Page 83 of Damsel in Disguise

I drag myself out gradually, watching the way her lips stretch around me, swollen, glistening, before I rest the tip against her bottom lip. The sound of her desperately panting fills the room.

I give her a moment of break. Not mercy—never that. Just enough space to breathe.

“Is this turning you on?”

She nods again, quicker this time.

“Are you touching yourself, little kitty?”

Another honest nod. How did I not notice?

“Now that’s a naughty little kitty,” a slow smirk pulls at my mouth at the discretion, “and bad kitties should be punished,” and push through her lips till I hit the back of her throat, then pushing deeper.

Something in me snaps cleanly into place after that. No more easing her in. No more measured restraint.

With that note, I use her mouth as my little fucktoy, not giving her any more breaks to get used to my rhythm.

I push back and forth into her mouth with no warning, setting a rhythm that doesn’t ask for mercy.

Her throat fights me at first—tight, resisting—but I don’t slow down. I don’t give her time to adjust anymore.

And Ariella does take it like a good girl.

My hips drive forward relentlessly, the sound of my ragged breathing and occasional growl in harmony with it.

Fuck—she feels too good like this. Too perfect.

My head falls back as a rough groan of raw pleasure tears out of me. “Goddamnit, little kitty.”

Each thrust drags me closer to the edge of falling apart.

I grip harder, pace quickening with my control fading to dust.

Tension builds harder and faster with each relentless thrust, with every second, every helpless sound she makes.

At the last moment, I push down her throat.

“Fuck,” a growl rips from my throat as I come down her throat.

The release hits hard enough that my vision blurs.

I hold myself deep in her throat, forcing her to take everything, not letting her pull away—not letting a single drop go to waste this time.

She gags trying to swallow the liquid. Her body jerks slightly beneath my hold, struggling to keep up with swallowing my come simultaneously, and turning into exactly what I’m making her into—my obedient kitty.

Even after the peak fades, I don’t stop immediately. I keep moving, slower now, dragging it out, chasing the lingering high.

I finally pull back just enough to look at her, still breathless, still wrecked.

“Good kitty,” I murmur, almost as gentle as my hand comes down to pat the top of her head.

The contrast feels wrong. And yet so right.

Reluctantly, I slide out of her mouth completely, already missing the warmth of it. I hook the leash still wrapped around her throat and pull her upright, forcing her back onto her wobbly feet.

Ariella struggles to stand still while I work on the spider gag.

She coughs the moment it loosens from her lips, her body folding slightly, struggling to catch her breath.