With his free hand he tangles his fingers in my hair and yanks on it, forcing me to throw my head back as a throaty moan fills the room. Holding me by the hair, he drives his cock deeper into me and holds still, only his finger moving. He moves it around inside my ass, my pussy tightening around his cock as I start to feel like a dam about to burst.
“Come for me,” he whispers, picking up the pace with his finger. He pushes it in and turns it around, moving it in such a way that I can’t help but do what he tells me to. I come hard, grabbing at the sheets as if I didn’t know what to do with my hands. “Good…” he continues, slowly pulling his finger out. I remain still as he squeezes both my ass cheeks, running his hands over my fleshy curves as his cock pulses inside of my pussy.
I can’t even hold my head up anymore. I have my cheek pressed against the mattress, my body still up only because he’s grabbing my ass. He doesn’t care. With one hard smack across my buttocks, he hooks his fingers on my waist and starts to thrust.
This time he doesn’t build up the pace. Oh, no, this time he goes hard right from the start, like a man aching for a knockout before the bell rings. He’s moving so fast I can’t even tell when he’s sliding his cock in or out… All I know is that he’s completely demolishing me, tearing both my mind and body apart.
The sound of his hips slapping my ass fills the whole room, like a violent song of ecstasy, one that climbs in through my ears and claws at my brain like a drug. And, just like a drug, it makes me oh so high.
“Don’t stop … Don’t stop,” I start repeating, like a mantra, these two words the only ones I can still pronounce. “DON’T STOP!” I finally yell, coming undone as if my body was being dropped into boiling water. I collapse on top of the mattress, feeling Lance’s weight on top of me as my limbs move erratically. I’m flailing both arms and legs, the electric current going through me severing the connection between brain and body.
I tremble as he takes his cock out from me and rolls to the side, a whimper on my lips. Making a mighty effort, I turn toward him, smiling weakly as I open up my eyes; I rest one hand against his chest, and sliding my fingertips over his abs, I grab his thick cock.
“You promised me something,” I say, stroking him with soft but deliberate movements. He grins mischievously, reading what’s on my mind.
“I did, didn’t I?” I simply nod in response, letting go of his cock, and my hand going to his chest, pushing him off. He rolls off of the bed and goes up to his feet, towering over me in a way that makes my insides clench in anticipation of what’s to come. Reaching for his cock, I wrap my fingers around his shaft again; our eyes are locked as I stroke him, my hand moving like clockwork in a steady back and forth motion.
Never letting go of his cock, I get out of the bed, my knees buckling under my weight as my feet touch the floor. Oh, well, I go down on my knees right in front of him, his cock just a few inches away from my mouth. I go for it, parting my lips and forcing his shaft to go over my tongue and deep inside of me.
Just like he did while fucking me, I don’t build up the pace. I start sucking him as hard and as viciously as I can, moving my head until my neck starts to burn. I keep stroking him all the same, both my hands around his shaft as they travel up and down at the same pace of my mouth.
While he has his hands on top of my head, Lance doesn’t take the lead; he lets me keep moving at this frenzied pace, pushing him closer to the edge. And when I feel him there, his cock spasming inside of my mouth, I give one final push and make him explode.
“Come for me, baby,” I say, looking up at him while his cock pops out of my mouth. My hands are moving at a frenetic pace and he finally lets go. He groans, his fingers running through my hair as a thick rope of cum shoots from his cock, hitting me straight on the face. I open my mouth as wide as I can, trying to get as much of his semen on me.
“Fuck…” he groans, his muscles taut and hard as if they were made of steel. His cock is spasming hard against my fingers, shooting so much cum I don’t even know how he could hold it all inside of him. Strands of it hit my face, coating my cheeks and tongue and dripping down my neck and chest. I can’t help but smile as I feel his warm juices coating my skin, his cock gushing an endless river of semen and drowning me in it. I keep stroking through it, only stopping when I’ve milked him out of every single drop, and by then, I’m completely covered in his seed. Even my hair is ruined, but I don’t care. Why would I?
I lean toward him, my tongue reaching for his cock; with gentle movements I lap at him, cleaning his tip and shaft of the few drops still hanging there.
“Look at the mess you’ve made,” I tell him, grabbing my breasts and smearing his cum all over my body. I run two fingers between my tits, and scooping up a thick strand, take them to my mouth and suck them dry, my eyes never leaving his.
“Mess? I don’t see any mess,” he says, going down on his knees in front of me. “You look fucking beautiful like this.”
“I do, don’t I?” I run my fingers through his hair and pull him to me, his mouth going straight my tits. He wraps his lips around my cum-coated nipples, and using his tongue, starts licking me eagerly. “I love you so much,” I say, throwing my head back and closing my eyes as I feel his tongue running all over my chest.
“I love you too,” he tells me, his tongue sliding all the way up from my neck to my chin. He goes further up, pressing his mouth against mine; I slide my tongue inside his mouth and he sucks on it, taking every last drop of cum inside of his own mouth.
I look at him with a wide smile, lips glistening from all of the semen. He’s smiling back at me, the kind of smile I know he saved for a woman like me.
I rest my hand against his cheek and lean in for one final kiss. “What do we do now?” I ask, not wanting to let the real world back in, but knowing that I have to do it all the same. Stroking my hair, he simply smiles.
“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
Lance
When you love someone, and I mean really fucking love someone, there are no limits to what you'll do for that person. And now that I love two people—Jocelyn and my unborn child, my heart feels like it's ready to explode. Back at the Plaza, where happiness flooded my entire body when I learned I was going to be a father, I smiled and scooped Jocelyn into my arms, spinning her across the room. I was fucking euphoric. One minute, I thought I was losing the love of my life, getting ready to pack my entire life into a suitcase with a one-way ticket to Europe—it was like first being in a room where the walls are literally crumbling all around you—and then the next moment, when I learned I was gaining it all back and so much more, my entire emotional landscape was reversed. I had never been fucking happier. I promised Jocelyn that I had a plan. I wasn't lying, and now I'm ready to execute it.
I walk into my dad's house. I still have a spare key so there was no need to knock. When I enter, I don't see or hear anyone, but I know he has to be home. He's always home at this time. And when I called his office, I was told he wasn't there. So I decide to walk to his study—slowly, carefully—I don't know why I'm trying to be so quiet. Once I walk down the
hall toward his door, I see that sure enough, the light is on. I hear him fishing a conversation on the phone and I wait until he ends the call. I don't want to interrupt. I need his undivided attention. Now's my chance. I take a deep breath, turn the knob, push the door, and enter my father's study. The room is filled with swirls of blue smoke, and I can see a cigar smoldering on his desk, smoke curling around it's tip in lazy half circles. Since when did he pick up smoking again? As a kid, I remember he'd smoke cigars in his study, sipping a glass of scotch. His study was always off limits. That was his personal, private zone and everyone knew better than to breach it. But I thought the smoking ended years ago. He must be stressed. It was always a nervous habit of his.
These days, it seems as if he's always here, networking and either buried in email, or nose-deep in a self-help book. He's throwing everything he's got into this campaign and he seems tired. The bags under his eyes give it away. He looks up at me, momentarily annoyed that I've broken his concentration.
"What is it?" he asks.
"I need to talk to you."
"Lance, can't this wait? I'm in the middle of an important project."