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And he’s delivering.
Like Fed-motherfucking-Ex.
He lets my disappointment hang heavy in the air for a solid five seconds before continuing my punishment. “Open that mouth and throat.”
So fucking sexy when he talks like a bad boy. I’m so wet there might be a puddle when I finally get off my knees.
After filling my lungs with a deep breath, I do as he orders and brace myself for what’s about to come.
Him.
Down my throat, hopefully.
I can’t resist squeezing my thighs together again and pulsing my hips, attempting to ease the need between my legs with the briefest hint of pressure.
He slides his thick cock back into my mouth roughly, thrusting himself good and deep.
Ecstasy. That’s what this is.
Everythingabout this encounter is hot as hell. His anger. The domination. The degrading comments. Being at his mercy. Bringing him gratification. Having to earn him, desperate for his praise.
And most of all… Ilovehis cock.
His is the reason penises were invented.
“You’re such a dirty girl for enjoying the way I’m wrecking your mouth. You’re taking me so deep.Fuck. I bet you can’t wait until I paint your throat with my cum.”
A heavy weight evaporates from my shoulders, making me lighter with each stroke. With every degrading word he uses, he cleanses my soul, giving me a cathartic release.
It doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t it be the opposite?
It’s illogical, but each time I gag and choke on him, I somehow feel lighter.
“You’re dying to taste my release, aren’t you, my thirsty girl?”
The dirty talk might be my undoing.
Given his breakdown a few minutes ago, he’s not used to indulging in this type of dominant behavior.
But you’d never know it, because he’s nailing it.
I’m ruined.
When my satisfied moan slips free, I worry he might stop, simply to deny me any enjoyment. Honestly, stopping right now is the only way he can make me suffer.
Ineedto feel his liquid heat pulsing down my throat— I’m rabid for it.
If he denies me his cum, I’ll cry. Real tears. Not the ones in my eyes now from gagging and gasping for air.
“Play with your tits,” he demands between grunts.
My lashes flicker to blink away the haze of moisture. The expression he wears threatens to break my heart.
Not because he’s angry or frenzied. It’s the glimpses of anguish shining through the pleasure, hidden right under the surface.
The conflict raging inside him is clear as crystal. Even if I didn’t have a lifetime of reading people to draw upon, I’d still recognize that look.
Iknowhe likes doing this to me. Punishing me and degrading me. Using my body. Bossing me around.
