His fingers slid from my arse to my pussy, circling until I coated them. I shut my eyes when he chuckled and wiped them on my back.
“Now we both know how much you love cock up your arsehole,” he gloated.“Go on. Make me come.”
I braced my hands on the floor, ignored the ache in my knees, and began to rock. Slow at first—then faster as I loosened for him.
I hated myself for enjoying it.
I hated them for what they made me become.
And I hated Nick most of all for never letting up.
But I didn’t stop fucking his cock.
The bitterness drove me on.
“Fuck, yeah,” he hissed, gripping me again.
This time he dragged me up and down his length.
“Dirty little arse slut,” he growled, speeding up.
I stared straight ahead, fixing on the canvas on the back wall.
It didn’t stop my body from moving with him.
Swallowing every inch.
Letting him use me.
“Nice and open for me now,” he growled.
I kept breathing.
Moving.
Watching the red and yellow paint blur together—dark brown pooling in the corner.
The chair scraped. His legs pressed against mine. His fingers slid to my pussy.
No.
But my arse clenched around him.
He said something.
Flesh slapped against flesh—like last night.
I breathed until I couldn’t.
Until I came for him.
Until I heard his moan.
He pulled out suddenly.
Cool air hit my open arsehole.
My empty pussy still fluttered.
