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Click here"Please? Will... will you d-do... do me now, please... use... use your hands, do me... hard as any... any way you... like it, Make it good, good for you... please? Make me please you?"
The idea of going through this without him being pleased with her would make it meaningless, leave her with nothing but loss, and she is soft with relief as his hands once more take her head into firm control and he pulls her onto his stiff cock -- all the way in, in one powerful movement -- ignoring her helpless wriggling, the desperate flapping at her trapped wrists, the jerks of her hips, thrusting again and again even when fully into her, holding her, enjoying the powerful convulsions of her throat muscles as they massage his cock, releasing her for just long enough for her gasps for air to subside a fraction before repeating; again and again, it seems to her, lost in the experience, as if her whole world has been only a prelude to this forced accommodation of his cock deep into her throat, the sweet terror of keeping herself soft for him even as her body tells her that it is fighting for its life, fighting for oxygen, her hands pulling at the bonds, her throat constricting to reject the invasion, the penetration, being overpowered, plundered -- it is as if there has never been anything else, until she feels the hot, thick spurting of his come into her, and is weak with relief, realising that he will not, even now, release her until he is fully satisfied, until he has thrust his last into her...
By the time she can focus again on anything outside her own internal sensations, he's already been speaking for a while. All she understands is that he has left a number, that she should call it. Foggy, she hears him leave, the door snick, and then the uncanny silence of a hotel in daytime -- the silence at odds with the knowledge that tens, hundreds of others are all around.
Later, she looks for the paper, finds the number. The scribbled note tells her that the room is booked for another night -- she can order anything she likes, take her time.
Grateful, she falls back to the floor, hugs herself, and returns to the impossible-to-resolve issue that will occupy her mind, on and off, for months to come, in all its myriad forms.
He uses me like a whore, and it exalts me. Am I a whore, or am I exalted by his use of me? Can both be true? Can I survive this? Do I want to? Could I survive losing this?
- COMMENTS
Prof_Masterover 1 year agoThis author's pen is skilled and lyrical with eroticism. More than the fucking scenes per se, I love to read (and write, for that matter) inside the sub's head in the act, or process, of submitting.
Eager for more. Thank u, DC.
That said, I'm not fond of how every time aodile speaks, it's in a stammer. I think she can calm down at some point.
Delirious_Capitulationalmost 2 years agoAuthorWhat can I say but thank you?
I can promise further episodes.
The_Watermanalmost 2 years agoYour story held me emotionally, not as the girl described, but as an observer of her emotions, her doubts, her fears I felt her uncertainty mixed with her determination to please him, confused then pleased with the emotions he stirred within her. Your words and phrasing are captivating. I love your writing style. I will read more now.
nthusiasticalmost 2 years agoWow! I love the way you use your words with emotion, elegance, and precision, each one placed specifically to evoke our response. I’m eagerly awaiting your next submission. Thank you for sharing your talents with us.
