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“Keep it in.”
My eyes widen, attempting to look at his face from my position.
“Keep Daddy’s cum inside your mouth.” He repeats his order sternly as he pulls out of my mouth. “Just stay still…” He leaves the threat hanging in the air as I keep my lips tight, struggling against the need to swallow.
My hands curl into fist, fighting against my instinct to protest.
I’m squirming, desperate for more pleasure, spreading my thighs open while I stay on my knees. There’s a promise of more to come. I can see it on his face. I just have to be his good girl.
His smile softens as he caresses my hair. At the same time, he brings his other hand to my mouth, and I’m reminded of what he’s been holding the whole time.
I’m about to pull away when he shakes his head. “Let me. Please, I know how much you’ll love this. Let me pleasure you.”
I tremble in his hold when he presses the black ball against my lips. “Open. And don’t let Daddy’s cum spill.”
I open my mouth, wrapping my lips around it as much as I can, letting him gag me. Time becomes meaningless as I do exactly what he tells me. Rubber keeps my mouth wide open, and when it touches my tongue, it enhances the taste of his cum, and somehow, I become more desperate for him.
My heart kickstarts when I feel his cum at the corner of my lips. My wild eyes search for reassurance in his as I moan around the gag.
“You can let it go now,” he murmurs. “Daddy wants to see his cum dripping from your mouth.”
It takes all of me to not let my eyes roll to the back of my head as I feel myself getting wetter.
Your brother’s best friend telling you such dirty words shouldn’t make you feel like butterflies of pleasure are fluttering their wings in your lower stomach. It shouldn’t make you feel like electricity is zapping directly from your clit. Like there’s an ache inside you that needs to be pressed against.
There’s a pounding need inside me. I need Chris to satiate it.
How low can I fall?
I’m on my knees in front of the man who broke my heart, his cum spilling from my lips, and a ball gag stopping me from swallowing.
Merry. Fucking. Christmas.
“My beautiful girl.” The rumble of pleasure in his voice makes me tremble. “Touch yourself where you want me to make you feel good.”
Inhaling a shaky breath through my nose, I lower my hand between my parted thighs.
My ankles are strained from kneeling. My knees will be bruised in the morning.
But the silk against my skin feels good. It’s soft, and it sticks to my sweaty body.
And the wetness against the tips of my index and middle fingers as I slip them between my pussy lips is a deliverance.
Shame is a strange thing. It’s dangerous because it makes me feel alive.
Pleasure and humiliation are two sides of the same coin for me. It’s only in rare situations that they come separately.
When I’m with Chris, I don’t even care to think about why I’m this way. I don’t care for explanations. I just want tofeel.
I want to feel the excitement in my chest as I graze my clit with my fingers.
I want to feel the liquid bliss running through my veins as I press them against my soaking entrance, and as I push inside my pussy and feel myself contracting from the pleasure.
I would die a happy woman if the last thing I hear is Chris Murray’s pride as he says, “Look at you, baby. You are such a good girl for me.”
I moan around the gag, spit joining the cum running down my chin. My hips buck to meet my hand as I fuck myself in front of him.
My eyes flutter closed because that’s what helps deal with the shame the most. Suddenly, it’s okay that I’m humiliating myself in front of a man I know is not good for me. In front of someone who uses me behind the pretense of still loving me.
