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“Such a good boy for me,” I praise, rocking my hips. “Now lift your hand and spit.”
The unmistakable sound of Roman spitting has my entire body lighting on fire and a real moan that’s born in my soul pushes from my lips before I can help it.
He says nothing.
Does nothing.
He’s waiting for me.
Oh, God.
“Take your wet hand and soak your perfect cock for me. Make it nice and slippery, so it’ll fit in my tight little pussy,” I command.
At some point, my eyes close as the mental picture I’m painting takes over. Except in my mind, it’s not a faceless man behind a computer screen, but it’s not the man it should be, either.
Instead, I can’t help but picture my asshole stepbrother being the one filling my cunt with the cock I’ve ached for for years.
My hips continue to rock as I brace the dildo between my legs. With every thrust and roll, my shoulder falls closer and closer to the floor. I moan, the vibrator inside me kicking up a notch.
“I’m already so close, just thinking about the way you’ll feel when you’re finally inside me,” I whimper. “God, it’ll be so good. So perfect.” I bounce my thighs, letting gravity pull me down further on the dildo. “Squeeze your cock harder. Fuck yourself for me, nice and slow.”
I try to mimic the movements I’m telling them. I try to keep it slow and pace myself. But with every roll, every whimper, every tingle sent shooting up my spine, I grow closer to my release, and it’s all because of him.
The sounds of Roman jacking off, the slow, rough pump of his wet palm against his leaking cock is almost too much. He’s panting, trying to stifle it, but I can hear it. It’s almost like he’s bent over me, his breathing harsh and warm against the back of my neck, sending pleasure shooting through my body.
“Oh my God,” I cry. “That’s it. You’re doing so good. You’re so fucking hard, I bet you're throbbing in your hand.” I swallow, finally letting my eyes open.
Like magnets, our eyes meet.
His jeans are undone and pulled down just enough for his cock to be out. It’s as thick and perfect as I remember. And it’s locked in his borderline punishing grip as he slowly strokes himself.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his brows pinched tightly together. His jaw ticks, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he forces himself to swallow. Irritation laces his face, his entire body poised and ready to snap. Yet he still continues to do as I’ve commanded. Continues to follow my lead.
I lick my lips, my every muscle shaking with need, with trepidation.
With fear.
Why am I doing this?
I can’t stop. I can’t let him tell Isaac. I can’t let him share my face with the world. I have to win this silent battle we’re having but why am I so fucking turned on?
He’s an asshole. A bully. He’s the man who loved and left. He breaks things and right now I think he might be breaking me.
“I need you,” I whimper, my eyes still locked on his. His thighs shake as I increase my pace, fucking myself in earnest. “I need you so bad. Fuck me, please. Fuck me hard and fast. I need to come.”
His pace picks up as his body sways toward me. I watch the way his fist tightens as he slides down his length, loosening as he nears his heavy sac. I watch the way his hand curves over his purple mushroom head with every swipe, gathering the wetness coating his cock in a continuous stream.
I watch and match his every movement. I fuck myself exactly how he is, and with every stroke, every whimper and moan, I fall deeper into the pits of depravity.
“That’s it,” I choke out, my eyes burning with tears. “Harder, baby. You’re right there, I feel it. Get ready to come with me.”
Why?
Why?
Why?
“Fuck me like you mean it. Make me feel it. I wanna feel you,” I beg, the words garbled. I don’t even know who I’m talking to anymore.
