I slightly tightened my knuckles around his throat and his eyes rolled back into his skull. "Mistress!" A melodic gasp escaped his mouth.
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. He liked it. The voice whispered hoarsely in my mind, he loved it!
"I won't – I won't come. Until you tell me to." He cried as his meaty paws curled upon my knuckles, pressing them hard onto his throat.
"Fuck!" A stunned gleamed through me. The way he was behaving was a scene straight out of my daydreams.
My hips paced, that uncontrollable knot in my stomach leading it all. The pleasure bloomed bigger than before, my neck arching, my body stiffening.
The tip of his cock began striking my sweet spot, continuously. My knuckles contrasted even more around his throat, lustful grumbles crackling through my mouth, my mind in a daze.
My thighs quivered, my body tired under the rhythm of my hips, when silence deafened me.
My eyes dropped on his flushing cheeks, trembling and gasping lips and labouring body. He seemed possessed, too lost in pleasure.
"Fuck! Who the fuck are you?" I grumbled, my knuckles tightening even more and halted my hips, bracing myself up, leaving his dick crying without my insides.
He gasped like a horse after a race, his eyes darting at me, his body up and down on the mattress, ragged and used. Saying nothing, I sank back onto his cock, grinding once again.
My insides had become a viscous cavity, they welcomed his thawing cock so enthusiastically, clutching his cock hungrily.
"Mistress!" He cried, still sensitive, still just as much needy, "I want to come. This time I really, badly want to. Please!" His face leaned towards me, begging, clutching onto the fabric, his arms spread and flexing.
Thrusts of his hips began, grunts from his hoarse throat echoing, the tip of his dick crushing my sweet spot again and again.
Cries of pleasure from my mouth seemed to multiply his hunger by.
"what are you doing?" I leaned down, my arms cagging his face. "I'm helping you." He answered, a tone so dangerous.
Pulsation of dick arrived inside me once again, hailing his release – which could happen any second.
"No, you're not." I grumbled against my teeth, biting onto the curve of his neck, "you're helping yourself —"
He cried, — a cry of being caught. His arms clutched my waist, not wishing me to order otherwise and he thrusted deeper, sending pain and pleasure into the pit of my stomach.
"Please, … please." There was desire in his tone, obligation and pain. My mind was in a daze, my face into his neck, my fingers wringing the bedsheet. "I want to come with you. Please, let me!" Wringing my hips.
I wanted to let him. I swear, I did.
But, "N-no." I said.
"P-please!" If cries could be any higher and louder, they belonged to him.
"No!" Crushing the bedsheet harder, the pleasure building into the pit of my stomach, my insides. I was so close.
He begged, so needy, so desperate, his dick throbbing uncontrollably inside me.
"I'm about to … come!" The tension was so big, so high.
"Please … let me come with you!"
A few more thrusts and I was shuddering on his pulsating cock, grunting, twitching and writhing on top of him with a slicked body.
His cry for an orgasm never died. But, I left his cock hanging, twitching, my face and lips on his neck.
"Mistress …" He had turned into a mess, pitiful, squeezing my body tighter in his arms, quivering.
I took him on another ride, and another and another. My long cradled hunger seemed to have broken all the doors of control that day, driving him to the point of no return, to where tears coated his cheeks.
"Do you still want it? Do you still have hope?" I grumbled, my hands on his abdomen, my stomach tight with building heat.
"P-please! I beg you." His eyes shut, his hands quivering around my waist, his neck arching, his body coated with a thick salty veil — a mess.
"Oh, you look so gorgeous." Chills crawled up on me like it was for the first time.
The arousal built in both of us with each thrust. "Please, mistress, please! Let me come. Please! This time, please!" His cheeks soaked with pleasure.
"Come." I whispered, leaned down, pressed against his chest.
The lightning cracked outside. Our bodies, mingled together, shuddering. Warmth veiled my face, my limbs slithering under heavy fabric — a quilt.
I opened my heavy eyes against that warmth showered on my face, an open window welcoming sunshine, smaller than the window from last night.
I turned to the other side of the bed. There was no one. Still, in a deep daze, I rotated my gaze in the room, smaller, sheets different. It was my room.
I got off the bed, my feet on the cold floor. I was still wearing the clothes from the night.
Did it all happen, or not?"
I stumbled towards my living room, looking for him. I don't know why, but I wanted to see him. I thought I would.
For that, I looked everywhere, but no one. There was no one.
Maybe it was a dream after all. Sinking into the couch, that's all I could think about. I had just drank too much, my palms veiled through my face, when I saw the scar.
Painful, fresh and real as I ran a finger over it.
THE END
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