Shove your fingers into my mouth.
It’s rude, rough, and arbitrary, but that’s why it appeals to me. That arbitrariness is what makes it an undeniably dominant thing to do. You do it because you can, because you want to, and because you love the startled look on my face when you unexpectedly fill my mouth.
It will be unexpected because you love surprising me into submission. Perhaps I’ll be reading, or cooking. Maybe I’ll be doing chores, or painting my nails, or writing a dirty little fantasy for this blog. Perhaps I will be speaking to you and telling you about my day mere seconds before you’re cutting me off mid-sentence by shoving three fingers past my lips. Rude? Certainly. Annoying? Yes. Hot as hell? Absolutely. You’ll make it even hotter by pushing your fingers to the back of my throat and making me gag. You wouldn’t have to order me to suck; it’ll be instinct, trained into me for whenever any part of your body is inside my mouth. I’ll suck your fingers just as hungrily as I’d suck your cock, tasting the salty tang of your skin and wishing I had something to swallow. I’ll meet your gaze the whole time - another result of vigorous training - and you’ll watch my eyes water with every gag and cough you draw out of me.
When you’re satisfied with my performance, you’ll pull your fingers out, wipe them on my cheek, and smile as though you expect me to remember what I’d been talking about before.