He kisses me with those soft yet unyieldingly firm lips. Every kiss is a testament of how he feels for me—softness and craving. Desperation and conflict. I kiss him back with ardor, our tongues creating a dance—fierce and sensual.
I want him to fill me, take care of the ache and leave behind soreness. A dichotomy I don’t care about understanding.
“I’ll tie you up. You will be on display for me. Spread. Bare. I will take you however I please, but tonight, I want you to watch us. Look at how my good girl becomes such a shameless slut for my cock.”
“I’m whatever you want, just stop teasing me.” I don’t recognize the whiny, needy sounds I make. How is it possible for my body to crave more?
Another slap comes, this one straight to my clit, and I arch my back as if wanting to greet the sweet torment instead.
“It’s torture either way. Having you, not having you,” I confess.
He drags me back by the ankles and erases the distance between our bodies. I look up and smile, loving the size difference, knowing I am so delicate he could break me if he wanted.
I must love danger. Nothing makes me feel more alive. But I am afraid I will overdose on adrenaline after years of abstinence.
His big hand splays on my stomach. It almost envelops it fully. An image passes before my eyes of him doing that to my round belly, carrying his child. The pregnancy I will never have. A child that will never happen.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it feels as if we share the invisible loss.
“Don’t know what to do with me?” I taunt him, not wanting the impossible dream to keep us from living our reality.
“Keep pushing me, baby girl.”
The threat reverberates through my core. My pussy walls constrict around air. I want his cock inside of me to fill the emptiness.
“So fucking hot for me,” he says almost reverently before he crawls into bed.
Dragging me onto his lap, he guides his shaft to my entrance. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”
I am about to push myself down when he grips my waist. “Slow. Don’t be greedy.”
I huff, letting him know I am not a fan of delayed gratification.
He chuckles and tips my head back. I get why he wants that. To watch my expression that contorts into pleasure, switches to pain, frustration and ecstasy in a decadent painting of lust as I take him.
By the time my pussy kisses his groin, I am all sweaty and moaning.
“That’s my good girl. So perfect for me,” he groans, his fingers digging into my waist, holding me in place.
I would do anything for his praise.
Fisting his hand in my hair, he nibbles along my neck but stays buried inside. It’s getting harder to breathe. The stretch and fullness drive me mad.
Tears gather in my eyes. “Please…please.”
“Look at my woman, such a mess. You look so beautiful crying for me.”
A tremor rocks me, and I bite into his shoulder, needing him to do something—relieve me of the pressure building inside of me.
He does it with such proficiency, completely shattering my world. He brings my hands to my back and holds them there while he moves inside me with a force that causes the bed to rock.
I am at his mercy. His. Nothing shows it clearer than the absolute grip he has on my body.
Pushing me back, he lifts my knees to my chest and says, “Hold them right there.”
Still a bit cognizant, I hold on to my knees while he fucks my pussy, filling it to the brim. Looking up at the mirror ceiling, I’ve never seen the act like this—like a story our bodies spin, creating a tale of pure passion. My pussy lips stretch, engulfing his cock. He’s so big, and it’s one thing feeling it, but seeing it adds to the eroticism, leaving me breathless.
“You’re going to ruin my pussy.”
