Page 32 of Challenge Me

He took it. Ghost pushed forward, the head of his cock spreading my lips, the tread texture dragging over my tongue. The ridges felt enormous inside my mouth, each one scraping over my teeth as he moved deeper.

The taste of him grew stronger.

Smoke. Salt. Hot metal. The faint bitterness of fuel after a stop at the gas station. Nothing about him tasted human.

My tongue flattened beneath him, accommodating his girth.

Ghost advanced slowly until the thick head pressed against the back of my throat. My body didn’t resist, even around the unfamiliar texture.

It wasn’t a gentle grinding from a loving partner; there was no concern, no holding back. Ghost was a Dodge Challenger, and there was nothing gentle about him. A car like that did one thing: it pushed boundaries. Ghost was testing exactly how much I could handle.

He withdrew.

Air rushed into my lungs.

Then he pushed in again.

This time I relaxed sooner, swallowing around him as he forced himself deeper. The ridges slid over my tongue, and his piercing pressed against the roof of my mouth. My jaw ached from the stretch.

Ghost watched every reaction. His fist tightened in my hair. He thrust forward until my nose nearly touched the darkness of his body. The head of his cock lodged deep in my throat, straining the muscles of my neck around it.

I couldn’t breathe. The lack of air sharpened everything else: the tools still inside me, the Allen key filling my cock, the wrench clamped around the base, Ghost’s grip controlling my head. He held me there for one more second before pulling free.

I dragged in a ragged breath. Saliva hung between my lips and the head of his cock.

Ghost did not allow me time to recover.

He thrust again.

Harder.

His textured length scraped over my tongue, striking the back of my throat. Tears gathered in my eyes. My hands flew to his thighs, gripping for balance as he established a brutal rhythm. Each thrust forced my throat open. Each withdrawal gave me barely enough air to remain conscious.

The pressure inside my cock intensified with every movement. Behind me, the wrenches continued their assault against my prostate. Stars danced behind my eyes, though from lack of air or as a warning that something big was coming, I couldn’t tell.

Ghost noticed my body moving, and his foot nudged my knees further apart; the change in angle drove the metal deeper as sudden ecstasy crashed through me. I moaned around his cock, and Ghost answered with a rough growl, thrusting deeper until my throat spasmed around the ridges.

“There,” he panted. “That’s it.”

Praise.

Again.

The approval in his voice left my body desperate. I wanted to be good for him. Wanted to take everything he gave me, no matter how filthy or absurd.

The realization should have humiliated me. Instead, it pushed me closer to the edge.

Ghost filled my throat again.

My orgasm struck without warning.

My entire body seized.

The wrench and Allen key stopped the release from escaping properly. Pleasure turned into a prolonged, torturous pressure, trapped inside me until I shook violently on my knees.

A whimper broke around Ghost’s cock, and he withdrew, his hand remaining in my hair, keeping my head tilted back while I coughed and fought for breath.

He looked down at me, waiting.