Chapter 11 Beck #2
He's making me feel the weight of his flesh. Coating my tongue with the flavor of his salty cum. Making me taste and feel him so neither of us can walk away from tonight without processing exactly what occurred here tonight.
Brody gives a few experimental thrusts, still cupping my jaw like I’m something precious while he violates my face.
Because that’s what this is. Consensual or not, it’s a violation.
A ruining. Not just because I’ve been forced to my knees to submit to him, to suffer the indignity of him using my mouth for his pleasure.
And not because of the potential of someone opening the door not even two feet away from us and seeing me on my knees for him.
But because my cock is harder than it’s ever been, pressing against my pants in the most painfully obvious way, leaking enough pre-cum that I wouldn’t be surprised if I look like I’ve pissed myself by the end of this.
Brody gives a satisfied growl and tells me to “suck”. My lips close around him, my tongue curling up to feel the smooth, silky skin of his wet cock pushing in and out of my mouth. Brody’s hand moves to cup the back of my head, gently guiding me to bob up and down the length of him.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he was bigger than me.
In fact, no matter how far on the large side of average I am, my cock would look pathetically small next to his.
The realization sends a confusing surge of humiliation and excited pleasure through my body, and I squeeze my thighs together.
My fingers dig into the fabric of his jeans to prevent myself from using them to get myself off while he uses my mouth.
“That’s right, baby, suck me harder. Make your captain come like the good little cock slut you are.”
A shiver wracks my body, and I push forward, impaling my throat on him and making me gag.
“Oh, fuck yes. Like that. Choke on it.”
A whimper tears out of me when Brody’s fingers grip into the back of my hair and he starts thrusting to meet my mouth. My hand flies up, instinctively wrapping around the base of his cock to keep him from going too far back. He bucks and moans out a curse when my hand tightens around him.
My eyes are so watery I can’t make out his expression, but I get flashes of the fire behind his eyes whenever I blink my tears away.
My nose is running, making my deep inhales and attempts to breathe through my nose sound wet and ragged.
The suction of my mouth and the obscene sounds of me trying not to gag reverberate in the echo chamber that is the concrete stairwell, amplifying the sounds of heavy breathing and moans spilling out of Brody.
No, not just Brody. My body gets caught up in the illicit surrender that takes over me, and I’m moaning just as much as he is. Maybe more. My hips thrust on their own accord, humping the air, the friction of tight fabric over my cock just enough to drive me wild with need.
God, that’s embarrassing. But I can’t stop. I’m on the edge of coming in my pants, my body tight with tension, both anticipating and apprehensive about the end game.
This isn’t over until he comes. I need to rush to the finish line to get this over with so I can leave and never speak to him or look him in the eye ever again.
That’s what I tell myself, but there’s also a part of me that craves his release. Maybe not the physical manifestation of it, but the satisfaction of knowing that I accomplished it. That I didn’t chicken out and I followed through.
“Fuck, Beckett. I’m going to come. Are you going to take it like a good little cum slut?”
My eyes widen in trepidation, suddenly worried I won’t be able to handle it.
The obscene sound of it echoes in my ears, and I start to shake.
I feel Brody’s thighs tighten, and I dart a hand to my cock to put pressure on the pulse of pleasure throbbing in my dick.
But it’s too late. By the time he’s calling out a warning, I’m choking on my own orgasm before his even hits me.
His cock pounds into the back of my throat a few times, and I gag, hard.
Broady grunts loudly and pulls my hair, pulling his cock from my mouth with a wet pop.
I cough harshly and sputter, then gasp hard enough to choke on my own spit when the first rope of hot, wet cum splashes over my face.
The first spurt hits me across one cheek, all the way to the opposite eye, some of it getting up my nose.
The second and third spurts paint my lips and land in my open mouth.
I sputter and spit, spraying some of it back at the gun that shot it and across Brody’s thighs.
While I sputter indignantly, Brody’s ragged breaths and grunts of pleasure fill the air until he’s squeezed the last drop from himself and painted it across my bottom lip.
“Fuck. Look at you. So pretty painted in my cum. Marked. You’re fucking mine now, Beckett.”
Something about those words shocks me so hard I almost white out and fall back on my heels. I wipe my hand over my face to clear my eyes and mouth of the filth he just painted me with and look down at it coating my hand. My mind is too blank to process what I’m feeling.
Filthy. Degraded. Humiliated. Used.
And so fucking keyed up I don’t even balk when Brody keeps calling me filthy things through his comedown, twitching and writhing through my own. Nor do I argue when he tells me to take my shirt off and use it to mop up the mess I made.
Brody grabs my arm to help me up, a soft look in his eyes that jars me back to my right mind. I brush him off, straightening what’s left of my clothes and trying to hide the evidence of what happened to me while getting him off.
“Beckett–”
I scowl. What is this bastard doing to me? It has to be some kind of mind control tactic or something, but to stop using it as soon as he gets his rocks off is just rude. Let me come back to earth before you force me to process this shit. Damn.
His eyebrow raises and he straightens, the demonic look returning to his face. I look away, still lost in the headspace I was swimming in only a moment ago. His hand comes up to grip my jaw.
“Next time you’re going to swallow what I give you and thank me for it, Beckett. No wasting a single drop.”
Next time?
Oh.