Why do I still continue this role-play game? Why don’t I scream the truth right now? Why can’t I find the final push within me, and instead just let him fuck me anonymously, let him pant over me, let him shove inside…
I lie there, taking him, rocked by small waves of orgasms, one after another, speared by his cock, stretched by his thick length…
But in the throes of pleasure, moans rip from my throat:
"Oh, Bay, yes, yes—"
The stalker doesn’t stop, but I swear his heart races faster, his breath hitches, and I feel his cock pulse inside me.
He came, hearing that.
Still, he doesn’t say a word, just tears off the condoms, slaps on new ones. His hot breath rasps behind the mask.
He spreads my legs, slams back in.
And we start again, my hunger demanding more, harder, faster.
In a way, I feel perverse, yet we both chose this twisted game of secrets.
Why are we doing this?
Maybe because there’s something sick in it, giving up control of my body to the idea of my fated mate’s ghost…
In a way, I’m tormenting myself with the lack of Bay’s real presence, hating myself for sinking into pleasure with just his shadow, which only serves a purpose, helps me, but does not join my everyday life. It is like a concept of a person devoid of reality, of the actual existence. A ghostly figure. Now, I’m simply letting myself wallow in my own twisted arousal.
This wrongness.
This sweet, sweet wrongness.
He slams into me, again and again, minutes pass, and my cock keeps spilling cum, wave after wave of orgasms rocking through my body. My hard nipples jut out right in front of his masked face, is he looking at them?
Or maybe at my face, flushed and sweaty, my wide-open eyes, my tongue dragging over my lips to wet them, dried out from the intensity? Is he staring at my shamelessness?
I feel him glide inside me, a swaying, arcing motion, and it feels like he’s going deeper and deeper every time. I drop a hand to my stomach, pressing it just below my navel, I can feel every thrust there, so damn deep inside me.
His other hand pushes my left thigh aside, making more room, and he tilts my pelvis slightly. Now his cock moves at an angle, stretching me wider, then twists and drives in deeper from another direction. A wild, drawn-out growl escapes me as I’m spread open and drilled by his thick length.
My ass, my cheeks, slide across the forest floor, leaves and twigs digging in, but the stalker doesn’t slow down. His stamina is impressive! Twenty, thirty, forty minutes of
—thrust,
—thrust,
—thrust!
Bam, bam, bam…
Over and over, minutes after minutes…
The wave finally ebbs after a full fifty minutes of being fucked hard and fast, perfectly paced to leave me thoroughly satisfied.
Now I’m just waiting for what comes next.
For the knot!
But he doesn’t knot me. Of course, it doesn’t always happen at the start of heat, it usually expands around the middle, but I still feel a pang of disappointment. I had a plan for what I’d do once we were locked together.
I chose this face-to-face position for a reason.
