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Ansel let out a deep, satisfied groan when he found the damp spot on the front of my panties. I felt so wet; it was practically dripping down my legs. Before he had knelt down, I saw the outline of his erection snaking down his leg, evidence of his own arousal. Seeing his cock outlined against his jeans quickly reminded me that it had been a while since I had touched him in the alley, and I had forgotten how girthy he really was.
I wonder what he tastes like, I thought, my mouth watering.
Ansel stretched the seam of my panties to the side, apparently too eager to take the time to pull them off and dipped his chin down towards the soft curls there. Carter preferred my pussy to be shaved and smooth, so I had been shaving religiously the past eight years. I always told myself I didn't mind, but the growing out period—the razor bumps followed by the itchiness—was always miserable and never worth the two days of smooth skin. It was nice taking a break from the rigorous grooming.
Ansel didn't seem to mind at all; he stared at my cunt like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. One of the many reasons why he was leagues above Carter.
I shuddered as Ansel dragged his flattened tongue down my slit, reaching all the way towards my ass and back again, moving at a painfully slow pace. I was all for taking it slow and exploring each other’s bodies, but not tonight. I was desperate for his cock, and I was close to combusting if he made me wait a moment longer. I reached over my body and threaded my fingers through his hair, pulling him away from my cunt and forcing him to look up. He narrowed his eyes at me as if I was the one delaying his pleasure.
“I can’t wait any longer, Ansel. I want—need you inside of me. Now.” I tried mimicking his bossy tone, but I was trembling too much to sound even close to authoritative. Whatever, he got the point.
He quirked a dark eyebrow at me. Instead of answering, he dragged his finger up and down through my folds, a gasp escaping my lips when the pad of his finger drew too close to my swollen clit. “She hijacks one meeting and now thinks she’s in charge?” he mused to himself, his lips glossy with my desire curling into a wicked grin.
“I didn’t—hijack—anything!” I said between gasps as he rolled over my clit, applying more and more pressure.
“Hmph.” He made a deep sound as if he didn’t believe me. “Honestly, lass, I’m so used to being the boss; I enjoyed seeing you step in and take charge. I am surprised how much it turned me on.” My pussy made an obscenely wet sound as he penetrated it with two thick fingers with no warning. I gasped as my body stretched to accommodate him. Fuck, if this was how it felt with just his fingers, how was I supposed to take his cock? We would have to take it slow. Really slow.
“No sex tonight,” he decided after some time. “Not while your ankle is hurt.”
He didn’t give me time to offer my rebuttal—I physically couldn’t—as he slowly dragged his fingers in and out of me, the wet sound growing louder. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I arched my pussy to the sky as he hooked his fingers against the sensitive spot inside my inner walls and tapped it. He groaned against my skin as he sucked my clit, gripping his free hand under my ass as he held me in place, forcing his mouth even closer.
“Ansel,” I whined, the rising pleasure too much to bear. I gripped the sheets as I came fast and hard; my pleasure melting into one full-body pulse. I sighed as the pulse slowly bled into little waves of pleasure. I was ready to tell him to change positions with me, him on the bed and me kneeling on the floor, so I could finally taste that cock I had been dreaming about.
“Oh, we're not done yet,” he murmured, holding my body steadfast when I tried rolling out of his hands. “That was just the warm-up. I'm just getting started. Lift your legs.”
I was too delirious to argue with him. He lifted my ankles, so they hung off his shoulders, bringing him even closer to my swollen skin. “I need some more time. I think I may be too sensitive to go again,” I said. I had heard women had shorter refractory periods but had never bothered to experiment.
“Well, then I'll just get to enjoy you until you're ready to go again,” he murmured, his breath tickling my skin. Already, my cunt was tightening at the thought. Maybe I was ready for round two . . .
Ansel spent the rest of the time fucking me with his mouth and his fingers. Fucking was the only word I could think of to describe what he did to me, bringing me to orgasm again and again as if his life depended on it. He whispered dirty words into my cunt, groaned as he told me how he had never tasted anything so sweet, and brought me over the edge until my voice was raw from crying out. When I thought he was done, he coaxed one last climax out of me. It felt good but was much weaker than my earlier ones.
The mattress dipped as he collapsed next to me on the bed, his forehead covered with sweat, and his chest moving up and down as he breathed heavily.
“I didn't know we were training for a marathon,” I said, pressing a hand to his chest. His heart pounded against my skin like he really had run a marathon.
He huffed out a laugh. I looked down, not surprised to see his cock still achingly hard. Geez, it looked painful. I don't know how he managed that. At one point, I thought I felt him rubbing his crotch against the side of the bed, but I was so delirious with pleasure, I could have been imagining things.
“Your turn,” I said. I raised myself to my elbows and reached towards his jeans, ready to undo his belt and release that poor cock that needed my attention.
He caught my hand midair. “Not tonight, lass,” he said in a stern voice. “You need to sleep.”
For the first time since being here, I woke up before Ansel. After a couple of hours of dreamless sleep, my body forced me awake. Everything was sore from my neck to my toes—my entire body felt like one giant bruise. Though the sky was still dark outside, I probably had an hour or so before Ansel woke up, so I decided to get up and start my day. I crawled out of bed, careful not to disturb Ansel too much.
On my way towards the bathroom, I paused to admire his body. Sometime during the night, he had stripped out of his shirt and shucked off his jeans. Orcs must run hot, because he hadn’t accepted the edge of the blanket I offered him last night. He slept on his side, and I could see the stretched muscles in his bicep as he slept with his arm tucked over his head, covering his face. I let my eyes rove down a little lower, my cheeks burning at the sight of his morning wood. Would it be called morning wood if his erection had started last night?
How he could sleep like that was beyond me. If Ansel wanted to give himself blue balls, so be it, but his—ahem—condition was the reason I had barely slept last night. How could I, when that was bumping into my ass the entire night, as if to remind me it was still there? As if I could forget.
I groaned to myself as I tip-toed into the bathroom, closing the door behind me, my body sore enough that it did indeed feel like I had sex with Ansel last night—the good, break your headboard kind of sex I had always dreamed about. I stopped in front of the mirror, ignoring the puffy bags under my eyes and my brown hair standing in all different directions. I leaned into the glass to examine the purple handprint across my neck. I pressed a finger into the bruise, wincing a little. It hurt, but definitely looked worse than it felt. I think the only reason my throat was so raw was because I had spent half the night pleading with Ansel for the delicious release he gave me over and over again.
The fact that Ansel and I didn’t have sex together last night was still bothering me, niggling at me from the far corner of my brain. I could understand the why: after the day I had, he didn’t want to hurt me any further.
Even though I understood it, it still bothered me, like there was more than just the obvious reason. The fact he wouldn’t let me return the favor—his entire body clenched as soon as my hand started traveling south towards his belt—only confirmed my fears that he was using my own orgasms to distract me.
But why? Was he self-conscious about his body? I shook my head. Definitely not that. He walked around the warehouse with BODE–Big Orc Dick Energy. He knew what he was packing and from his swagger, knew how to use it well.
Did he have some very specific kink where he only liked to have sex with clothes on? Maybe . . . but still, something deep inside me knew that wasn’t the reason.
Maybe he doesn’t actually like you and he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you?
