Chapter 22 Tytus
Chapter twenty-two
Tytus
As I saunter away from the bed, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder and study Sawyer. She’s spread out, her body languid. While I fully intend to join her and hold her close, I need to clean up. Because I came in my pants. Again.
Though her eyes are closed and her breathing has evened out like she’s asleep, I whisper, “I need to take a shower.”
“Here?” She sits up, the sheets rustling gently.
There’s no defensiveness in her tone. She sounds more curious than anything.
“Yes, petit diable. Here. I told you I’d be sleeping in this bed as often as I can. I’m making good on my promise tonight.”
I gather the few toiletries I brought, then enter the small en suite and strip out of my clothes. Without bothering to wait for the water to warm up, I step into the stall. With any luck, the icy blast will make my dick stand down.
Though goose bumps erupt along my skin and I suck in a harsh breath, my dick remains rock hard and aching.
The show Sawyer just put on for me went above and beyond my expectations.
When she so willingly handed over the remote for her vibrator, I thought I might pass out from lack of blood to the brain.
Watching her get herself off was an experience I couldn’t have imagined, erotic and provocative in a way I realize now I’ll never get enough of.
But holding the remote, changing the tempo and the intensity, knowing I was the one in charge of her pleasure?
That’s what my fucking dreams are made of.
Her body quivering, because of me.
Her pussy spasming, because of me.
Fuckin’ A.
And then she asked me to touch her. She fucking begged me to put my hands on her body.
Just thinking about her puffy pink pussy gripping around that toy causes me to leak like a sieve.
I scrub my body quickly, taking care to get all the cum off my thighs. Then I drop the washcloth to the shower floor with a splat, wrap my hand around my cock, and give it a fast, hard tug.
With my feet planted wide and one hand on the wall over my head to steady myself, I rub one out and groan through the release.
I come quickly, but it’s not enough.
It never fucking is.
Clenching my jaw, I rub over my piercings and keep tugging. I’m desperate and aching and so fucking focused on the heaviness pulling at my core.
I can’t even fathom what it’ll feel like when I’m finally inside her.
I’m going to last ten seconds, tops. Thank fuck for my nonexistent refractory period. I can fill her up, then keep going. She’ll clench around my cock, scream my name, and come so hard she cries. Then I can pull out, flip her over, and do it all again.
When the telltale tingle of another orgasm dances up my spine, I grip my dick tighter, crushing my piercings until the pain melts into pleasure.
My lower half locks up, my insides coiling tighter and the pleasure charging higher with every rough pull of my cock.
“Ty?”
My hand stops moving and my lungs seize up.
But my dick heard her voice and took that as its cue to shoot ropes of cum at the tile wall.
The door cracks open, and a mass of copper hair appears through the opaque shower curtain.
“I just have to pee,” she says quietly.
“I’m still in the shower,” I grit out between bursts of release.
She steps in anyway.
“Sorry. I tried to hold it until you were done, but I’m going to burst.”
I scoff.
Me fucking, too.
Another wave of pleasure courses through me. I lift my fist to my mouth, choking back a groan. In doing so, I shift back too quickly and nearly lose my balance.
Grunting, I heave my shoulder against the wall to keep myself from falling and slam against the side of the shower in the process.
“Shit. Are you okay?”
Her voice is closer, the air around me cooler.
Heart hammering, I turn to take her in.
She’s pulled the shower curtain back with an extended hand, her eyes wide and her hand to her chest.
“Ty?”
“I’m fine,” I hiss, even as my shoulder burns and my cock pulsates.
Clearly I’m a masochist, because the pain makes me even hornier.
“You’re pierced?”
Fuck.
When I lift my gaze again, a thrill shoots through me. She’s not just looking. She’s fucking gaping.
Tentatively, I stroke myself once, gauging her reaction.
I go painstakingly slow, pausing on each rung of my Jacob’s ladder so she can really take it in.
As I drag my hand up, I lift, showing off the seven piercings straining against the thickness of my swelling member.
Her pupils dilate, and her mouth falls open. That crimson tell I love so much creeps from her chest to her neck to her cheeks.
She’s blushing all over. Just for me.
“What do you think?”
Eyes flitting between my face and my cock, she takes a tentative step forward. “I’ve never seen one like that. Can I touch it?”
I can’t help the fucking grin that blooms across my face.
She can tell me how much she hates me all she wants, but there’s no denying her body’s reaction to mine, or the visceral connection that keeps us tethered and yearning for more.
“Yeah, baby. You can touch it.”
She reaches out, her expression serious. Her touch is so delicate it almost tickles.
As another bead of precum forms at the slit, her tongue darts out, and she licks her lips.
Blistering heat sears me. “You like what you see, Sawyer? Are you thinking about how it’ll feel the first time I plunge into you and pull back, dragging each and every one of my piercings out of your tight pussy?”
She whimpers, then licks her lips again.
Fuckin’ A.
Goddamn all her little noises. How the hell can a whimper almost send me over the edge?
“Back up. I’m about to bust,” I warn, grasping the shower curtain.
Rather than back up and let me pull the plastic back into place, she licks her lips again, and with a hopeful glint in her eyes, asks, “On me?”
That’s a fucking option?
I squeeze my tip to stave off my orgasm.
“Is that what you want, petit diable? You want me to paint you with my cum?”
Her breath hitches, her pretty brown eyes frantically searching my face.
She’s gnawing on her bottom lip, frozen at the proposition.
“You can’t let yourself want it, can you?”
The accusation lands, her expression going stony, just as understanding registers.
She gave me the idea.
But I’ll have to take the reins.
“Get on your fucking knees, wife.”
She scrambles to obey, her movements jerky and rushed.
Such a good fucking girl.
“Take off your shirt.” It’s my shirt, the sight of which makes me fucking preen.
She whips it over her head, exposing those enormous, pillowy tits with the pretty little piercings on each nipple.
“Now lick each piercing, mon ange. I’m going to count them for you. When I get to seven, I’m going to fucking blow.”
Her chest heaves as she spreads her legs and settles lower.
She opens wide, then sticks out her tongue, gazing up at me through those long eyelashes with unabashed need in her eyes.
My hips jut forward when she runs the tip of her tongue along my slit.
Then she pops off my dick and sinks lower, preparing to do exactly as I asked.
She turns her head enough to take the entire piercing in her mouth. Her tongue caresses the tender skin and she suckles the base of my cock like I’m her favorite fucking candy.
“That’s it.” I sink my hands into her hair as she keeps licking the lowest rung. “Right there, baby. Lap at it. Get it nice and wet for me. That’s one.”
As she works her way up my length, lavishing two, three, four, and five, I hold her hair and guide her head.
“Where do you want it?” I ask through gritted teeth as she moves on to number six.
She doesn’t answer. Nor does she lick the piercing under my crown, piercing number seven, when she finally reaches the top.
Desperation claws at my chest.
I need her mouth on me.
I need her to tell me where I’m allowed to come.
Instead of answering with her words, she opens wide, looks up through hooded lashes, and plunges forward, sealing her lips around the head of my dick and the top piercing.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Seven,” I groan as I pull her hair and hammer my hips forward, releasing into her eager mouth.
She swirls her tongue around my tip, greedily sucking and swallowing jet after jet of cum. My vision goes dark as a ringing sounds off in the distance.
Such a good girl. Such a good fucking wife.
Seven.
Seven.
Seven.
It’s my favorite fucking number.