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Fuck.
My own thought process made me sick.
I could just be overreacting, right? Who was I to know? I wasn’t a damn doctor. Maybe he could handle it.
Our kiss grew heated, and I sensed what he needed. He was a drug that way. He snapped his fingers, and I came running.
Food could wait.
Before I knew it, he picked me up and sat me on the edge of the table, and he kissed me forcefully as I undid his belt.
“Who owns you?”
“You, Master.”
He grabbed my jaw tightly, forcing me to shift my gaze higher to meet his, and my breath hitched in my throat. The burning intensity in his eyes shot hope through me, but could I trust it? Just because he believed something didn’t make it right. Did it? He did believe, though. He believed in himself, in us, and that we had all the time in the world, merely because that was what he demanded.
Without breaking eye contact, without releasing my jaw, he used his free hand to fish something out of his pocket, presumably a packet of lube from his wallet. Then he handed it to me, and I took over.
I opened it and poured some into my hand, and he guided it to his hard cock.
“Who’s your world?” he whispered.
I sucked in a breath and wrapped my fingers around him. “You, Master.”
Something softened in his heated gaze, and he dipped down and kissed me gently. “And you’re mine.” Next, he inched back and began removing my clothes, and I had nothing to say. I couldn’t. I knew he meant every word he said; I just couldn’t lean on them.
But I was too desperate to cockblock myself with reality and shoulds.
Once I was naked, he told me to lie down on the table, and I obeyed. My back hit the cold, gleaming wooden surface, and he pulled up my legs.
“Hug your knees to your chest,” he commanded quietly. “You know what I need.”
Oh fuck yeah, he got so deep in this position. To the point where it hurt and I felt him for hours afterward. But for him, this was when I became his sex object. I didn’t move, I didn’t make a sound, I didn’t use my arms and legs, I didn’t touch him back. I just took his cock and existed for him.
With my hands clasped around my knees, hugging them tightly to my chest, I braced myself for his perfect cock.
I clenched my jaw at the first brush of the head of his cock against my sensitive skin. Right there, at the opening, he spread the fluids around and made me clench down at nothing.
“I know you’re worried, Cam,” he murmured, never looking away from my ass, “but I’m not letting you go. Ever.” With that said, he started pushing inside me, and he didn’t stop. Slowly but surely, he filled me, and his expression flooded with satisfaction.
I stifled a whimper and pushed back as much as I could, needing all of him buried deep inside me, no matter how much it stung at first. He stretched my hole and exhaled a groan when he was all in, and my breath suddenly came out in shallow puffs.
“You know who you are, slave,” he said huskily.
I’m Master’s little fuck pillow.
His hands roamed my body, how I’d folded myself in half for him. Nothing sticking out—I was just his little pillow.
He fucked me in long, deep strokes that pushed the outside world out of my mind, including most of my worries. I lived for this very moment. I existed for his pleasure and the high it brought me to be the only one in the universe to give it.
I suppressed every moan, every cry, and every plea, causing myself to nearly implode with ecstasy. Over and over, as he fucked me up the table, then yanked me back down, in and out, in and out.
Every now and then, he ghosted his hand between my legs and over my cock, and it took all my strength not to arch my back in a silent plea for more.
“My little pillow appears to be needy,” he murmured. “Such a sweet cock it has.”
Hnnghh.
