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Read from here : 👉 #BDSM12 Jan 263.5k words | | 5.00 | 👁️ Hazel
The key was still turning in my apartment door when his hand was on me, a firm, possessive press against the low of my back, pushing me inside. The door slammed shut, echoing in the silent, cold apartment I’d left vacant for three weeks. Winter break had been an eternity of polite family dinners and stiff, chaste hugs, a desert of touch. And now he was here. My oasis.
We didn’t speak. We never did, not at first. It was all a language of looks and breaths and frantic hands. His coat hit the floor. My bag slipped from my shoulder. His eyes, dark and hungry, scanned me like he was memorizing me, or maybe just reminding himself of what was his to take. God, I missed this, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out. I missed you.
He closed the distance in one stride, his hands cupping my face, his kiss not an invitation but a claiming. It was deep and desperate, all tongue and teeth and a low groan that vibrated from his chest into mine. I melted into him, my fingers scrambling at the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel skin. He broke the kiss, breathing ragged, his forehead resting against mine.
“Think about this the whole time?” he murmured, his voice gravelly. It wasn’t really a question.
“Yes,” I breathed out, the word more of a gasp. “Every night.”
A dark, pleased grin touched his lips. “Show me.”
He took my hand and led me, not to the bedroom, but to the couch, pushing me down onto the cushions. He knelt on the floor, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my sweater up and over my head. His eyes never left mine as he unsnapped my jeans and peeled them down my legs, along with my plain cotton panties. The cold air hit my skin, and I shivered, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.
“Fuck, look at you,” he said, his thumbs hooking into my inner thighs, spreading me open for him. “All pretty and pink and mine.” The degradation started, a sweet, filthy poison I craved. I was already soaking wet, my arousal slick between my thighs. He saw it, his eyes glinting. “Been dripping for me since I texted you, huh? My desperate little slut.”
“Yes,” I whimpered, the title coiling hot in my belly. I reached for him, for the obvious, hard length straining against his zipper, but he caught my wrists easily in one of his large hands.
“Uh-uh,” he chided, pushing my hands back, pinning them against my stomach. “You don’t get to touch. You just get to feel.”
And then his mouth was on me.
I cried out, my back arching off the couch. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a devouring. His tongue was flat and firm, licking a slow, torturous stripe from my entrance all the way up to my clit, where he circled it once, twice, before sucking it gently into his mouth.
“Oh god. Oh, right there” I screamed
My thoughts shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. All that existed was his mouth, his tongue, the rough scratch of his stubble against my tender inner thighs.
He ate me like he hasn’t eaten in days, groaning against me as if I were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. His free hand slid under me, gripping my ass, tilting my hips up to give him better access. He licked and sucked, his tongue fucking into me before returning to my clit with relentless, exquisite pressure.
“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, the words vibrating through my entire body. “My perfect little cocksleeve. Gonna make you cum all over my face.”
The dirty talk, the names—slut, cocksleeve, my good little whore—they didn’t humiliate me; they freed me. They gave permission to be this raw, this vessel. My hips began to move of their own accord, rocking against his mouth, seeking more friction, more of that perfect pressure. I was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming. I could feel the coil tightening deep inside, a familiar, delicious pressure building.
“Please,” I begged, my voice strangled. “I’m so close, please let me cum.”
He answered by sliding two fingers inside me, crooking them up to find that spot that made me see stars. His mouth sealed over my clit, sucking hard, and that was all it took.
The orgasm ripped through me, violent and stunning. A broken scream tore from my throat as my body seized, clenching around his fingers, my legs shaking uncontrollably. He didn’t stop. He rode out the convulsions of my body with his mouth and fingers, gentling his touch but not ceasing, drawing the pleasure out until it was borderline painful, until I was sobbing and pushing weakly at his head.
“Too much… too sensitive…” I pleaded.
He ignored me, his tongue swirling lazily, coaxing another, softer wave from my oversensitive flesh. I gasped, my body jolting as a second, quieter orgasm shimmered through me. And then, as his fingers pressed deep and his tongue flicked rapidly over my clit, he did it. A third peak, different this time. A building pressure that suddenly released, and a warm gush of fluid spilled out of me, soaking his chin and the couch cushion beneath me.
I panted, utterly spent, my body boneless. He finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a look of raw, male satisfaction on his face. “There’s my good girl. My squirting little slut.”
Before I could even process the embarrassment or the intense pride that came with his praise, he was moving. He shoved my hands above my head, holding them there with one of his, his weight pinning me down. The sound of his zipper was loud in the room. I watched, dazed, as he freed himself, his cock thick and angry red, gleaming in the low light. He positioned himself at my entrance, which was still fluttering and clenching from the aftershocks.
“This what you need?” he grunted, not waiting for an answer. He drove into me in one brutal, perfect thrust, filling me completely, stretching me to the limit. Yes. This. You.
A guttural moan was punched from my lungs. He was everywhere, his scent, his weight, his cock buried so deep inside me I felt him in my throat. He set a punishing pace immediately, fucking me with hard, deep strokes that shook the whole couch.
“This my pussy?” he demanded, his voice strained with the effort of his thrusts.
“Y-yes! Yours!” I cried out, my nails digging into his hand holding mine.
“Tell me what you are.”
“Your slut! I’m your filthy slut!” I chanted the words, a mantra that fed the fire. Every slam of his hips was a punctuation mark. I could feel another orgasm building, different from the ones his mouth gave me. This was deeper, a full-body eruption being forged from the friction of his cock, the slap of his skin against mine, the growled filthy promises in my ear.
When I came, it was with a wordless shout, my body clamping down on him like a vise, milking his length. He groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a second. “Fuck, yes, squeeze my cock like that, you greedy slut.”
He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, his pace becoming even more frantic, more possessive. I lost count of how many times I tipped over the edge, each climax blurring into the next, until I was just a vessel of sensation, existing only for his use. I felt his balls tighten against my ass, heard his breath hitch.
“Gonna fill you up,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming shallow and erratic. “Gonna pump my cum deep in that used little cunt. Take it.”
He slammed into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and held there. A raw, primal groan was torn from his chest as I felt the hot, pulsing release flood me. Rope after rope after rope, it seemed to go on forever, painting my insides with his warmth. I could feel every twitch, every jet, a claiming that went deeper than skin. He collapsed on top of me, spent, his weight a comforting anchor.
We lay there for a long time, his softening cock still inside me, our hearts hammering against each other in a slowing rhythm. He eventually shifted, pulling out of me with a soft, wet sound.
The moment he was out, the aftermath began. A rush of warmth, a sudden spill of his cum escaping my well-used body, trickling down my thigh onto the couch. It was a mess. A glorious, indecent mess. I lay there for a second, feeling it pool beneath me, a stark, wet evidence of what we’d done.
A giggle bubbled up in my throat, part hysteria, part pure joy. He smirked, swatting my ass lightly. “Look at that. Leaking everywhere. You’re a disaster.”
I finally pushed myself up, my legs wobbly. A steady stream of his release dripped down my leg as I shuffled, laughing breathlessly, toward the bathroom to clean up his claim off my skin.
When I padded back into the living room, he was sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, one arm thrown over his forehead. The scene was so perfectly post-coital it was almost cliché. But then his eyes cracked open, dark and knowing, and any thought of cliché vanished.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice low and sleep-roughened. He didn’t move, just watched me as I approached.
I crawled onto the couch, settling beside him, my head on his chest. His arm came around me, his fingers idly tracing patterns on my shoulder. We stayed like that for a long time, the only sound our breathing and the distant hum of the city at night. My body hummed with a deep, resonant satisfaction, a pleasant ache between my legs that was a testament to his thoroughness. I was drifting, floating on the edge of sleep, lulled by the steady beat of his heart under my ear.
Then his hand slid down my back, over the curve of my hip, and squeezed. “Not yet,” he murmured into my hair. “My turn. I want to watch you.”
Oh. My pulse, which had been slowing to a calm rhythm, kicked up again. I knew what he wanted.
He shifted beneath me, his hands on my waist, guiding me to straddle him. He was already hard again, his cock rising thick and insistent against my stomach. The sight sent a fresh jolt of pure, undiluted lust straight to my core, which was still throbbing and sensitive from before.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a gravelly whisper. He held himself steady as I positioned myself above him. “Take what you need, you greedy girl. Ride me.”
I sank down onto him slowly, a long, breathy moan escaping my lips as he filled me once more. God, he’s so big. The stretch was exquisite, a familiar fullness that felt like coming home. I braced my hands on his chest, my head falling back as I began to move.
It started as a slow, rolling grind, a gentle rediscovery of the feel of him inside me. But the slow burn quickly ignited into a wildfire. I rose up until just the tip of him remained inside me, hovering on that delicious edge of almost losing him, and then sank down again, taking him all the way in one smooth, deep plunge.
“Fuck yes,” he groaned, his hands coming to grip my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Just like that. Use my cock. Make yourself cum.”
His words were fuel. I abandoned all pretense of gentleness. I began to move in earnest, my hips finding a rhythm that was all instinct and hunger. Up and down, faster and harder, my body slamming against his with a wet, rhythmic slap that was the only sound in the room besides our ragged breathing. I was lost in it, in the primal, driving need to take my pleasure from him, to milk every ounce of sensation from his body.
I could feel my orgasm building, a tight, hot coil low in my belly. “I’m close,” I panted, my rhythm becoming frantic, almost desperate.
“Not yet,” he growled, his own hips bucking up to meet my downward thrusts, driving himself even deeper. “Look at me.”
My eyes, which had been squeezed shut in concentration, flew open. His gaze was locked on me, intense and unwavering. He was watching every flicker of pleasure on my face, every shudder that wracked my body. The raw ownership in his look was what pushed me over. The coil snapped.
“Oh, God!” I cried out as the orgasm ripped through me, my inner walls clenching and fluttering around his length in a series of violent spasms. I ground down on him, my movements becoming jerky and uncontrolled as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. I felt my own release slicking his cock, making our joining even wetter, even more obscene.
But I didn’t stop. The aftershocks were still coursing through me as I started moving again, driven by a need that felt insatiable. I rode him through the first climax and straight into a second, this one sharper, brighter, making me scream his name as I convulsed around him again.
“You’re fucking milking me, you insatiable bitch,” he grunted, his own control clearly fraying. His thrusts became more urgent, his grip on my hips bruising. “You’re gonna make me cum. You feel that? You feel how hard you make me?”
“Yes,” I sobbed, my body a vessel of pure ecstasy. “I feel it. I feel all of it.”
“I’m gonna fill you up,” he warned, his voice strained and guttural. “Gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll be dripping for days.”
The promise, the sheer filth of it, sent another, smaller shock through my system. I felt him swell inside me, the telltale sign of his impending release. Just as he began to crest, his hands left my hips and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me down hard against him as he thrust up one final, devastating time. He held me there, impaled, his body bowing off the couch.
A raw, animalistic groan was torn from his throat, and I felt it. I felt every powerful, pulsing jet as he came. Rope after rope of hot cum release flooded my depths, more than I’d ever felt from him before. It seemed to go on forever, a seemingly endless fountain claiming me, filling me until I felt impossibly full, stretched and packed with his essence. He collapsed back onto the cushions, taking me with him, his softening cock still buried deep inside me.
We were both slick with sweat and utterly spent. He didn’t pull out. His arms came around me, holding me close as our breathing slowly returned to normal. The feeling of him, still inside me, his warmth spreading through my very core, was profoundly intimate. It was a claiming that went beyond the physical. Exhaustion pulled at me, and with the rhythm of his heart under my ear and his cum cooling deep within my pussy, I fell into a deep, sated sleep.
I woke to a slow, stretching fullness. A soft, unconscious moan escaped my lips as I shifted in my sleep, the sensation pulling me gently toward consciousness. It was his cock, still semi-soft inside me from the night before, beginning to swell with his morning arousal. The moan that followed was louder, a sound of pure, drowsy pleasure that fully woke us both.
My eyes fluttered open to find his already on me, dark with sleep and immediate, renewed hunger.
“Morning,” he rasped, and his hips gave a slow, experimental roll.
The moan that was ripped from my throat this time was anything but soft. It was a loud, sound that echoed in the quiet morning light. He was already fully hard, and the simple act of him growing and stretching inside me, sensitive and tender from the night before, was overwhelmingly intense.
He didn’t say anything else. He just started to move, a slow, deep, possessive rhythm that was a world away from the frantic pace of the night before. These were claiming thrusts, each one a reminder of where I was and who I belonged to in that moment. I clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I met each slow, grinding push.
“You feel so good in the morning,” he muttered against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “So warm and tight. Like you were made for my cock.”
The words, the rhythm, the overwhelming fullness—it built a pressure inside me that was different from anything I’d felt before. It wasn’t the sharp peak of a clitoral orgasm, but a deep, swelling need that centered on where we were joined. I could feel it building, a tide rising from my core.
“I… I think I’m gonna…” I gasped, unable to even form the words.
He understood. He drove into me harder, faster, his pace shifting from languid to demanding. “Do it,” he commanded. “Soak me. Let me feel it.”
And I did. With a guttural cry that was half-sob, half-scream, the pressure broke. A hot gush of liquid released from me, drenching his cock and his thighs and the sheets beneath us. It wasn’t a trickle; it was a flood, a surrender so complete it left me shaking and breathless. I squirted over him, the intensity of the sensation blinding.
He groaned, the sound pained with pleasure. “Fuck, yes. Look at that. My good little slut, squirting all over my cock.”
He pulled out of me then, the sudden emptiness making me whimper. But he wasn’t done. He turned me onto my hands and knees. The position was submissive, vulnerable, and a fresh thrill went through me. I felt the cool air on my wetness, followed by the heat of his gaze.
He didn’t enter me gently. He guided himself to my soaked entrance and slammed into me in one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. I cried out, my arms buckling, but he held my hips, keeping me up.
Then he began to fuck me in earnest. Hard, deep, punishing strokes that stole the breath from my lungs. The sound of his skin slapping against mine was loud and obscene. I could feel every inch of him, the friction sparking another orgasm almost immediately. I came with a scream, my vision spotting.
He didn’t pause. His hand came down on my ass with a sharp crack that sent a jolt of pain-pleasure straight to my core. “Again,” he demanded, pounding into me. “Cum for me again, you filthy whore.”
And I did. I lost count. My world narrowed to the feeling of his cock pistoning into me, the sting of his slap blooming on my skin, the filthy, degrading words he growled in my ear. I was mindless, a creature of pure sensation, cumming over and over until my voice was hoarse from screaming.
I felt his rhythm begin to stutter, his thrusts becoming ragged. “Gonna cum,” he grunted, his grip on my hips viselike. “Where do you want it?”
“My face,” I panted, the words coming from somewhere dark and desperate inside me. “Please. On my face.”
With a final, brutal thrust, he pulled out of me. His hand wrapped around his cock, and I turned my head, opening my mouth and looking up at him just as the first hot stripe of cum hit my cheek. The second landed on my lips. Rope after rope followed, painting my face, my chin, my neck, my breasts. It was a violent, beautiful mess, a final, definitive act of degradation. He groaned, his body tensing as he emptied himself onto me, marking me as his completely.
When he was spent, he dropped to his knees behind me, breathing heavily. I stayed on all fours, feeling his release cooling on my skin, dripping from my chin onto my breasts. I was utterly destroyed, used, and filled with a dizzying, all-consuming satisfaction.
He reached out and swiped a finger through the mess on my cheek, bringing it to my lips. I opened my mouth and sucked his finger clean, my eyes never leaving his.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “Perfect,” he said. hazelking9999@gmail.
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