9. Stacy #2
“You taste exquisite,” he purrs into my mound. I cry out, hands instinctively going to his head as he presses his mouth into me.
“Fuck!” I shout, eyes shut in the throes of ecstasy.
“Not yet, but soon,” he whispers into my damp patch of hair before returning to his ministrations. He suckles the juices from my outer lips, stretching them out one at a time with his mouth.
I’m being devoured by a Reaper, in the best possible way.
My fingers tighten in his hair, and I try to guide him. That’s a mistake, because he instantly catches my wrists and squeezes until I release his hair.
“Who rules here?” he growls, eyes burning like fire.
“You,” I manage to croak out. I’m so close to climax I can’t stand it. I just need a little more!
“Damn right.”
He snatches up my shredded panties and slaps my wrists together in front of me. With adroitness and nimble speed, he binds my hands together, then shoves them up until my arms are over my head.
My chest heaves with heavy pants as he surveys his handiwork.
Nodding to himself, he returns to eating me alive.
He uses his fingers to splay me wide open, tongue working its way inside.
It writhes inside of me, much longer than a human could ever reach.
He moves in until his nose is pressed into my body, upper lips teasing my clit, red eyes locked on my gaze.
I’m finally thrust across the veil separating me from orgasm.
I scream, body thrashing about as pulses of golden lightning shoot through me, carrying pleasure to every nerve.
But my bound hands remain behind my head, where he placed them.
I’m oddly proud of that in the part of my brain capable of rational thought.
A powerful wave of contractions thunders through my pussy, and I deluge him with the juices he’s already glistening in. He lifts his dripping wet face and a smile breaks out over his face.
“Yes, let’s see if we can make you do that again,” he growls.
“I’d rather sit on your cock,” I say, the words tumbling out without embarrassment.
He laughs, and rises to his feet, jet black body glistening with sweat and my own moisture.
“Beg me,” he commands.
“Please, Tyrok,” I say, using my feet to manipulate his upthrust rod, since my hands are still bound behind my head. “Please let your girl ride your cock.”
Something changes in his gaze. His hand snaps to the collar and he uses it to drag me to my feet. I go with the motion as he spins me about, taking my seat on the sofa. It’s not worth a bunch of credits any longer, if you will.
He pulls me onto his lap as if I weigh nothing.
I lift my leg, straddling his lap as he holds his cock steady with one hand.
I grit my teeth as his crown enters me. The spurs aren’t hard like bone, but semi rigid and pliable.
And they don’t stay still, either, they flex in and out.
I can feel his heartbeat through them as I slowly lower myself onto his shaft.
My body is ready for him, and my pussy as it greedily gobbles him up inch by inch.
At last I settle on his lap, and our eyes meet.
He’s entered me for the first time, and the significance is not lost on either of us.
He kisses me again, before turning his mouth to my breasts.
I cry out, hands coming from behind my head.
I slide my arms over his head until my bound wrists are behind his neck, pulling him more firmly into my body.
Then I move, and show him that we study more than just stuffy literature at the Companions Academy. Tyrok groans into my breasts, his body moving in concert with mine as if that’s what we were born to do.
I grind against him, his cock stretching me, the spurs flexing in and out with every movement. It’s more than just physical, this connection. I can almost feel his impending climax in my own mind. I know just how to move to delay it a little longer while still driving him wild.
“Say you love your collar,” he commands as we heave together.
“I--I love my collar,” I shout. Then my voice rises in pitch and grows more guttural as I cum, hard, while riding his cock. “ I love my collar! ”
He cries out as he comes inside of me, filing me with his hot seed. I collapse against him, legs turned to jelly, body much the same as I writhe on his body. His powerful arms embrace me, pulling me in tighter, until I can feel his heart beating a few inches from my own.
He gently lifts me from his semi-rigid member and arranges me on his lap. With an almost casual flick of his finger, he cuts the panties binding my wrists together. I immediately throw my arms around him again, shivering with aftershocks as I lean against his chest.
We stay that way for a long time, without speaking. There’s nothing to say. He strokes my hair gently as our sweat mingles and cools. I lose track of time, but eventually he speaks.
“You’re still thinking,” he says.
“I’m always thinking,” I reply.
“That’s going to get in the way.”
“It hasn’t yet.”
A quiet breath leaves him, something that almost becomes a laugh but doesn’t fully commit, and the sound of it settles into the space between us.
“No,” he says. “It hasn’t.”
The moment steadies, the intensity held in place instead of pushed further, and I realize that what I expected this to be isn’t what it is at all.
“You’re not holding anything back,” he says.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need to,” I reply.