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Oh my God. Anyone could walk in here right now and see what we’re doing.
But instead of that realization being followed up by a flash of horror, it’s the thrill of excitement that sizzles my insides.
“Pollyanna. These are a crime against nature.” He slides his fingers under the top of the pantyhose and he rips them, along with my underwear, down to mid-thigh, so my legs are locked by the band of the hose. Then he runs his hand between the globes of my ass, to my pussy, and he sinks two fingers into my slit.
“Yes,” I gasp, hunching over.
“No, Pollyanna, you don’t get this. I’m just preparing you.” He uses my juices—and damn, I’m so wet and slippery he glides all over the place, making me insane—to paint my asshole.
My eyes in the mirror widen. “No, please don’t.”
“You’re mine, and you’re so fucking wet that I don’t even need lube.” He presses a finger into my asshole, and then after sliding it in and out, he adds another, using more of my juices to wet his cock.
He scissors his fingers, opening me.
“I need to come, Pollyanna. I need a nice tight hole, and your cunt is so fucking hungry that it’ll feel like a reward if I fuck you there.”
I whimper.
“Master, please…”
“What? Fuck my pretty asshole? Or don’t?” He rubs the head of his cock there and my pussy throbs.
He can’t… He won’t…
Mercer pulls his fingers free and lines himself up. “Relax, Pollyanna.”
I try. I’m biting my lip. He starts to toy with my clit.
He’s a brutal master. And he knows what he’s doing. It’s a study in sheer efficiency. He works my clit with sure strokes and pinches while his cock presses against my ass.
And within seconds, I come. It’s a sharp, jumping orgasm, focused on my clit. A heated wild wave of intensity follows, and then he pushes into me.
I cry out because there’s a little pain. But he doesn’t slam into my asshole. He stays, still letting me get used to him, to the feeling of him stretching me. It’s weird and invasive.
He wants to thrust deep. It’s there in the absolute stillness to him. He wants to go all out and pleasure himself. But he doesn’t.
“I’m giving you a pass, Pollyanna, since this is your first time. Relax. I’m going to go slow.”
He edges into me until he’s balls deep. That’s when he starts to move. Gentle, shallow thrusts, and his gaze is on me in the mirror. I try and enjoy it. But it’s just odd. And he uses that hand between my legs to stroke my folds, almost a way to distract me from the burning sensation.
I don’t know when the sensation changes, but it does. One minute I’m not sure, the next it’s nice, then it’s better than nice.
His cock stretches me, but it feels good, like there are all kinds of things for him to touch and arouse inside me.
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Oh?” he asks.
“That’s…” I gasp. “Oooh…”
“Oooh, it is.”
“Asshole.”
“That’s Sir Asshole, Pollyanna.”
I half laugh, even though my body is warming up and wanting more.
