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This moment was about the way she rubbed her tongue along the sensitive underside of his dick. The way she swallowed when he hit her throat.
Needing to be rough with her, Benson shoved his cock into her mouth, then kept going. He forced her head onto his dick until her face was jammed into his belly and he could feel her throat working around the head of his dick as she gagged and then swallowed to fight the reflex.
He held her down until he knew she had to be focused on needing to breathe. Held her there just because he could. Because she was his to use and abuse and lo…
Fuck his fucking useless brain for all the other non-sex verbs that had almost slipped through.
Benson used his hold on her hair to pull her back, just enough that she took a heavy breath, his cock still deep in her mouth, but not down her throat. The sound of her breaths through her nose were loud, but her tongue kept working the underside and around the head of his dick.
He drew her down, again holding her hard against him, the pressure of her throat around the head of his shaft more than he could take.
He wanted to last, but he was too close.
With a groan, he withdrew all the way, her tongue working the condom against the slit at the tip of his cock on the way out.
“It’s going to be hard and fast,” he warned her.
Then he put truth to the words, cupped her head with two hands, and fucked her face. It was hard and fast, because that’s what he needed, because this was Mal sucking his cock, and that had him embarrassingly close to the edge.
His balls felt tight, the base of his spine and tingled, and then he was coming. He thrust through the first few spurts, then stilled, letting her work him, her head bobbing softly as she literally sucked, her cheeks hollowed by the pressure she was applying.
When it was done, Benson massaged her scalp with his fingertips before withdrawing his cock. He left her on her knees, that soft white dress still around her waist, the skirt spilled on the floor around her, while her lovely breasts were bare except for the strands of dark hair that had fallen over her shoulders.
Benson headed for the trashcan to get rid of the condom. He had to pause and let his eyes adjust to the relative dimness in the other parts of the room. The image of her on her knees was imprinted in his vision, like the afterimage from a flash.
That had been…
Being with her again felt too good. It was almost too easy.
If he was being dumb, he’d say that it was like coming home.
But he wasn’t a fucking moron, so he would not say that. He was going to stick to the plan, and he would never forget exactly what a monster he could become… Especially with her.
Only with her.
CHAPTER 9
Her pussy was throbbing.
Half an hour after they’d left the Iron Court room and an hour since the last strike of the deliciously painful pussy whipping, Mal was experiencing a pleasant throb and tenderness between her thighs.
Benson had performed aftercare—truncated since they weren’t done for the night. The brief application of a cold pack had done little to stop the throbbing.
The Subs’ Garden was mostly empty at this point in the evening. It was midnight, and the club was hopping, but most people were out in the public areas, or sequestered in playrooms with their partner or partners.
She’d noticed that she and Benson inspired a few double takes on their walk. It took at least five minutes to get from the Iron Court back to the front building that housed not only the club’s entrance hall and probably some offices, but the Subs’ Garden.
Some people who’d noted Benson escorting her—hand on her neck, of course—were those who knew what had happened between them before. Others were those who’d heard Benson’s initial refusals to play the game.
At the gate to the Subs’ Garden, Benson let her go with a quiet command to drop off her corset, change if she wanted, use the facilities if she needed, and get something to drink.
He’d forbidden her from touching her clit or nipples, or taking any kind of painkiller.
Both commands made sense, even if they irked her.
The first irked her because it implied that unless expressly forbidden from doing so, she would masturbate the second she was alone. Submission wasn’t, at least for her, a semantics game where she had to be expressly forbidden from doing anything and everything.
She’d worked hard to understand and embrace the power exchange. Until they were done, she would submit to him in every way she could. That meant understanding and obeying not just explicit orders and commands exactly as phrased, but the spirit of them. He’d told her he wouldn’t be touching her or fucking her in ways that would make her orgasm, and she understood that to mean she wasn’t supposed to touch or fuck herself either.
