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He holds my gaze as he begins to fuck me with his gun. Each time he sinks it into me, I feel his fingers, grasped around the handle, rubbing against my clit. In-out-in. My breasts seem to swell and my thigh muscles tremble, but I refuse to look away. I refuse to let him see how much he’s surprised me; how he’s almost succeeded in making me submit. This show of dominance… It’s feral and menacing… and wild. And sexy. I shouldn’t be turned on by his actions, but I am. What he’s doing is so wrong, and yet... There’s something indefinably forbidden, something debauched and undeniably titillating. A heaviness settles low in my belly and goosebumps crackle across my skin as he leans into me. Heat spools off of his body and slams into my chest. The force of his dominance pins me down and I gasp.
"Who do your moans belong to, Princess?" he growls.
"You."
He lowers his chin to his chest and his golden eyes seem to slice through more of my defenses.
"You, what?" he growls.
"You... Master," I whisper.
A flush stains his cheeks. A sheen of sweat coats his hairline. He's as turned on as me. As anticipatory of what is to come. As greedy to enjoy my inevitable plummet into submission, as I am to worship his authority over me.
He wraps his arm under my thigh and squeezes, and a jolt of sensation digs its claws into my belly.
"Who does your every breath belong to?" he snaps.
"You... Master.
He bends and locks his lips around a swollen nipple. He sucks on it, then releases it with a pop, before peering up at me. "Who do your breasts belong to?"
"You," I whimper.
"And your cunt? Who does your pussy belong to?"
"You."
"Damn right." A look of fierce satisfaction crosses his features. "You belong to me, Princess. You are mine, and if any man dares look at you again, I’ll kill him, do you understand?"
I nod, and color flushes his face. He slides the gun inside of me again, and the friction is too much. A trembling grips me, my back bows, sensations scream up my legs and my thighs, and coalesce in my belly. The climax threatens to overpower me and that’s when he pulls his gun back. My orgasm pauses, flutters up my spine, then evaporates.
"No, no, no," I snarl, "you can’t do this."
"I can."
"Why won’t you let me come?"
"It’s called edging, baby."
"I know what it’s called."
"Do you, now?" He brings the barrel of the gun to my mouth. "Lick it, Princess."
I curl my tongue around the tip of the gun. The sweet taste of my cum, layered with the metallic taste of the gun, sinks into my taste buds. For some reason, that turns me on even more. He drags the gun down my throat, leaving a trail of my cum and saliva in its wake. This blending of bodily fluids feels filthy, dirty, and hot. Clearly, being with him is bringing out my inner slut. He wipes the gun on my blouse, then slides it into the back of his pants.
He steps back, looks me up and down. "Cazzo, you look so fucking hot. If we didn’t have to be at City Hall, I’d fuck you right now."
"Why don’t you, asshole?"
"Cause we have a date, you and I, darling."
"Date? I didn’t agree to any date…" I blink. "Hold on a second, what do you mean by City Hall?"
"Exactly that, sweetheart."
"Don’t trust it when you pepper your sentences with endearments," I grumble.
"Maybe you’ll trust me, now that I almost made you come?"
