“Promise?” I mumble as sleep sinks its claws into me and pulls me under. I fight it, batting my lashes for no reason except to get another glimpse of Branson’s face.
“I promise.”
I wake, groggy and disoriented. I blink a few times to bring the world around me into focus. The air is heavy, the pungent scent of semen impossible to miss, and while the room is dimly lit, there’s a wispy shard of light shining through a crack in the curtains that heralds a new day.
It’s morning.
I slept through the night without waking.
I blink again to orient myself and gradually become more aware of where I am. Of how I am. I’m in my nest, on my belly, with my face mashed into the mattress. My legs are splayed open and two or three pillows have been shoved under my hips. My ass is in the air, gaping hole on display.
My cheeks flush when I realize what I must look like. Arranged for easy access. Positioned for use. Shame rises quickly, hotly, but wires get crossed as it travels upward. It changes, turning into a different kind of heat altogether.
My dick stirs beneath me and my ass twitches. I reach back and finger my opening lightly to check the damage rather than pleasure myself. I find Branson was as good as his word. My hole is loose, heavily used, and leaking profusely. Stretched out and open. So sensitive that even my light touch makes me moan wantonly.
Damn. I’m a mess. A fuck toy with no off switch.
I feel debauched and depraved, and sweet Jesus, I like it.
Beside me, Branson sleeps deeply. He’s on his side, facing me, mouth slightly ajar, breath sawing in and out at regular intervals. He has his hand on my back like he said he would. Palm down, fingers spread. A comforting weight that grounds me.
I lie still because I don’t want him to move his hand. I lie there, a mess and a fuck doll, and watch Branson sleep as I wait for my next heat wave to set me on fire.
Branson is so in tune with my needs that he wakes before I become aware that my temperature is rising. He moves quickly and quietly, swaying slightly from the rigors of sleep as he positions himself behind me.
“Shh,” he whispers as he slots his dick in me. I can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or me.
The sound his first thrust makes is obscene. A loud, slick squelch that clicks as he fills me to bursting. His breath shakes, tiny moans escaping from lips that sound like they’re pressed together. I’m an observer and an object. I don’t move, and I hardly make a sound. I simply receive what he sees fit to give me.
Curiosity creeps up my legs and tickles my arms. I was with him last night when he fucked me…and I wasn’t. I let him into my body, but I can’t remember what he did to me.
I lie as still as I can and try not to make a sound as Branson shows me what I missed.
It turns out that Branson, when no one’s watching him, is tender and gentle. A passionate lover who seems more concerned with my pleasure than his own. He strokes my back and hair. Kisses my shoulder and cheek. He gives me fast, shallow thrusts that tattoo otherworldly pleasure onto my prostate.
Each time I come, he whispers, “Good boy,” saying it in a way that makes him sound proud of me.
I let him fuck me like this until I’m so wildly turned on that I can’t keep still any longer. My hips start moving of their own accord, thrusting back and forth, taking him deeper each time.
“Are you awake, horny boy?” says a hot caramel voice, dripping with sex.
“Yes, alpha,” I cry on the back of a broken moan.
“Are you my horny boy?” He hasn’t spoken to me like this before. Molten and dirty, and possessive in all the right ways. I nod my head with the enthusiasm of a bobblehead shaken hard, and I keen pathetically on his cock. “Work for it then.”
And I do.
I work my ass off for it. Literally. Branson slows his motion to almost nothing, forcing me to buck for every lick of sensation I get. I slam my hips back, arching my back and opening myself as wide as I can, clenching my hole until Branson hisses when I rock them forward. He starts growling, long and loudly. Deep sounds that vibrate up the back of my legs and amplify my pleasure tenfold.
He starts fucking me back in earnest, but only after I beg for it.
Soft slaps become loud echoes, punctuated at regular intervals by long howls of pleasure torn from my throat. I milk him and milk him until my vision whites out and the jet of semen Branson plants in me triggers my orgasm.
I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think I might come even harder than I did yesterday. I didn’t think it was possible, but if the way my balls feel right now is anything to go by, I’ve never busted like this before.
When it’s done, when I’ve come as hard as I possibly can and have gratefully received every drop of Branson’s load, he shuffles me to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. I’m shaky in a different way today. It’s not my legs that are affected now. It’s my insides. My core. It’s the middle of whatever it is that makes me myself.
The cold water hits me, but does nothing to subdue me. All it does is make the space between Branson and me slippery.
