“I think it’s time to put my little whore to work making me happy, don’t you?” he says, the teasing tone of voice disappearing as his commanding voice takes its place.
“Yeah, probably,” I say, staring up at him, my voice little more than a whisper.
“‘Yeah’?” he repeats. “Don’t you mean ‘Yes sir’?”
“Yes sir,” I repeat, and my thong is so wet, I’m afraid I might be creating a puddle on his floor.
He pulls back and take my drink from me, placing it on a nearby end table.
“I think it’s about time to see what kind of fucktoy you really are,” he says, and takes my hand.
14
Christine
Fucktoy, he called me, and that word is echoing inside my head like a maddening scream of pleasure. Fucktoy. I want him, I want him really bad - and I’m lucky enough for him to want me that badly as well.
Stepping toward me, there’s that wicked grin on his lips, delight and desire painting his face. He rests his big hands on my waist and, the moment he leans into me and kisses me, I close my eyes and let go.
From the way he’s kissing, I can already tell that this is going to be good. For a man as imposing as him, he’s actually more than a good kisser. I tilt my head to the side, pulling him closer and pressing my mouth harder against his. I part my lips and slip my tongue inside his mouth, a whirlwind of lust dancing inside my head.
I exhale sharply as, still grabbing me by the waist, he pushes me back and pins me against the wall. I gasp as I feel the hard surface against my back, my body pinned between the wall and him. His fingers dart to my wrists and he lifts my arms up over my head.
“I’m going use you like the little slut that you are,” he tells me, his eyes brimming with desire. I have no doubts about what he just said - he’
s a man of his word. And each word that tumbles out of his mouth makes me want him more, boiling blood travelling through my veins and raising hell between my thighs. My thong is drenched, my juices soaking it in a way that hasn’t happened since… Well, since the last time we were together.… I can’t even start to explain how I’m feeling: to put it simply, this is raw desire in its purest and most violent form.
“Use me, sir,” I whisper, a smile pregnant with anticipation dawning on my lips. My heart feels tight inside my chest and, as I stare into his eyes, I realize that he’s going to ruin me completely. No other man will ever be able to make me feel like he does.
I throw my head back, baring my neck to him, and he savors my skin with hard kisses. I pant each time his lips touch me, a gentle fog of pleasure blanketing my mind. I get out of his hold with cat like movements, freeing my hands and taking them to his shirt, my frantic fingers popping button after button. I untuck his shirt then and, almost with a growl, I press the open palm of my hands on his pectorals, feeling the iron and steel of a rare breed of men under my fingertips. How the hell does a professor have a body like this? I don’t remember any barbells hiding under his desk.
Anders presses his body against mine, the warmness of his skin sending a shiver down my spine, and then grabs a handful of hair on the nape of my neck. Holding my head, he presses his mouth against mine; fireworks go off behind my eyelids as we kiss savagely, our tongues dancing and fighting against each other with abandonment.
Still kissing me, he takes his hand and lets it slide down my side, then makes it climb up my inner thigh. I shudder as I feel his long fingers on my skin, my hips unconsciously bucking against him. He brushes one finger over my thong, long flames of pleasure darting through my body as he does it; I rock my hips against him, trying to have him press his hand against my pussy. He doesn’t relent, though, taking his time and slowly brushing his finger over the fabric of my thong and my aching pussy.
He’s the one in control, and he’s not letting go of that control.
Taking a step back, he grabs the hem of my skirt and hikes it up to my waist. “Is this what you want?” He tells me in a half-growl, half-whisper, pressing his hand against my pussy. I let out one weak moan, submitting to the pressure of his hand. With a sudden growl, he takes his fingers to my thighs and pushes on my thong, sending it down my legs. I bite my lower lip as I feel it sliding down, and I step out of it eagerly, kicking it with my heels to a faraway corner.
I exhale sharply, his fingertips caressing my folds with a maddening gentleness. I grab his wrist and try to make him go harder, but he keeps to his own rhythm and slowly drives me to the edge with his touch. This is pure torture, and I’m loving every second of it.
He traces the contour of my pussy with one single finger, carefully avoiding my clit. I sway my hips, but he takes his other hand and holds me in place by the hips. Slowly parting my folds, he takes his finger all the way up my crevice, and only then does he brush his fingertip against my clitoris. And, God, the moment he does it… It’s almost too perfect. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, surrendering to the sparks of electricity that fly inside my body as he gently rubs my clit.
“Oh, God,” I moan, and he opens his hand and presses it hard between my thighs. I snap my legs shut by instinct, trapping his hand there as he flicks one finger against my folds. I open my mouth and sigh in frenzied delight as I feel his finger sliding inside of me; he takes it all the way, curling it upwards and pressing his fingertip against my G-spot. He rubs me there, drowning my brain in a ocean pleasure. When he slides one more finger inside of me, I can’t stop myself from moaning - I open my mouth and let a high-pitched cry of pleasure fall from my lips, my skin prickling as I do it.
“Come, Christine. I want you to come, and you will obey,” he tells me in a commanding tone, and my pussy seems to cramp around his fingers, my body bowing down to his command. With two fingers pressed deep inside of me, softly rubbing against that sweet spot, he presses his thumb right above my clit. I don’t know how he does it, but his touch simply takes hold of my mind and sends all my thoughts spiraling down into an avalanche of pleasure. I moan between my gritted teeth, my pussy tightening around his fingers as I come.
I’m still shaking from the orgasm when he takes his fingers out of my pussy and, with both hands, grabs my blouse and pulls it over my head. I lift my arms up as he undresses me, the fabric caressing my skin on the way out. Grabbing me by the waist, he forces me turn around and then pins me against the wall again, his chest pressed against my back. He starts unclasping my bra, his fingers pulling the straps down my shoulders and, in an instant, I’m grabbing it and throwing it to the floor.
I jut my ass back at him, pressing it against his body, and I have to close my eyes as I feel the hardness he hides inside his pants. I shudder as I remember how massive his cock was, his long inches pushing their inside of me... Swaying my hips from side to side, I grab my skirt, keeping it up on my waist, and grind against his cock as hard as I can. He pulls back suddenly, though, his hand darting to my skirt and tugging on it with hurried movements; I press my legs together as he pulls it down my body. His fingers slide down my calfs and go over to the straps in my heels. I think that he’s going to take them off, but his fingers go right over.
“You look good in heels,” he whispers into my ear. “So you’ll keep them on. And I’m going to fuck you like that,” he tells me, my insides boiling as his words caress my eardrums. Looking over my shoulder at him, I see him get up, a grin in his face.
“I just… I just want to please you, sir,” I mutter, desire making my voice sound mellow and submissive.
With his chest on my back, the outline of his perfectly carved muscles pressed against my skin, I start rocking my ass against him once again. I dart my hands back and, even though I can’t see what I’m doing, I let desire be my guide: I unbuckle his belt and pull it out, my fingers unbuttoning his pants with an eagerness I hadn’t felt in a long time. Zipping down his fly, I let the bulging inside his boxer briefs push against my ass, its thickness resting against my crack in a way that makes me grow even wetter.
I allow my unconscious mind to take charge and I turn to Anders then, his eyes falling on my breasts. He grabs them eagerly, his fingers cupping the softness of my flesh as he leans into me, his parted lips engulfing one hard tip as his tongue softly flicks against it.