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Sam isn’t a man of many words, but fuck, sometimes few are enough. I keep a tight grip on him as I lower myself. I lick the head once, twice, listening to his breathing relax and his heart accelerate. I go to the base with my tongue and lick the entire length slowly.
“Shit,” Sam sighs. He readjusts slightly, falling a bit lower in his seat and tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
I lick my lips and smile. He tastes so delicious. Stretching my jaw wide, accustomed to his ridiculous girth, I slowly take him in, keeping my lips tight around him and my tongue flat against his now steel-hard dick.
His stomach tenses as I take my time going up and down. I angle my neck, bobbing my head and making sure to take him all in. I come up slightly, letting him go, and run my hand against his wet cock. I add more by spitting in my palm. Then I take him back in and grab his balls with my wet hand. When I go up, leaving the base free, I put my hand there and hold him tight. When I come back down, I make sure to move my hand away and push him to the back of my throat until I can swallow him down.
He grunts loudly, pleasure rippling through his body, and puts a hand at the back of my head. He grabs my hair tightly and pushes me down.
“Deeper,” he orders in a hoarse voice. I choke around him, spluttering spit everywhere. My gag reflex kicks in and instead of letting go, he pushes harder.
I moan a complaint around his length, and he tightens his grip. “More.”
When I feel like I’m past my limit, tears running down my face and an impossibility to breathe sending my heart into panic mode, he pushes further. My hands come up, one on his thigh, one on his seat, and I attempt to push back.
“Hands,” he growls.
His training is embedded so deep inside me, that’s all my body needs to shift into action. My hands move behind my back, and I grab my left wrist with my right hand, losing all balance and control over my head movement.
“Good boy,” he grins.
He uses my mouth further, one hand on the steering wheel, one tight in my hair. The noises reverberating in the car are loud and obscene, humiliating me and making me horny all the same.
“Rachel?” he croons.
“What.” While her answer is crisp, snapped, her voice is a low rasp, full of desire that I didn’t expect. I don’t need to see her to understand that this desperately turns her on.
“Touch yourself, love,” Sam orders with a finality that leaves no room for debate.
41
RACHEL
Often– The Weeknd
His words resonate in my head, hitting every corner of my brain until I’m dizzy from them.
Touch yourself, love.
He’s not looking at me and I’m not making a sound, but he knows. He knows how wet I am from watching Lik choke on him. From witnessing the control he exercises on him. I’m baffled. Because I know it’s not the men themselves who turn me on.
It’s power.
I understand the need to submit to Sam. There is something about him that doesn’t leave you a choice. Something that forces you to bow for him, to fall at his feet and beg him for mercy, all the while hoping he won’t give you any.
But the authority? The control, the strength to convince someone to give away all their free will and give you complete ownership of them. It’s thrilling.
My hand is halfway down my jeans before I realize I moved it. The sound of Lik going down on Sam, taking him all in and giving all he has to pleasure his boyfriend, brings electricity to my clit. It’s like my whole body buzzes to the rhythm of Lik’s bobbing head. He moans around Sam’s dick, and that’s all I need to slip my hand under my underwear.
I’m not thinking anymore, simply following my most instinctive need. I bring a finger to my entrance and spread the wetness all the way to my clit. A long sigh leaves me as I press the pad of my index finger to my clit. I start rubbing, doing it the way I love, pressing hard and changing the rhythm to match my needs. Lik chokes, and a moan escapes me.
“We’ll come together, love,” Sam grunts with pleasure. “Better hurry before Lik passes out.”
“Shit,” I sigh. My clit is so swollen and wet, my finger slips. I bring two to cover a bigger surface, rubbing and pressing harshly, ensuring I bring myself as much pleasure as I want.
Right now, I don’t need someone to figure out what I like. No one to pick the wrong rhythm, the wrong pressure, to bring me close and accidentally lose the right spot. No, I know exactly what to do, and I don’t tease myself. I go for it, flicking and even slapping when I feel I’m close. Sam’s harsh breathing brings me to the edge, and my moans get shorter, sharper.
“Fuck,” I let out uncontrollably.
