Page 82 of Damsel in Disguise

I release her with a low chuckle. “Tongue out.”

Ariella slips into a role she was always meant to play. Like I’m something she’s been waiting for.

She’s wrong. I’m not what she wants—I’m what she gets.

The straps of the spider gag slide into place inside her mouth, snug against the back of her head as I secure it properly.

The metal stretches the corners of her lips, testing their limits. Her breath hitches trying to adjust to the intrusion, a soft gag catching in her throat.

“Now that’s a good little kitty,” I murmur.

Another small choke catches in her throat, lips stretching helplessly around the foreign shape. Her body squirms, fighting to accommodate it as much as she can.

“My turn,” I decide, leaving no space for argument.

My hand slides to the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, anchoring her exactly where I want her.

There’s a brief second—just one—where she inhales sharply to brace.

Then I push forward all the way in her welcoming throat.

Her body jerks from how forcefully I dive into her mouth in one smooth thrust, heat and wetness swallowing me instantly.

The reflex is unavoidable, she gags.

An unfiltered groan tears from my chest, dragged out by the pure sensation of her tongue.

Her throat tightens, her body struggling to catch up as she chokes on my size.

I don’t stop. I’ve wanted this for too long to be gentle—ever since I found out who she is. My stalker.

The thought alone twists something violent and possessive inside me, setting me to drive my hips in a rough push-n-pull motion.

Ariella struggles to breathe. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She chokes this time, the sound raw and desperate.

“Relax,” I coax, though there’s nothing kind in the way I hold her. “Open up like a good kitty.”

Her response comes in the form of a muffled moan around me. The vibration shoots straight through my spine.

I pull out just enough to feel the loss and let her breathe for a beat, then thrust my hips back in. Harder.

“Yes,” I breathe out, rough with approval. “Keep doing that.”

She moans again.

Again.

And again.

Each broken sound she makes feeds into the rhythm I’ve set. My hand fists her hair, moving her head in sync with my hips, taking what I want and giving what she deserves.

I don’t hold back but push deeper into her mouth, slow enough to feel every inch of resistance, every involuntary reaction.

“Good kitty,” my voice is unusually steadier than the tension tightening in my chest.

Ariella lets out a soft, broken sob around my shaft, the sound vibrating through my length—raw, helpless, and devastatingly addictive.

It tells me everything without words. Pleasure tangled with pain. Want laced with surrender.