Twenty-Nine
DALTON
“M ore,” Essie pleads, clawing her fingernails into my bedsheets while her back arches. Sweat dews her skin, casting this incredible sheen over her writhing body. Under the faint light from her laptop, she’s practically iridescent.
Her nod is emphatic, bordering on frantic, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing. She’s so full already, but she says she can take it, and I trust her.
“So needy,” I grit, playing my part. “You’re obsessed with getting stuffed, aren’t you?”
“I want it,” she moans, holding out the sound. “Please. Please, one more.”
I really can’t say no to her.
I collect a dollop of spit on my tongue, pull my mask forward to uncover my mouth, and drip the spit onto my cock. I’m half-nestled in Essie’s glistening pussy, and I’ve never seen her so wet before. Her inner thighs are shiny with arousal, and with the spit on my cock and the half-gallon of lube we’ve used, everything fits so perfectly. I take my time, readjusting my mask and moving my hand to the apex of her pussy, where I press my thumb against her pearled clit. The surge in her muscles is full-body and immediate, a pulsation I feel from the tip of my cock to the base of my spine.
“Please, Daddy,” she implores, thrusting her pelvis, urging more of my dick into her tight little body.
Carefully, I slide my ring finger in, bringing the total to three of my thick fingers and my dick. I’ve never filled a woman like this before, and it’s the most insane shit I’ve ever seen. Essie is well and truly packed with cock and fingers, and still, she thrusts like she wants more.
Jesus Christ, this girl can fuck.
Keeping my fingers in place, I pull back before canting my hips forward. “Tell me how many times you’ve taken a cock like this.”
“Never.”
“Just me.”
“Just you.” She releases her grip on the sheets and tugs my hand to her neck to collar her. Once my hand is in place, she yanks on the back of my head.
I’m wearing the Ghostface mask like she requested, and she’s been over-the-top horny all night. With our faces close now, her tongue emerges through her smeared red lips, and she licks the mask’s shiny white surface, indulging in the taboo we’re selling. It’s magnificent and it’s new and it’s filthy.
Essie is so fucking filthy.
“Look at you, taking me so well.” I tighten my hand on her neck. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.”
I flex my grip and actually hear the air escape from her slender throat. “ Say my fucking name .”
“You, Daddy,” Essie gasps, releasing her painful hold on my hair.
When she falls back onto the mattress, she moves my hand to her mouth and shoves three of my fingers between her lips. Then she’s sucking on them, taking them deep, and it’s never been more clear: Essie Romero would gamely let me fill every inch of her .
“That’s my good girl,” I murmur. “They pay to see how tight your holes are, so put on a show.” And then I say below a whisper, just for us, “ Keep being good for me, and I’ll make you gush on this fat, cum-filled cock .”
Her groan is the most melodic promise I’ve ever heard. My climax looms, but I’m determined to make her remember this night forever—livestream be damned.
“You’re like nothing I’ve ever seen,” I murmur, shifting my fingers in her—marveling at how much this woman takes. “You were desperate to be broken in, weren’t you? You were waiting for something big and thick enough. Look how well I’ve stretched you. Look how perfectly I’ve trained you, baby—gaping and ready for this cock whenever I want to use you.”
She’s nodding, unable to speak while she nearly gags herself on my hand, but there’s an elegance in the planful swerves of her sweat-damp body. Her motions are calculated and measured. The undulations of her hips are equal parts for show and to chase the climax she craves, and the effect makes me downright feral.
She pries my fingers out of her mouth—hell, out of her throat. “I want to come,” she says, speaking scratchily through spit-slick lips.
“Then beg for my dick,” I reply, smirking even though she can’t see me.
Essie’s jaw drops, and she looks like she would bite my face off if not for my mask. Just to piss her off, I pull everything out of her—cock and fingers.
“Daddy!”
“Beg,” I order. “Show me how much you need me.”
“Give me your cock back,” she whimpers sweetly as she reaches for me. “ Please .”
“Tell me you need it. Tell me you need me.”
And then Essie, a girl who has never needed anybody , looks up at my masked face, and says, “I think I’ll die if I can’t feel you fucking every inch of me, Daddy.”
Everything. She’s getting everything she wants.
My fingers are messy with lube and her arousal, but she doesn’t stop me when I place my palm flat on her stomach. “Here. Right here. Look at it.”
Then I notch my cock back into her pussy and surge forward, being deliberate with my stroke.
There it is—I see it. I feel it. The curve of my cockhead presses through her skin against the palm of my hand, protruding through her little belly. When I take my hand away, we both see the bulge of my cock emerge against the unmarred expanse of her skin, like a wave of me buried inside her.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs, pulling her lips into an O as she appreciates her own body,
I’ve filled all the spaces, every inch she has to offer, and it’s the closest I’ve ever been to hating what we have. There was a time when I dreamt about all-consuming and no-holds barred intimacy like this, but I ruled out the possibility quickly.
This is…I’m not even sure what to say about this—about her . All I know is I hate it. I hate it—I really hate it—because I’ve never liked sex until now, I don’t think. Fucking has never felt so damn fleeting until this moment when I sheath myself inside a woman whose existence has unwound the tenuous threads keeping all my mess from spilling out.
I hate this because I love this.
My next stroke nearly kills me—my finest bulge yet. My brain finally goes to the thing I’ve embargoed, to the perfectly agonizing thought of coming inside Essie and breeding her. Instead of seeing my cock moving inside her, I see her stomach swell and grow, not with cock, but with our baby—the family we’re never going to have.
It’s almost funny how oblivious Essie is to what I’m enduring behind my mask. She’s so unbelievably happy right now—the same joyful expression she wore when she made a killing at the bank today. Eyes alight and lips separated, she pulls herself into my lap and ruins me for all other women. She’s too short to reach my face in this position, but she’s the perfect height for my chest. Her lips wrap around my nipple and suck desperately, sending a pang of pleasure I didn’t even know my body was capable of experiencing.
She sucks my nipple even more ravenously, and I can hear the telltale chime of the tips on the laptop. That chime spurs me to tilt my hips and give her more of my cock—and she’s in tune enough to feel the change in my pace.
“Don’t come yet,” she nearly begs.
“I won’t.”
“Please don’t.” Her voice wavers. “I’m not there yet. I want to finish together—”
“Baby,” I catch her face with my free hand and clench her jaw. “I’m not going to come until you do. Do you get it? I’m going to take care of everything.”
Eyes watery with need, Essie nods.
I work my fingers back into her ready pussy, wedging them in alongside my cock. I hook them against the soft spot at her entrance, hedging my bets to find her g-spot, but it’s not difficult with Essie. Her climax bursts forth like sunlight weaving through the gaps in the clouds, and she’s squirting, drenching my cock and fingers and body—and I could bathe in it.
“Get your cum on my cock. I love it when you gush all over me,” I coax. “You look so good when you’re soaked in your own cum.”
But Essie barely hears me. Her eyes are shut tight, and her lips are back on my nipple, lapping at it like she’s self-soothing. We’re both so goddamn wet now, and if I weren’t wearing a mask, I’d want it on my face. I’d make her lick it off my cheeks and spit it into my mouth.
The pressure builds against the tight walls of her pussy holding me in, squeezing me. “Drain my cock, baby,” I say through clenched teeth.
She listens. She tightens around me, and I come so hard that the sinews of my muscles ache while I fill her.
Fuck it. I’m grateful for the mask. There’s no way my face could bear anything other than dread.
I want to do this forever.
Essie has to put her hands on my shoulders and lever herself to get my cock out of her, and she beams as she grabs her laptop from my dresser and plants it on the end of the bed.
While she works, I switch the camera feed back to the laptop. Then I bring a damp towel over to her, and spread her legs so I can drag the warm cloth over her pussy and asshole.
“Five minutes,” I say in warning once I’m done. Then I sit next to Essie and watch her wind down the final minutes of the stream. She reaches over, and her fingertips dance over the ink on my thigh, absentminded and natural. I wonder how the points of connection between us feel for her. Her body fits mine like a glove, but so does her quintessential being—the very Essie-ness of it all. Does she feel it too? Does she wonder if there could ever be anyone else so perfect for her?
The expectation has always been less . You’re too big, Dalton. You’re too loud. Sit still. Drink less. Be less. But Essie always asks for more.
I jolt with surprise when she snaps the laptop shut. Now that the stream is over, I peel my mask off and toss it aside. Essie does the same. She smiles.
I don’t smile back for once.
She’s naked, entirely exposed, pussy still pink and bearing traces of her arousal and her cum. “What’s wrong?” she asks, voice sweet as always.
My restraint never stood a chance.
I crash my lips against hers, taking her mouth in a kiss that starts hungry and somehow grows more ravenous with each passing second. I know it won’t last—it never lasts.
And then she doesn’t stop me.
She’s tugging me on top of her, urging me onto her naked and ready body.
She’s going to let me fuck her.
She’s going to let me kiss her and worship her, and maybe she’ll fall asleep in my arms.
But we can’t do this.
I promised her I would take care of everything. I promised I would be her Daddy.
I wrench my lips away and spring off the bed. Every part of my body wants her—my heart most profoundly—but she’s counting on me.
“You were amazing,” I make myself say, pretending the kiss was a show of admiration. The words are true, but the intent is a lie. I’m proud of her—but it’s not why I kissed her.
Luckily, Essie is still smiling. “We’re amazing together. Do you want to see how much we made?”
I force another smile, making sure this one reaches my eyes. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, sweetheart,” I say, sitting on the bed next to her again. “That’s all.”