Page 134 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

He pants as he pulls his cock free. His cum glistens like dewy spider’s silk between my lower lip and the crown of his cock. I press a soft kiss to the slit at the head and Damien laughs as he drops his head back to look up at the starry night sky.

“You are so fucking cute,” he sighs.

He softens a bit after catching his breath, his half-hard cock sitting heavily between his legs.

“You’re in quite the predicament here, aren’t you?” he asks.

I look lazily to the bramble, finding just how tangled I am in the thorns. I frown.

“Maybe if you ask very nicely, I’ll help free you of your trap, what do you think?”

I look up at him. “Please help me?” I ask, plaintive and small.

His hand is so soft when he grasps my chin, clicking his tongue like he’s indulging a pet. “How can I say no to that?”

But his next movements are brutal and sharp. I gasp as he grips the neckline of my dress and, with no warning, tears the bodice nearly in half.

“D-Damien!” I cry out.

He rips again, the fabric tearing to where it splits open over my thigh. “You said you wanted help.” He grapples my body out of the ruined garment until I’m in front of him on all fours in nothing but my tights and panties.

“I loved that dress,” I whimper.

He kneels and picks me up over his shoulder. “I’ll buy you a better one,” he says.

“W-wait,” I gasp as he walks with me across the clearing.

“You seem to misunderstand the role you’re playing tonight, Little Bird,” He says as he slides me down into his arms in a bridal carry. “Your role is not calling the shots. That’s my role tonight.”

His nose almost brushes mine as he lowers me onto the ground. “You told me no limits.”

“But—”

He slides between my legs and digs his fingers into my fishnets. Without warning, he tears them in half too.

“D—” I can’t get his name out of my mouth before he clasps his hand over my mouth, silencing me.

“If you want me to stop, wrap your hands around this arm and squeeze three times. Show me.”

I blink and lift my hands to his forearm.

“Good. Three good squeezes,” he says.

I do.

“Now drop them. Don’t touch that arm unless you’re asking me to stop.”

Then, with no warning, he plucks the thin fabric of my thong aside and slips two gloved fingers inside of me.

I gasp biting the inside of my lip as he fucks me with his fingers.

There’s something insane and vivid about the feeling of his fingers inside of me while covered in leather. A mind-melting distance that makes me feel like his plaything. His.

I want to touch him. But I need to remember the rules. I lift my hands up to cup his face and his hooded eyes meet mine as his muscular arm continues to pump his fingers in and out at a slow, purposeful rhythm. His pupils have blown so wide that his irises are only slim rings around them. Abalone shells nested around blackest obsidian. A protective stone. My protector.

I come around his fingers like a thunderclap and by then he’s hard again, using his knees to open me wider and slipping his thick cock inside me. The slickness of my come lets him in too easily and I wince, yelping into his hand as the crown of his cock presses into my cervix.

“Hush,” he says as he begins a maddening, grinding rhythm. Every thrust has him dragging on every surface inside of me. The friction around my opening, the ridge of his cock against the caverns and ridges inside of me, the sharp press when he bottoms out.