He didn’t feel real. His jade eyes darkened with pleasure, lips still covered with my moisture, strong body in an expensive-looking suit in a shade that blended blue and gray, and his black hair combed back neatly. He was a mirage, and one that had eyes only for me.
“Sit down,” he ordered, slamming his hands on the table in front of him.
I approached slowly, torn between mortification and excitement. I wanted him to do everything to me.
Camillo pulled his chair back a little and grabbed me by the waist, lifting me effortlessly, sitting me down in front of him. He moved closer again and his hands, with their prominent tendons, began to caress my breasts deliciously. He kneaded each one, pinching my nipples, and before I knew it, he had undone the clasp that fastened my summer dress at my waist and exposed my naked body.
“Bellissima.” That's what he murmured before pressing his face against my chest, covering my bare breasts with kisses. When his tongue brushed one of my nipples, I arched my back and threw my head back, moaning.
Every movement was torture. He played with my nipples, increasing the pressure in my lower abdomen, and I could feel myself dripping onto the table.
Suddenly, one of his huge hands turned into a collar around my neck, squeezing only the sides, pulling me down until I was lying on my back.
“Perfetta,” he purred, releasing me at the exact moment I surrendered.
He moved away, returning to his chair, and it didn't take him long to lift my legs over his shoulders. His mouth returned to my body, but this time there were no light caresses. Camillo parted me with slow, deliberate licks, savoring me patiently. Nibbling at me, causing tears of pleasure to stream from the corners of my eyes. I trembled when his mouth closed over my clitoris, sucking it with relentless intensity.
When I was about to reach ecstasy, he stopped and I could only whimper. I needed him inside me.
As if reading each of my silent desires, one of his thick fingers found my entrance and slid inside me. He moved in and out slowly, curling upward inside me in a way that made me shiver. My nipples ached, and I couldn’t hold back a broken moan when he added another finger.
“You like this, don't you, Piccola Furetta?”
Piccola Furetta. My pleasure was too much to ask him what it meant.
I just shook my head, arching my back more as he increased the speed of his movements. His two fingers stretched me in adelicious way and touched places inside me that even I didn't know existed.
“Words, Daisy.”
“Yes...” I gasped.
Camillo was now standing, his hand moving vigorously, his fingers inside me, and his face attentive to my reactions. I locked eyes with him, his gaze almost animalistic, as if he loved and hated me in equal measure, charged with a desire that was new to me. My legs were bent, raised high enough to give him access, and I could only wish that he would replace his fingers with that cock that was clearly visible under the dark fabric of his pants.
The movement of his hand slowed down, but he did not remove his fingers from inside me. On the contrary. A third finger landed on my clitoris, drawing circles around it while the other two undulated inside me. My face contorted, surrendered to the pleasure that tortured me, and I knew I was about to come.
“Camillo, please... Don't stop,” I whimpered.
“Am I forgiven, Piccola Furetta?” he purred.
I shook my head, biting my lower lip. “Yes. You are forgiven.”
“Do you understand now who this pussy belongs to?”
I moaned. “Yes.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“To you, Camillo.”
His fingers regained their frantic rhythm. I moaned, the pleasure reaching unbearable levels. The sound of wet slapping filled the kitchen.
“Say it. My pussy is only yours, Camillo.”
I whimpered, covering my face with my hands, feeling a mixture of shame and atrocious pleasure. “My... pussy... is only yours, Camillo.”
A slap on my breasts made me uncover my face and stare at him with surprise and... pleasure.
Had I liked that?
