“Yes,” he hissed.“Such a tight fuckhole.”
His cock burned as it pushed deep before pulling back again. I felt completely open and exposed, but I forced myself to relax.
It worked.
After several thrusts I felt the soft fabric of his trousers brushing against my ass and thighs.
Each dull slap of contact pushed the air from my lungs until I was gasping between the movements.
Then he began slapping my ass.
“You follow my instructions.”
SLAP.
“No venting between us. Some sass is permissible.”
SLAP.
The strikes continued.
I lost count.
Every time I felt myself getting close to coming, he slowed or shifted the rhythm, dragging my focus somewhere else. I was like a junkie chasing the high while he kept moving the finish line.
His hands slid beneath me.
I felt the damp heat of sweat as he cupped my breasts.
His fingers rolled my nipples between them until a helpless whimper escaped me.
My ass burned from the spanking.
That I could handle.
This teasing?
Not so much.
Then he began moving again.
Slowly at first, building the rhythm.
This time there was no pain.
Only pleasure.
I moaned again and again, trying to beg him the only way I could.
He pinched my nipples before soothing the ache with his palms.
“You can come now,” he murmured as his hands slipped away.
I stared down at the growing pool of spit beneath me.
Finally.
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
