Upward Ambition Ch. 07

"Ladies and gentleman, what a great show, am I right?" she asks, and the crowd whoops and cheers. "And thanks to your generosity, we've raised a record amount of funds for the foundation!"

She keeps talking, but my attention drops away, focusing again on Derek. He hasn't moved since the show stopped, except to pick up his whisky and drain the rest of it. I look from his white-knuckled grip on the glass to his face but can see no emotion reflected there. I wish, for the millionth time, that I could have even the foggiest idea what is going on behind those gray eyes.

He didn't have a safe word, I think. All those years ago, there was nothing and no one to stop the relentless swinging of the cane. He'd crossed an ocean to escape his father and only returned after the old man was dead.

I know there's something profound or neurological to be gleaned from all this, but I lack the doggedness to chase that particular line of thought. There's something else dominating my mind.

Slowly, I crawl around to the front of the chair. "Waddle" is probably a more appropriate term, considering the monster dildo still snug in my ass. I slide my hands across the tops of Derek's thighs, too scared to meet his gaze, afraid that he won't let me in. But he does. He spreads his legs, and I move closer to him, my hands floating to the front of his trousers. In a move so practiced I could do it in my sleep, I undo his button and fly and free his cock from its confines. He's not fully hard, but not soft either. I raise my eyes to his. I have no hope of deciphering his expression, but its enough to see that there is something blazing in his eyes. There is something in the tight line of his mouth, in the muscle that twitches in his jaw.

Gina is still blabbering on and on, but I block her out. I block out the rest of the world and lean forward to tongue his slit, gathering up the precum that has already begun to form. I lean down further to flick my tongue across his ball sac, and from the corner of my eye, I can see his fingers tighten their grip on the chair's arm. I mouth him in the way I know he likes, careful of my teeth and making good use of my tongue. When he's nice and hard, I go down on him in one smooth motion. Sometimes this feels like the only thing I've ever been truly good at. I swallow repeatedly to stimulate him further, fighting through my gag reflex. Involuntary tears spring to my eyes, but I manage to take him all the way to the root. The smell of him permeates every part of me. My eyelids flutter, and my own member surges with need.

I face-fuck myself on his manhood. I may not know anything about his feelings or his thoughts or his hopes and dreams, but when it comes to his cock, I am a goddamn expert.

My throat and jaw are sore, but I keep up my pace. I can tell he's getting close. But before he falls over the edge, he twines his fingers in the back of my hair and pulls me off. I look up at him, a little bleary-eyed, wondering what I've done wrong.

"Come here." His voice is low and rough with arousal, and his pupils are blown wide. He guides me upward to sit on his lap, my back to his chest. I'm still trying to emerge from my cocksucking haze to figure out what's going on when he grabs the base of the dildo and drags it out of me.

I groan so loud that I feel multiple pairs of eyes swivel in our direction. Luckily, it seems that Gina has finished her spiel, and the guests are either returning to their mingling or working out their pent-up sexual energy on the nearest warm body.

The loss of the dildo is devastating in a way I can't understand. Painful and alien, yes, but equally disturbing is the new, strange emptiness that replaces it. Before I can even begin to work out my feelings on that, Derek stuffs the gaping hole with his own monster cock. It's so much warmer than the silicone, almost hot, and though the dildo was undeniably much larger, I feel like Derek fills me more completely than it ever could. Like my body molds naturally to the shape of him, which is a shape that both haunts my nightmares and features in my wildest fantasies.

More than anything, I wish he would touch my cock and give me that perfect release that only he can, but he holds my hips instead in a bruising grip, grinding into my ass and opening his mouth on the curve of my neck, like he's getting ready to suck my blood. And the worst part is, in that moment, I think I would let him.

He does bite down, but not enough to draw blood, just enough to mark me, just enough to remind me what I am. His little slut. His perfect cock whore.

He pounds into me from below. I can only hold onto the arms of the chair and take it, moaning every time he hits my prostate, which is both far too much and not nearly enough.

"Tell me what you are," he growls into my ear.

"I'm yours." It feels like the words are being hammered out of me by his dick.

"Say it again."

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"I'm yours."

With a mighty groan, he shoots his seed inside me. I fall back against his chest, lost in the flurry of sensation. He traces his tongue lightly on the bite mark he just left and then moves his lips to my ear.

"You're mine."