His merciless tongue sends me spinning into the arms of ecstasy. Ecstasy I shouldn’t feel. Not for him, and not now in my grief-stricken state.
But… I feel it, and again it makes me want more. More of him and what he’s giving me.
The more I moan, the more he gives me, satisfying my every need. Blistering pleasure seizes me, unlike I’ve never known taking my heart rate up another million beats, and I throw my head back as I erupt into his mouth once more.
“Fuck!” I cry.
My poor body feels like it can’t take anymore. Not physically or mentally. I’m spent from him in every aspect of the word.
He’s not finished with me yet, though.
He straightens and shoves his pants down his legs, releasing his cock. I don’t have to wonder anymore about what it might look like. I can see it.
What I think of now is what he might feel like inside me. So, I guess I must have been lying when I denied wanting him to fuck me.
I don’t think I can hide my inner desire anymore, even if I want to fight. The truth of the matter is, I’ve never come up against a man like this before.
That’s the truth. Now every inch of my body hums with expectancy of what he’s going to do next.
“You should see your face,” he mutters as he strokes over his length.
However, I’m too absorbed with looking at his dick to feel the shame I think I should feel. I look over the bulbous head of his cock and the precum beading at the tip like it’s calling to me to lick it off. The thought horrifies me and throws me for a loop at the same time. But as he works his cock harder, and it grows bigger and thicker, something sparks inside me that feels like satisfaction at making him so aroused for me.
Eric Markov wouldn’t be the first man to get worked up over me, and I’m sure he won’t be the last. But the fact that it’s him has my head spinning every which way.
He’s already hard and perfectly erect, so when he starts pumping his shaft, it doesn’t take long for him to blow his load all over me: As intended.
Hot cum sprays onto my chest, splashing as it hits. It catches the swells of my breasts first, then drips and runs down the valley between my deep cleavage to the flat of my stomach. He doesn’t stop until he empties himself, then he shocks me further by unhooking me and lacing his fingers through my hair to bring me closer.
“Open that smart mouth of yours and clean the rest off,” he orders.
I lower my head to his cock and lick off the remains of his cum, tasting him now.
As I do, the taste of him seals itself to my taste buds with that same taunting vibe he has about him.
He thrusts into my mouth once and pulls out, then releases me, presumably satisfied I’ve cleaned him off enough, or he’s finished with me.
I gaze at him as the reality of my punishment hits me, and I feel outraged at myself and him.
He undoes the restraints from my wrists, releasing me completely. When I realize I’m free, I move to flee, but he catches me again, securing a firm grip around my arm while he tucks his cock back into his pants.
“The next time I tell you not to do something, you listen. You don’t go snooping around anything and certainly don’t go wandering into my room. Unless you want me to fuck you. Is that fucking clear?”
“Yes,” I grate out.
“Good, now get out.”
Like the whore I am, I scramble off the bed, and I don’t even bother to collect the remains of my dress. I just leave.
When I get through the door, I run and wish I could run away again.
I’m always running from something or someone.
I wonder if it will stop one day.
I wonder if one day I might get to wherever it is I think I might be safe.