sensitive balls with a care that bespoke a certain kind of consideration for my discomforts. I was given enemas frequently, and the special supplemented liquid diet Sir prepared each day for me gradually restored my strength. But I was plagued by frequent and painful erections, and the old gals loved to get me started. It became a running gag at the house for them to fondle my swollen balls thru my short shorts with their feet.

I was under a table wiping up a spilled drink when I felt the note being pushed under my shorts. I glanced up to see a chubby and heavily mascara'd middle-aged blonde wink and turn away. Since I didn't get to be alone at all, not even to piss, I knew Sir would find the note. I wondered what it said.

"She slipped you her phone number," Sir told me later. "She's never been here before. Carmella will talk to her about it. Don't go getting no ideas, Face."

But I did get ideas. And when Carmella called me into her office, if was as if she could read my mind.

"Out of those clothes, Face." I stood with my feet apart and my hands behind my back as Carmella walked slowly around me, examining my condition.

"You're healed and you're horny and my customers are getting antsy. They are like hyenas, they can't wait. And I don't even know if you're worth a fuck -- already you're getting notes, and you're plotting to return the favor, maybe get one of those fat old cows to rescue you. On your knees, Face!"

She grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled my head back. I stared up into her disfigured features. The look in her crazy black eyes was merciless and cold, appraising her hyena-prey.

"As of right now, you're off the cleaning detail. From now on you wear the collar and you go where I go." She fastened a studded collar around my neck. When she left her office, the collar and the ankle bracelet were all I was wearing as I followed her on my hands and knees. Carmella held the collar's cord tight in her hand, and I had an ominous and uneasy flashback to BJ's use of her collar on me.

Carmella led me into the parlor where several of her customers were lounging. It was early evening and these women were early birds who hadn't decided yet on how they wanted to pleasure themselves -- beat or be beaten, eat or be eaten, screw or be screwed ... which??

Carmella paraded me boldly to the center of the parlor. The women rustled and gasped, gaping at my naked humiliation, and they tittered and shifted their wide bottoms in their soft easy chairs with blatant expectation .

"This is the house's new attraction, ladies, and his name is Face. Stick out your tongue for the ladies, Face." I did so. The titters from the paying customers grew a bit more appreciative.

"It's your lucky evening, Ladies. Face is going to pleasure his mistress. On your back, Face!"

"Yes, Loveliest," I replied, sinking onto my back on the floor.

"Sir! Bring me my funnel!"

"Yes, Loveliest!"

With her spread buttocks directly above me, Carmella squatted to my lips. She'd hiked up her leather skirt and she was not wearing panties. Her ass was stupendous. And muscled. And I could feel my soft prick becoming engorged at the sight of it, despite my hatred for Carmella. The titters grew edgy with keen, almost rabid expectation.

"Maybe you gals would like to shift yourselves around for a better view. They tell me Face has an outstanding gift for Ass Worship." Murmurs of breathlesly mounting approval from that shifting peanut gallery of hussies.

Carmella's sphincter was adept in ways BJ had never dreamed. Her asshole gripped my tongue like a hand and when Carmella pulled away my tongue stretched out of my mouth, imprisoned by her anus. Gasps from the ladies as Carmella started to slowly ride up and down, fucking my tongue like it was my cock. I could feel the well developed muscles inside her ass playing along the length of my tongue, those muscles rippling and gripping in complex patterns of undeniable and relentless skill, and it was beyond my comprehension but it seemed like my swollen cock and my anally enclosed tongue were one and the same, as if by fucking my tongue Carmella was also milking my prick! I started to cum and the hot jets were incredibly vigorous, spurting forth streams of my thickly pent-up cream as high as my neck and continuing until my chest and belly were painted with puddles of jism. Only when my cock stopped its spurting did Carmella allow my tongue to slide out of her crafty asshole. I was agape beneath her, wide-eyed with wonder -- she hadn't even touched my cock, and yet the massaging action of her inner ass, its strong rippling grip on my stretched tongue, had made me erupt. Carmella rose up standing and began playing with the puddles of my cum with her feet, and she spread my cum up onto my lips with her foot. I knew what was expected and I licked my cum from my own lips and Carmella kept up this operation over and over till my cum was totally removed from off my belly and chest. I knew I was expected to clean any and all cum-residue off Carmella's feet and I did so with the trademark and thoroughgoing care that was my shame and glory, slowly and carefully sucking and licking between her toes and lapping her sole. And then the funnel was there, in my mouth and pushed deep down my throat ...

"Sir, I think Face needs some mouth wash," Carmella advised, and Sir, who had never to that point had the slightest sexual deviancy toward me, now suatted over the funnel, pissing a bladder full of what turned out to be the sweetest of sour urine I could imagine. I had never tasted anything quite like it and I could feel my spent cock stirring in response. The customers broke into applause as Sir continued to drain her bladder and I continued to swallow it. I stared up into Sir's eyes as I gulped her savory piss and was amazed to see a flash of commiseration there.

"If any of you ladies need to drain your randy selves," Carmella urged, "Now's the time!"

And those big, horny hags came to me and squatted and pissed and some of them didn't aim so well and their piss got in my eyes and hair and none of them had the sweet and sour allure that Sir's piss had had and I could feel myself getting sick with all I had swallowed but then it was over and the funnel was removed. My belly was swollen with the couple of gallons of old biddy piss I'd swallowed and then Carmella came up to me and put her foot on my belly and then she put all her weight on that foot and I vomitted violently, a great fountain of regurgitated yellow fluids.

"Oh look, girls" Carmella cooed, "Face spilled his drink. Bring some towels, Sir."

As I swabbed up my mess, down on my hands and knees again, Carmella passed out strap-ons to the customers so that pretty soon they were taking turns at my ass, fucking me with big dildoes where once they had teased me with their probing feet. There was obscene cackling laughter and pretty soon those randy old bitches spread the action around between themselves as they got busy fucking each other with the strap-ons. Carmella pulled the cord, guiding me off to the side where she sat on a stool with her great and powerful thighs widespread so that I could eat her sopping thick-lipped cunt while she watched the old gals fucking each other. Carmella cheered them on. "Hey, Auntie," Carmella called, "See if Granny can take it up the ass!" Granny not only took it but did so avidly, grunting happily as the grotesquely outsized shaft plunged into her bowels up to the hilt, and when Auntie finally pulled it out the thick thing was streaked with Granny's brown juices and I knew Carmella had even fouler uses in mind for me and my talented mouth.

Before I was led away, I'd sucked half a dozen of those slimed strap-ons clean. It was my introduction to a degradation I suspected Carmella planned to keep me mired in for the duration. When she got me back into her office I was ordered to stand in the center of the room. Carmella sat in a swivel chair that squeeked in protest when she sank her huge frame onto it. Thoughtfully she put her feet up onto the desk, crossing them at the ankles, taking her time Then she spoke:

"Nice to be home, isn't it, Face?" she mocked. "I wouldn't have believed it, but you really do have a miraculous tongue. Did you know some tongues are like muscles, they get larger and stronger with vigorous usage? I think that's the kind of tongue you have, Face, and I'm going to do everything in this house's power to make sure it gets plenty of daily vigorous exercise. That tongue's gonna make me a ton of money and by the time this year is up it'll be so large you'll be able to lick your own eyebows with it. Face it, Face -- you're about to become a legend!"

And so it went, but that was actually a few years back. True to her word, Carmella kept my tongue busy. Non-stop and in every orifice that paid cash money. And when I wasn't servicing her rich fat assed customers, it was Carmella herself I tongued. And my tongue was in Carmella morning, noon, and night, sometimes with an audience but just as frequently whenever and wherever she ran into me. My tongue grew strong and thick and long, just like the hated Carmella said it would.

Ah but,things have changed for me. Today I run Carmella's house and it is I who call all the shots. You see, after that first year my tongue had lengthened and strengthened and thickened to the degree that at dawn one morning I was able to lick Carmella into the most extraordinary series of orgasms she'd ever experienced, so much so that while she was utterly delirious with the rolling orgasmic waves she was experiencing, I was able to lick my way up along the deep crease of her spine all the way to her neck and then under her chin. Had my tongue been just a few inches longer I would have wrapped it around her neck and taken her life that way. As it was, I held my mouth poised above Carmella, studying her enraptured features, amazed at what my tongue had wrought. God! but this was one ugly woman, what with her disfigured face all so ecstatic and craven. It occurred to me in a flash that my window of opportunity was right there, spread wide open in her frenzy. I quickly and without another thought sank the entire length of my fattened-up 9-inch tongue all the way down her throat. Carmella couldn't breathe, you see, and as she thrashed and suffocated with my fabulous tongue blocking her air vent, I, too, experienced an incredible orgasm, great buckets of my cum pouring in creamy spurts out onto her -- I cupped scoops of my juices in my hand and spread it over her dying eyes and into her dying ears, encasing my tormentress in a hardening paste of my jism.

After Carmella died, I sat up on her chest and slapped idly at her face with the head of my cock. My tongue was hanging down on my chest and I was grinning stupidly but triumphantly when Sir came thru the door. She took one look at the scene and let out a great whoop of joy. I always kind of liked Sir, ever since she helped me heal that first week. And I still do. I even have a very special preference for the rare sweet and sour taste of her piss, which always seemed to have such a bracing effect on me. She has learned to milk my tongue as well as Carmella ever did, and I do so love to let Sir mount me with her puckered asshole at my lips ... I take great delight in loosening that pucker of hers slowly, with great care and affection. I don't have to have my cock touched in order to cum when Sir fucks my tongue, and Sir always laughs with deep delight when I cum while she's up there. I can feel her laughter shaking down thru her butt as it grips my tongue, and it adds real spice to the throes of my cumming. With my Sir,it is a mutual pleasure to engage this way: I cherish my Sir so much, you see. Why, now and then I'll even take her great big toe into my mouth, drawing it deep into my jaws slowly, thoroughly -- I've gotten so good at it that I can make my Sir cum by my suckling action on her big toe ... so perfect is my action on that big toe that Sir herself will get to cumming without being touched on any other part of her body, either! Sir is my butt-buddy, my big-toe buddy, 2nd in command, not hardly my Loveliest, nor even my employee. I am still Face, but only to my Sir. And only when we are alone behind closed doors. To the staff and to the rich bitch client base I am, simply enough, "Tongue."

Aye, and Tongue rules. You'd better believe it!

                                                    - The (tongue in cheek) End -

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