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The last made her pause. James usually preferred that she keep her eyes on him in a scene, and if he felt otherwise, he’d either tell her or blindfold her. But there was a level of protocol to this scene that was at odds with how they normally played, and she just wasn’t sure what he’d want this time.
She shrugged and lowered her eyes. If she was doing it wrong, he’d correct her, and since she could hear muffled footsteps on the carpeted basement stairs, she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.
She drew a deep breath as the footsteps got closer, then let it out slowly and forced her muscles to relax. She was a little surprised to realize how turned on she was already, and how frustrated. The open position of her thighs made it impossible to get any friction to her swollen pussy, and the cool wash of air over the spread folds was a delicate caress, a tease that made her yearn for a firmer touch. The urge to slip a hand between her legs, just for a second, was almost overwhelming.
Then the footsteps stopped, and the door swung open, and she didn’t have time. But it didn’t matter, because he was here.
She kept her eyes down, but her peripheral vision was excellent. He’d dressed as he usually did for work, in tailored grey slacks and a thin black sweater. His sleeves were pushed up to his forearms, his favorite silver watch glinting on his left wrist.
For some reason, the combination of partially bared forearm and the thick watch on his wrist had always made her mouth water. Which, of course, he knew.
He didn’t look at her as he toed off his shoes and kicked them to the side. Didn’t say a word when he walked toward her, unzipping his pants. Saliva pooled in her mouth when he pulled his cock through the fly, already hardening. He fisted it, giving it a couple of solid pumps, the silence stretching between them. Then he reached out with his other hand, shoved it into her hair and yanked her head back.
Her eyes widened and she jerked in shock, gulping back the cry that rose in her throat at the sudden sharp pain. Her eyes flew up to his face, which was harsh and hard and slightly blurred because, dammit, she’d forgotten her glasses again. His cock hit her cheek, a sharp slap that made her flinch once more, then he dragged it across her face to her lips and said, “Open your fucking mouth.”
She obeyed immediately, the harsh words hitting like body blows, and saliva pooled in her mouth in anticipation. He shoved his cock all the way to the back of her throat, wrapped both hands around her head, and began to fuck her face.
Oh, my God.Amanda’s hands clenched into fists on her thighs, her eyes watering as James drove his cock into her throat. This wasn’t a blowjob—it was a skull fucking. He was masturbating with her throat, and the only effort required of her was to let him.
Thegluck, gluck, glucksounds of a wet, sloppy blowjob filled the room. Drool spilled from her lips, dripping down her chin and onto her breasts. She kept her mouth open and her tongue out, timing her breaths to his thrusts and fighting to suppress her gag reflex. He was hitting the back of her throat with every plunge, triggering a reflexive spasm that obviously felt great to him and scared the crap out of her, because oh, God, she didn’t want to puke on him.
But she didn’t, and gradually she relaxed a little. He wasn’t going any deeper, and she had the rhythm of it now. With the panic receding, she was hyperaware of her growing arousal.
Her cunt was pulsing in time with her heartbeat, her excitement growing as he continued to use her for his pleasure. She managed to catch a glimpse of his face on the backstroke, and he wasn’t even looking at her. He really was using her like an object, a thing that would help him get off and no more, and the realization was both disturbing and arousing.
Delightfully, frighteningly arousing.
She wasn’t his wife now, the woman he lived with and laughed with and loved so beautifully, so completely. She was a vessel for his lust, a thing to be used. The thought reverberated through her mind, bouncing around like a ping pong ball as his cock battered her throat and her drool dripped onto her tits. She felt small, diminished in this role as his fuck toy, nothing but a receptacle for his cock. Small, diminished…and so fucking turned on she was stunned to find herself making the slow but inexorable climb to orgasm with no more stimulation than the cock in her throat.
Her clit pulsed, aching for friction. Her pussy felt empty, aching to be filled. His fingers dug into her hair, scraping against her scalp, holding her still while he plunged, retreated, and plunged again. His cock was like steel against her tongue, and every thrust pushed her higher.
She wondered wildly if she’d actually be able to come like this, without even touching her aching cunt. She wanted to shove a hand between her legs and fuck herself to orgasm, but though he hadn’t specified ‘no masturbating’ for this particular scene, it was one of James’ standing rules that she had to ask for permission. So she kept her hands fisted on her thighs as he continued to use her with no regard for her pleasure.
Fuck, it was so hot.
“Fuck, this is hot,” he muttered. He dug his fingers in harder, jerking her head up slightly. “Good, fuck toy. Give me more.”
Her eyes widened, alarm rising sharply when he drove in again, deeper this time, pushing ruthlessly into her throat. The muscle revolted, her throat spasming, lurching in warning. Panicked, she fought it, struggled to battle back the urge to cough, to vomit, as he shoved himself so deep that her face was buried in the open fly of his slacks.
“Take it,” he muttered, his fingers tight on her head. She jerked in his hold, but he merely tightened his grip. “I said take it, goddammit.”
She battled shame and bile as he held her there, smothered in his pants, his cock filling her throat. She struggled to breathe, to see, tothinkpast the riot of emotions swirling through her. Fear and humiliation and dark, urgent lust tangled together in a messy stew, and all the while he continued to talk, the words raining down on her like acid, sharp and sweet.
“Fuck toy,” he muttered, hips jerking as he fought to get deeper. “Come dumpster. That’s what you are, just a collection of holes for me to dump my come into. If you puke on me, I’ll beat you bloody, then toss you out into the snow. You hear me, cunt?”
I hear you, she wanted to say, but could only gurgle on his dick. Her air was cut off, her focus narrowed to the fight to keep still. The threat seemed huge and real, though the rational part of her mind knew he didn’t mean it, that the threat was just part of the role, part of the game. But in the moment, in the heat and the mean of it with her lungs straining for air, it was very real. She fought against the panic, against her own body, eager to give him what he wanted so he’d give her what she needed.
More.
He jerked back, pulling free from her mouth. She sputtered, spraying saliva, her chest heaving and tears streaming down her face. He let go of her head so abruptly that she fell forward, off balance, landing hard on her hands. She stayed there, head bent, and continued to suck in precious air.
Through her streaming eyes she saw his feet move away, then he was back, his hand in her hair, dragging her up on her knees again. “Get up,” he said, his voice hard and cold and impersonal. “Hold still.”
She saw the flash of red in his hands, then he was fitting the shiny ball of the gag into her mouth. He pushed her head forward to buckle the straps at the back and stepped away again.
He snapped his fingers. “Get over here.”
She gained her feet, wobbling a little until she found her balance, then followed him to the foot of the bed. Her jaw, already sore from the forceful skull-fucking, strained to accommodate the ball gag, and embarrassment rolled over her in a hot wave when she began drooling again.
