her-master: This is part 2, of (probably 4). I strongly suggest you read part 1 first.since the begi
her-master: This is part 2, of (probably 4). I strongly suggest you read part 1 first.since the beginning, in most cases, is a better place to start than the middle.A fistful of your hair pinned against the door, holding you there as I unfastened my belt, tossed it across the room to the chair beside the bed, and opened my pants—the raw animal hunger in your eyes as your mouth obediently opened and strained for my cock, bobbing inches from your lips. I held you there for a moment, looking down at the pretty little thing I owned. Did you see my cock jump? No, it wasn’t excitement that I was about to get my cock sucked. You could be forgiven if you thought that, but you would have been wrong. I was thinking about how I was going to hurt you, and how much I was going to hurt you, and how hard it was going to be for me to stop. That, my sweet thing, is what made my cock throb, and, with that thought in my mind, I slid my cock into your open, waiting mouth.I love your mouth. I love the sounds you make, the things you say, the way you kiss my lips, the way you taste. I do love the things you do with that little tongue, and I know you tried, while I held you there and fucked your mouth. A girl does her best work, sucking cock, when she is free to move, to wrap her lips, and maybe her hand around the shaft, creating the right friction and pressure as she works her tongue on the underside of the shaft and the sensitive head. We both know this, and you are a marvelous cocksucker, but I wanted you in a different way. I wanted your struggle. I wanted your strain. I wanted, frankly, your fear as you gasped for breath, and strugged, but there was nowhere to go, was there? Only the unyielding wood behind you as I pounded into you. I nearly said “thoughtlessly, with no regard for your comfort”, but I will not lie to you. It was not thoughtlessly; I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew exactly how far to push you as you sputtered and gagged on the size of me pressing into the back of your throat. I knew what it does to you inside when I pulled back a bit, your lungs burning as you gasped for breath, drooling all over those pretty tits of yours. Good thing we took so long to get that makeup perfect, huh, slut? I know what it does to you when I laugh at you and slap your face before pushing even harder and deeper into your throat. I know you afraid you are that I will feel your teeth on me—accidentally and unbidden—and you know what I might do to you in this state, don’t you? We would be far beyond “punishment”, wouldn’t we? I reach down, grab a swollen nipple between my fingers, and pinch hard enough to hear you scream around my hardness in your mouth. I could have come in your slutty little mouth so easily. Maybe I should have; you obviously needed to swallow me, but I wanted something else. I pulled out, and tried to encourage you to stand by pulling a handful of your hair. Your legs didn’t quite work, but they did when I bent over, wrapped a hand around your throat, and lifted the weight of your body by that delicate little neck, didn’t they? Somehow you found a way to stand as I held you against that door and attacked your mouth, kissing you deeply and fully. My lips down your neck, biting. Yes, kitten, you know every sound makes me bite you harder, makes me more desperate with need, and the way you arch your back when I take a nipple in my mouth, the way you gasp when I suck that tender flesh deeply into my mouth and then rub my tongue on it with deep circles—my cock throbbed anew. I held your hands above your head, lifting your dress and rubbing your burning hot clit with my hand, finding your pleasure so easily and naturally. I know as I bit that breast I left marks that would last a few days, but I wasn’t even thinking that when I did it. I just wanted as much of you, as much of your skin, in my mouth as possible.I’m not sure how it happened exactly; I don’t remember sliding into you, but I do remember fucking you up against that door. I do remember the little sounds you were making as I pounded you against the door. There is a little missing time in my memory, but I do remember backing away enough to see you, holding you there by the throat, and sliding my cock almost out of you before filling you again. I remember slapping your face until your eyes met mine, and smiling at you as I told you what a good little girl you were going to be for me.I dragged you over to the bed, slapping your ass once on the way. What is it about the sound of something, nearly anything, if I’m honest about it, hitting your ass that makes the very center of my body burn? The thick, padded leather cuffs on your wrists. Yes, they are comfy and almost gentle, but you know why now. Handcuffs are not possible, my dear. With what I was going to do to you, with the kind of struggle I would extract from you, the desperation and the force, handcuffs would surely damage those pretty little wrists—torn skin, bruises, maybe worse. No, we would soon be far beyond handcuffs, but I know, for just a moment, you liked the feel of supple leather against your skin. It’s funny, isn’t it, how things we love we may soon come to curse? -- source link
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