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He stares at me until my face burns.
“Kirill!” I protest.
“Your pussy is perfection. So pretty. Like a swollen flower, full of nectar.”
What the fuck? I almost laugh, but then he parts me more. I try to close my legs, but he uses his hands to keep them apart.
“Uh-uh, don’t go hiding from me, Duchess. I want to commit this pussy to memory so when I touch myself at night, I have all the details of it stamped in my mind. Your clit is so swollen, and you’re so wet. Are you aching for me, pretty one?”
I don’t answer him because I don’t know what to say. I’ve never felt so exposed.
“One day,” he says, “I’ll find a beautiful toy to fuck you with, open you up for me and watch as you take it.”
Dear God.
“For now, my fingers will have to do,” he finishes.
He circles my clit a few more times, then pushes two fingers roughly inside me. He pumps them in and out, and, just when I feel as if I might come, he curls them, hitting that dark, secret spot that most men can never find. My trusty vibe can find it, but most men? Not a chance. Kirill has, though, and he presses on it hard enough to make me cry out so loudly a bird takes flight from a tree nearby, chirruping a warning.
“Oh, God.” I grab his wrist as it’s too much, but he only laughs and fingerfucks me harder.
My back arches, and I press down onto him, pleasure sweeping over me, again and again.
I come so hard I think I’m going to faint. My toes curl, and I shudder and jerk, strange sounds I have no control over peeling from my lips. It’s intense, and my pussy pulses around his fingers. I soak his hand, mortifying myself at how wet I am.
“Yes, that’s it, Duchess. Show me how much you feel me.”
He pumps inside me lazily a few times, drawing the aftershocks out for me.
Then he leans back and tugs at the drawstring on his joggers.
“You said I didn’t have to touch you,” I say.
Not that right now I’d mind. I want to see the goods. It’s just part of me, the sensible part, recalls all the times he’s scared me.
“Oh, you’re not going to touch me, Duchess. You’re just going to keep those creamy thighs of yours wide open for me. I’ll take care of the rest.”
He frees his cock, and I stare in half awe and half fear. He is huge. Bigger than Tino. I think he’s bigger than Dom, too. I’ve not seen Dom, but I’ve seen his outline.
“You like what you see?” Kirill asks with a laugh.
He’s leaking at the head, and he’s wet and shiny there. He rubs his thumb over it, smearing his precum all around.
I watch and my throat runs dry at the show he’s giving me. When he starts to fist himself, I fall back on my elbows and let a soft moan pass my lips. My thighs fall together, and he shakes his head.
“Thighs open, baby, I need to see your perfect pussy, so swollen and wet.”
I do as he says, feeling utterly debauched as he fucks his fist while he stares at my pussy like a man possessed.
“The only thing that’s missing is my cum,” he says, his gaze darkening. A muscle in his jaw flexes. “One day I’m going to see it leaking out of you. Dripping out of every hole.”
He clenches his teeth, concentration taking over. His breath quickens, and he shifts closer.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to put it in me, but he doesn’t. Kirill angles the head of his massive cock at my parted lips and, with a curse, comes all over my pussy in huge jets.
I stare in shock at the volume of cum. The heat splatters my skin as he spurts over and over.
When he’s finished, he falls back onto his knees, panting. I swallow hard and don’t know what the hell to do. I’m so sticky and wet down there. How do I clean it up?
