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And bluntly, I want his cock.
He pushes off from the table, looming over me. It feels obscene somehow that I’m a naked mess and he’s still wearing his clothes from dinner, his shirt even tucked in. But I can see the humongous bulge behind his zipper straining to be set free, wanting to be unleashed on me.
He doesn’t take his shirt off, though, or undo his pants. He walks away after a gruff, “Stay there.”
He disappears into my bedroom, and I hear him opening and closing my nightstand drawer. He knows where my toys are, and I’m both excited to see what he comes back with and disappointed because I want his real-life dick, not a silicone one.
He comes back with a new toy, though. At my questioning look, he explains, “Got it from your work stash, already washed and ready. I’ll buy it for us.”
For us. Not for me. For us.
For some reason, that makes a fresh rush of wetness pour from me and my heart race.
There’s just one problem. “I don’t think I can take that monster.”
It’s one of our bigger products, both in girth and length, plus it has vibrating rabbit ears. The silicone is purple glitter, and it’s called the Mad Hatter because this thing will wear your pussy like a hat. It uses you, not the other way around. Plus, you might actually go a bit mad from repeated use.
“You can,” Chance reassures me, sounding certain.
He swipes the head of it through my juices and adds a bit more lubrication from a bottle he also brought from my room. “Breathe,” he tells me as he works the huge dick into my pussy. He lazily strokes over my clit, keeping me aroused as he gets it fully inserted.
In and out he moves it, slowly getting me used to the ridiculous stretch and deep fullness. As my body relaxes, making it easier and easier, he praises me. I cry out, climbing the peak for another orgasm, and Chance asks, “You ready?”
I think he means to come, and I nod woodenly.
That isnotwhat he meant.
Suddenly, he turns the Mad Hatter on, and my entire body vibrates as he holds it fully inside me, stretching me almost to the point of pain as the rabbit ears destroy my clit, buzzing not just on the surface, but through the nerves well into my body’s core. He gives me tiny strokes, staying deep and making the ears bounce against my clit in a punishing rhythm.
I die.
Maybe literally. I’m not sure.
All I know is the entire world goes black, and distantly, I feel my body spasming. I think I scream. I know I squirt everywhere, but only because when I come back from the other side and force my eyes open, I can see the wetness all over Chance’s shirt.
“Ohmagawd... ohmagawd...” I gasp over and over, trying to get oxygen to my brain.
Chance pulls the Mad Hatter from me with care, sets it down with decidedly less, and yanks his tie off. He only gets three or four buttons undone on his shirt before he gives up and rips it over his head. Belt and slacks drop to the floor, and I guess he kicked his shoes off at some point. When he shoves his underwear down, freeing his cock, it’s huge and hard, the tip nearly purple from holding back his orgasm.
He takes himself in hand, stroking roughly. “Told myself this was for you. It’s my apology.” I want to say we’ve already figured this out and that there are no apologies needed, but he’s rambling so fast. “I need to come, Samantha. I don’t deserve it, and I’m sorry... I have to.”
He starts jacking himself, and I sit up, sending sparkles through my vision. Blinking, I put a hand on his, stopping him. He grunts in desperation, and I wonder if my Boy Scout is going to push me down and take me. The idea with Chance is exciting. I love when he goes beyond his own boundaries.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” I tell him again. “Don’t punish yourself.”
He grits his teeth, panting jaggedly as he presses our foreheads together so that he can look deep into my eyes. Of everything else we’ve done, this feels the most intimate, and the most important, and though it’s only a moment, it feels like forever. He starts to say something, but I feel him physically swallow the words and change course.
“Roll over and put that ass right here for me.”
He releases me and steps back, tapping the table.
I do as I’m told—standing up, but bending over to press my cheek to the table, with my ass right in front of Chance. I wiggle enticingly, knowing what we’re about to do and wanting it.
Wanting Chance.
His hands grip my cheeks, squeezing the handfuls of flesh delightfully tight, and I remember warning him about fingerprints on my thigh earlier. Here? On my ass where no one can see them but us, I welcome them and arch for more.
He spanks me twice, hard, and I cry out. “You like that?” he asks. His voice is demanding, daring me to say no, but he’s truly checking on me too.
