Page 19 of Never Forget

“Please,” I grit out. “I want you inside me.”

“I know you do. But you need to learn patience, don’t you?”

“I’ve been patient. It’s been weeks since you fucked me.”

“I’ll fuck you when you’ve earned it.”

I freeze and look back over my shoulder, giving him my best angry glare. All it does is make him chuckle.

Scott leans back and crosses his arms. “I think I want to watch you hump this couch until you make a mess of yourself.”

My entire body flushes with humiliation.

He’s really just going to sit there, fully dressed and acting unaffected, while I debase myself by acting like an animal?

I press my forehead into the couch and consider using my safe word, but it’s not as if I feel threatened. If anything, I’m only threatened by being so hard it hurts. His eyes on me in this degrading position is making me hot all over. The heat taking over my body, the twist in my stomach, the lack of blood flow in my arms, the uncomfortable way my legs are stretched, and the absolute humiliation swirling around my brain make me feel spinny and soupy, non-existent outside of what’s happening here and now.

My hips twitch without permission, pushing my cock into the cushion. A sigh of pleasure falls from my lips. Giving up on holding back is a relief, even if I really don’t want to humiliate myself like this. I don’t! But there’s something about letting go of all the pretense. And the more he talks, the worse—or better—it gets.

“Just like that, pet. Rub yourself off on that cushion like the messy little thing you are. Who are you, pet?”

“No one.”

Fuck. His eyes on me are so heavy, singeing my skin and making me feel flayed and exposed. But it’s not enough. I need… I need…

“I need you,” I rasp. “Please. Please, I’ll be good. I won’t push. Just… please.” The last word comes out as a horrifically weak whimper, and a tear trickles down my chin, soaking into the fabric of the chaise.

“Shh, keep going,” Scott says soothingly, returning his hands to my ass to keep me rocking against the furniture.

The pressure of a hand releases, and there’s rustling behind me. His second hand leaves my body, but only for a moment before the warmth of Scott’s big body drapes over me. The restraints around my wrists disappear, but before I have a chance to stretch or shake the numbness from my limbs, my hands are placed on either side of my head, his fingers weaving through mine to grip the cushion.

Scott presses his face into the sweaty nape of my neck and presses his chest to my back. The hot, rigid length of his cock settles between my ass cheeks, and he thrusts. The motion of his hips presses mine into the cushion, and between the damp but still soft texture of the chaise on my dick and the heavy length of him rubbing itself over my taint and hole, I can feel the tingling pressure of my orgasm grow.

My eyes flutter shut as he dwarfs me entirely. Everything becomes him. What I feel and hear and smell is him. Scott’s hands flexing against mine, tightening around the fabric edge. His skin, slick with sweat, sliding against mine. His heavy breaths brushing against the back of my neck. The soft grunting that punctuates the force of his cock rutting against me.

I hold my breath to control the onslaught of sensation, to stave off the oncoming eruption a little while longer. Just long enough that I can feel this way for a little longer. But I can’t hold back.

Pressing my face against the cushion to muffle my cry of pleasure, I spasm and jerk beneath him as Scott drives me into orgasm. The fabric beneath me soaks with my release, rubbing and smearing into my lower stomach and pubes as Scott continues to roll his hips into me.

He lets out a breathy, “Fuck,” and his hips falter. I lift my head to suck in a breath, which turns into more of a gasp when I feel his teeth clamp down on the space between my neck on shoulder. His release, hot and wet, splatters against the small of my back. Moaning low in my throat, I rut further into the wet softness beneath me, riding out the aftershocks of my climax with renewed arousal now that he’s marked me like the animal he turns me into.

“That’s a good pet,” Scott coos, licking the spot where he bit into my flesh, kissing and breathing into the back of my head. He releases my hands and sits up, but I remain where I am, shuddering as his hands caress down my sides. His thumbs rub circles into the small of my back, through the pool of cum he left on me, spreading it around like finger paint before kneading it into my flesh like some kind of perverse massage lotion.

All the while, I lay there unmoving, basking in the weightless afterglow and comfort of his ministrations.

I used to hate the aftercare. I wanted to be left alone to either float in the space he takes me to or crash out on my own. We’ve yet to do anything intense enough to warrant a major adrenaline drop like what Scott warned me could happen, but not spending sufficient time making sure I’m cared for like some kind of child is Scott’s one hard limit, so I allow it. This is the first time I think I’m really enjoying it though. I’m enjoying the drift back into my own consciousness with his hands on me.

It’s not until the mess on my back is half dried and too sticky to continue rubbing into my skin that Scott stops, dropping kisses down my spine to my ass before he stands. By now I know the drill, and don’t move until he’s back to help me up and wipe me down. Only, he doesn’t have a warm washcloth this time, and I can hear the shower running. Which, considering the mess on my back and my front, is probably necessary.

“Look at what a sloppy mess you made,” Scott teases as soon as I’m standing, looking down at the surely ruined chaise lounge.

There’s a large, obvious stain ground into the expensive-looking fabric, and I wonder how exactly I’m going to explain this one. Do our incidentals cover cum stains?

I let Scott lead me into the bathroom, steam billowing through the open doorway, but stop short when he doesn’t simply deposit me in the room and leave.

“What are you doing?”

“Let’s get showered off, and then I’ll help you clean up the rest of the mess,” he answers simply.