I love this.
I love the feeling of him inside me, the way he fills me, the way he possesses me. I love the loss of control, the surrender, the feeling of being completely and utterly at his mercy.
He starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that's designed to torment, to tease. He's drawing this out, making me wait, making me want.
My hips move with him, a silent, instinctual plea for more.
His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, a clear, unyielding control. He's the one in charge. He's the one who decides everything.
His thrusts become harder, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a raw, primal rhythm that's incredibly arousing.
My body is a taut bowstring of pleasure, poised on the edge of release. I can feel it building, a hot, tight coil of pleasure low in my stomach.
"You don't come until I say," he grunts behind me, his cock impaling me over relentlessly.
I whimper, a desperate, needy sound. I'm so close, so painfully close. I don't know if I can hold on.
His pace is punishing, a rhythm that pushes me closer and closer to the edge. He's not holding back now. He's taking me, using me, and I'm letting him. I'm begging for it.
My body is a quivering mess of need, my mind a blank slate of sensation. I'm lost in a sea of pleasure, and I don't want to be found.
Then, one of his hands leaves my hip. I feel the loss of it like a physical blow. For a second, I think he’s going to spank me again, and I nearly weep with pleasure, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his hand finds my breast and cups the soft mound. He rolls a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching, twisting. A sharp, electric jolt of pleasure-pain shoots through me, straight to my clit. I cry out, my body arching, my inner walls clenching around him.
He groans, the sound a raw, primal noise. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I'm a little rough with you."
I can't answer. I can only moan, a long, drawn-out sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
His other hand slides up my back, his fingers tangling in my hair. He grips a handful, pulling my head back, forcing my body into a deeper arch. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, and I cry out again, a strangled, desperate sound.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "So fucking beautiful. So fucking mine."
His words are my undoing.
"I need to come," I sob out.
I feel more than hear his chuckle behind me. "You know what I want to hear."
It's cruel. He wants me to degrade myself even more. But I need to come. More than I've ever needed anything in my life.
"Please, sir." The words are torn from my throat. "Please, can I come?"
"Since you asked so nicely." His fingers leave my nipple and find my clit. He circles the sensitive nub with a rough, demanding pressure that has me seeing stars. His hips snap forward, burying himself inside me with a force that steals my breath.
"Now, Erica. Come for me now."
It's not a suggestion. It's a command.
And my body obeys.
My orgasm rips through me, a violent, convulsive wave of pleasure that shatters my senses. It’s an overload, a complete system failure. My vision whites out, my body going rigid as wave after wave of intense pleasure washes over me. I'm screaming, a raw, guttural sound that I don't recognize as my own.
He growls, a deep, possessive sound. He fucks me through my orgasm, his thrusts becoming erratic, more forceful. He's chasing his own release now, using my body, my pleasure, to get there.
His grip on my hair tightens, his other hand digging into my hip hard enough to leave bruises. He buries himself in me one last time as he comes, a deep, shuddering groan ripping from his chest.
The heat of him floods me for the second time tonight.
