The noises coming from me are obscene, but so are the groans emanating from Damien’s mouth. Something about knowing I’m responsible for each moan, the sheen of sweat across his forehead, the glazed look in his eye, melts my core.
I’m on my knees, a pose that couldn’t be more submissive, but I don’t feel his domination as weakness, not today, especially not when I’m the one who leans forwards, swallowing him deeper, holding steady even as my throat works, exulting in the noises torn from his throat.
It’s power.
Embracing everything he can give me, eagerly opening my throat as he continues thrusting, using me, face fucking me until I’ve lost track of reality.
The world narrows, just chances to gulp in air, the urge to gag and the strain of my throat muscles convulsing. My knees ache from the hard cement, the pulse in my centre growing ever more insistent, thighs squeezing in a desperate bid for friction.
Damien’s clamping fingers release me, pulling me off his cock, leaving my mouth unbearably empty.
As I squint up at him through watering eyes, he strokes his cock once, twice, then his cum spurts free, slashing onto the dirty concrete in front of me. Some hits my knee, burning hot. Pumping again and again until he’s spent, wiping the last few drops from his tip.
“Have a taste,” he says, and his fingers fill the void left by his cock, pushing deep into my mouth, rubbing his seed over my tongue in a burst of smoke and salt.
When he pulls back, I lean forward, coughing and choking as I gulp in air, spit still dripping from my chin. Barely aware.
“Aren’t you going to undo the cuffs?” I finally ask, awkwardly wiping away the worst of my dribbling tears and spit.
“Only when you clean up the mess.”
Damien squats level with me, his fingers soft at first, then hardening as he pushes my face towards the ground. I stare at the spots on the filthy concrete, stomach pulling.
“Go ahead, be a good slut for me and you might still earn a reward.”
I tell myself I’m just obeying so he’ll set me free, so the recording will look more incriminating, but that doesn’t explain why my thighs are clamped hard together. It’s not the reason my entire body is on fire.
I extend my tongue gingerly towards the first splash, the spreading patches dark splotches against the lighter pavers. Easily visible since my head’s barely an inch above the ground.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs as I lick his release from the dirty concrete. “Get every drop. Show me how much you like it.”
I’m fighting with myself. Body against mind. Shame warring with a low, dirty excitement. This should be humiliating, it is, but beyond that is a drive to obey and be rewarded.
On my first lick, the grit, the foul taste, remind me of the park attack, but I swallow and go back for more. Damien’s somehow hijacked my brain. This isn’t me… yet every command feels so right.
“That’s perfect.” He pulls me upright, his arm an iron support around my waist. “Poke out your tongue.”
He sucks it into his mouth, the rhythmic pull matching the throb between my thighs.
“So filthy,” he growls, voice thickening into a stranger’s. “But so obedient.”
He delves beneath my kilt, fingers hooking aside my underwear, damp with arousal. His kiss is bruising, possessive as he walks me backward until my spine hits the mildewed wall.
“You got so wet.” His fingers slide through the slick heat between my legs, teasing around my swollen clit. “You loved that, didn’t you? Being on your knees for me.”
“No.” But my hips buck against his hand, chasing the friction.
“Liar.” He slides two fingers inside me, thumb still working my clit in tight circles. “Your cunt’s telling me everything I need to know.”
I open my mouth, but Damien presses a finger to my lips. “Shh. Not a sound. We don’t want anyone coming to investigate.”
Reminding me there’s an entire school beyond this doorway and flapping tarp. Tempting me with the threat of discovery.
Damien’s gentle strokes build into something rougher until I’m writhing with need and pleasure, biting my lips not to scream. His other hand fists in my hair, holding me in place against the shed wall. Despite my efforts, small noises escape, whimpers and gasps that echo off the corrugated iron.
“That’s it.” His voice drops to a growl. “Come so my fingers are covered in your sweet juices. Soak my hand.”
The need gathers in my core, and he claims my mouth, stealing my gasps as the need builds, teetering on the edge.
