I unclasp his slacks as he lays his belt on the bed, and when his cock springs free, I boldly grasp it in my hand. Groaning, he pumps his hips, reaching for my hair and yanking my head down to him. He shoves his cock between my lips, guiding my head with a fist in my hair. I moan and suckle, eager for his cock. Maybe I am the filthy little slut he says I am. And maybe I fucking like it.
I love the way he groans when I tease him with my tongue, lapping at his salty skin with the eagerness of a starving woman. My breasts feel heavy and tight, and the pressure between my thighs pulses with wanton, frenetic need. He holds the device control in his hand, and as I suck his cock hard, he pushes the button.
Vibration ricochets through me. I groan around his cock, while he pulls my hair and pumps my head. I’m so full and so ready, trembling and moaning with a whimper on the edge of a release as I work his cock. I hold on.
“You come when I do,” he whispers, pumping his cock in my mouth so hard my eyes water, and I choke. The device hums and vibrates, seemingly touching every inch of my sex at once like dozens of fingers and tongues worshipping. I suckle until his grip on my hair tightens to painful, he moans low, and he comes hard. I’m drowning in pleasure and pain, swallowing his release while he pulls my hair, the stimulator at full throttle. I suck and swallow and fall into blinding ecstasy.
I come harder than I ever have before, my muscles taut before pleasure floods my senses. Eager to please him, I finish him with perfection, sucking every drop while he commands my body to climax. One orgasm follows another, the second more powerful than the first. I’m whimpering and shaking, unable to stop the torrent of bliss that shudders through me. A third follows, and I can’t bear this anymore. Pleasure borders pain. I’m screaming and crying. I need him to stop and I want him to continue. I can’t think or speak anything but his name. He pulls out of my mouth and cradles my head in his lap.
I close my eyes, blackness pervading my senses. His blackness, his essence still on my tongue, his hand still in my hair, his control commanding my body. “Sir,” I pant. “Demyan.” Mindless pleasure’s pulling me under.
I’m in his arms. We’re walking to his bed. I’m boneless. I’m wrecked.
I can’t even lift my arm to fetch the blanket, but it doesn’t matter. He slides into bed next to me, pulls me onto his chest, and covers us both with a blanket. I sink into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I wake the next morning to his mouth between my legs. Still groggy, I let my knees fall open and weave my fingers through his dark blond hair. The color of milky tea, it’s the softest part about him, the rest of his body all angles and planes.
No. No, that’s not true. His tongue. His tongue is silk and steel, lapping at my folds like he’s starving and I’ll sate his hunger. And when I fall into orgasm seconds after waking, I know. He’s worked me to this. He controls my pleasure. I can’t stop my body from chasing ecstasy at the merest touch.
I’m putty in his hands.
“Oh my God,” I groan, my knees still parted when he mounts me, lines his cock at my slick entrance, and thrusts into me so hard I can’t speak. I lift my arms and encircle his neck while he holds me to him, rocking between my hips, cursing in broken Russian and English until he groans his release. We pant in silence in the semi-dark room. Rolling over onto his back, our legs tangled in sheets, messy but sated, I lie on his chest like I belong there.
He pushes my damp hair back from my forehead. “You’ll ride the Sybian while I order breakfast,” he tells me.
“The what?”
His response is to lift me out of bed and carry me to the closet. I cling to him as we near it. What will he do to me next?
“I can either whip you to tame you or wring pleasure from your body until you’re as limp as a rag doll in my arms, incapable of anything but obedience,” he says with a wicked smile. “I choose both.”
“I don’t want a whipping,” I protest, the thought of bearing his lash right now unbearable. I’m exhausted and sensitized, and I have it in my head that somehow, I’ll feel it more than I did before. He doesn’t respond, though, but swings me to the floor and guides me onto a saddle-type thing. I eye it with trepidation, my steps faltering, but he’s determined. Gently, he guides me on the saddle. I freeze, not sure what’s going on or what this thing is, but soon it becomes very clear when he presses his fingers to my pussy, stroking me, before he lifts and slides me on the device. I gasp when he positions me so that the dildo on the saddle fills me.