Still, I slide between him and the desk, enjoying how his hands go immediately to my hips.
“I do have a wee bit of paperwork to do before we can go home, wife.” He’s still smiling, eyes dark and he doesn’t seem at all apologetic.
“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll find a book and just-”
“No, I’ll be needing your help.” He turns me around, facing the desk.Hands sliding to the globes of my arse, he squeezes them. He pulls my dress up over my hips and swiftly unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, pulling his cock free. It’s already hard, roped with veins, thick. I know how big it is, I’ve had it inside me but looking at it… howdidthat fit in me?
I want him to do it again.
His hand takes my chin and I look back at him. “You’re not wet enough yet,” he says. Still keeping my gaze, he lifts his thumb to his mouth, wetting it and stroking it over my clitoris. "Let me help you be ready to take me," he says, a grin just short of rakish spreading across his face. "So lovely, with your tight little cunt..."
His voice is pure sin as he lowers it, making it deeper as he hears my breathing speed up. "There we go," he approves, "such a good girl, getting wet for me."
I make the smallest squeak, and we both feel a light coat of my slick make his thumb slip and slide between my passage and the tender button he's been circling. My grip on his desk is tightening, and I’m praying I don’t flail awkwardly and knock something very expensive off the surface.
He must think I’m wet enough because he begins sliding into me, groaning a bit as the tip of his cock breaches my opening. I can tell it’s taking every ounce of his self-control to go slowly, and I’m grateful for it because I’m already moaning by the time he’s buried completely inside me. Rotating me slightly by my hips, Dougal takes a deep breath.
"Sweet, lovely girl," he approves, kissing my shoulder and my neck. "Now we'll get to work. Not a word, or you’ll not come tonight."
"Wh- what?"
"You're keeping my cock warm, love. Now remember, not a word or I’ll punish you.” He rotates my hips again, just to hear me moan as he rubs against all those sensitive places high up inside me, the delicate nerves that flare into life as he stretches me against his girth. There’s a burn as he pushes inside me that morphs into heat, feeling him so deep that I can’t imagine there being room for all of him.
“There are just a few documents I must review before I can turn my attention to your luscious pussy."
I’m going to cry. I’m impaled on my husband’s enormous cock and he’s going to dopaperwork?
Tilting my head to kiss my downturned lips, he soothes, "Warm my cock just a bit longer, sweet girl, and I will devote myself to making you come until you pass out."
I’m going to scream. Or cry. Or punch Dougal clean in the mouth.
One of those things must happen because the muscles in my thighs have been trembling for the last twenty minutes or so as he casually surveys the paperwork, at one point balancing a file on my back. I know I’ve gotten his expensive dress pants all wet and I’m spitefully happy about it. Because Dougal MacTavish is torturing me. He is a horrible, nasty man and I hate his fecking guts.
When I look over my shoulder, his eyes are steadily scanning the papers, as if he doesn’t notice that his hand is squeezing my arse, using his grip to move me subtly up and down, sometimes sideways, or back and forth. His cock stays relentlessly hard in me and every time my clit rubs against the hairy base of him I give a rapturous little shudder. An unwilling shudder.
My world has shrunk down to the feel of his hard chest against my back, his hand pushing me down against his desk and making my painfully sensitive breasts rub against it. The scent of him surrounds me; cologne, crisp cotton, and something undefinable about him that smells like how warmth feels. I can hear the soft crinkle of the paper as he turns to another page in the report.
“Pl-”
I freeze in horror. If my legs weren’t like jelly and I even had the strength to lift myself off his lengthy cock, there is no way I can outrun him. Would Dougal punish me by withholding my orgasm? I didn’t even finish the word!
His piercing eyes shoot up from his paperwork, holding my chin steady so I’m forced to keep looking over my shoulder. Just the small change in position makes the head of his cock grind against the top of me. My lip trembles and without even knowing why, my eyes fill with tears and I give a pathetic sniffle.
“My poor wife,” he soothes, “you’ve been my good, patient girl for-” he consults his watch, “for over an hour. I’ll take care of you now.”
My world tilts and I’m still impaled on his cock as he stands, striding over to one of the couches, putting me on my back on the comfortable cushions. Dougal pulls his weighty cock out slowly, carefully. And then slams it back into me.
“OH!”
I’m vaguely aware of how loud I’m moaning, clinging to him as my anchor as he pounds into me. Not careful like the first time when he took my virginity. He’s greedy, as if the last hour of being his cock-warmer was agonizing for him, too. He’s pushing so hard that he’s pressed painfully against the top of me as if his shaft wants to carve out a deeper path.
My diabolical husband is smiling as those agile hips shove against me, his mouth on one breast and his fingers deftly plucking at the other. He rises to his knees, lifting my hips to stay buried in me, looking down with satisfaction to see how wet I am. The sting and stretch of his girth inside me doesn’t fade, he is thrusting into me too fast.
Angling his hips to circle inside me, he finds that painfully sensitive spot at the top of me. The spot my dark husband knows will make me come screaming if he rubs against it. His heat and hardness of his shaft hits it and I gasp, back arching and every muscle strung tight enough to snap like a rubber band.
“Such a good girl,” he praises me, “my perfect girl. You will come now. I want you to soak my cock. Come, love.”
And with one more vicious thrust from him, I do.
