Chapter 18
Porter
The answer came from Alex instantly, sobbed and breathless and mortifying.
“I’m the kind of girl who needs it in the ass.”
“Good girl,” I growled, and I freed her arms for just long enough to let the robe fall from my shoulders.
I took hold of her wrists again, my raging cock in my left hand, and I brought the head of my manhood up against the glistening, luscious entrance to the recesses of my new fuck toy’s body.
Her whole frame shuddered, her arm muscles struggling against the restraint of my fingers in a way I knew very well, of a young woman just beginning to learn how deeply bondage affected her.
Alex cried out as I drove my cock into her wet little cunt from behind, the table bracing her, my right hand keeping her wrists pinned at the small of her back while my left settled first on the roundness of her hip, then moved to the black base of the plug.
Her pussy took me greedily despite the fresh humiliation, despite the tears I could hear still caught in her breathing.
I gave her one hard, deep stroke and felt her whole body answer.
“That’s right,” I said, bending so I could speak near her ear. “This is what you begged for.”
She made a sound, half sob, half moan, and pushed back against me in a fashion I felt sure some part of her found disgraceful even as her body responded to my dominance.
The plug shifted under my fingers as I moved it gently, and the effect on her was immediate.
Her thighs trembled. Her cunt clenched around me in hot little spasms that drew a pleased growl from my chest.
I fucked her hard, though not carelessly.
Alex needed force right then, force and certainty, the kind that takes a girl past self-consciousness and leaves her only the fact of being used properly.
Each thrust drove her against the edge of the table.
Each slight movement of the plug made her gasp anew.
I could feel the way the sensations braided together for her, the pussy and the ass, exactly as I had told her they would.
“Oh, God… oh, God…”
“Sir,” I said, and pulled the plug outward just enough to make her cry out.
“Sir,” she sobbed at once. “Sir… please…”
I leaned over her a little more, my chest to her back for one stroke, then another. “There’s something you should know, because I’m going to come in this tight little cunt.”
She made a helpless little noise as I thrust deeper. “I… I… can’t think.”
“You don’t have to think much.” I drew out almost all the way and drove back in. “I’ve had a vasectomy.”
Even in her state, I felt the slight jolt of surprise go through her.
Good. I wanted to have that concern removed from the equation, to help Alex truly let go.
I felt certain she had some rational little corner of her mind trying to govern this, trying to make her body’s surrender fit into acceptable categories.
Better to deprive it of one more excuse to interfere.
Then I gave her the next structure she needed, smiling despite the heat in me and the way the velvet walls of her pussy nearly overmastered my control as my cock came and went inside her. “What do you want?”
She tried to answer, but another thrust took the coherence out of her for a moment. I kept fucking her, steady and deep, feeling her body open around me more fully with every stroke. My hand on the plug moved the toy in and out with tiny, controlled motions that made her shudder violently.
“Tell me.”
“I want…” Her voice broke. “I want to come.”
“Do you.”
“Yes… sir… please… please…”
“You will ask permission before you come.”
She sobbed out her response instantly, exactly as I expected. “Please… please, may I come?”
The speed of it nearly made me laugh, though what I felt most strongly was hunger. Such a needy thing. Such an honest one, once properly pressed. I kept my pace unchanged.
“No.”
Her whole body jerked.
“Sir,” she whimpered.
“No,” I repeated calmly. “You may ask. You may beg. You may not come until I decide.”
* * *
Alex
“Oh, God… I mean… oh, sir…” The idea went through my feverish brain that somehow Porter Bradford had become my new deity: one who had a power over me that felt much more present than any almighty’s could be.
“No,” he said again, maddeningly calm behind me.
I made a sound that hardly seemed human.
The table dug into my hips with each thrust. My wrists were still caught in one of his hands at the small of my back, and his other hand still toyed with the plug, not enough to pull it out, just enough to remind my body, over and over, that every part of me had become part of the lesson, that every part of me belonged to my sponsor.
“Please,” I whispered. Then louder, “Please, sir. I need to. I need to so much.”
“You do,” he agreed, his voice husky with his pleasure, but he showed no sign of relenting.
He simply accepted the fact of my need as if it were one more useful piece of data, and then continued using me exactly as he pleased.
His cock kept driving into me, deep and hard.
The plug shifted under his fingers. My whole body strained toward the edge he would not let me cross.
I tried to hold back because he had told me to, but my body had become one long trembling plea. My thighs shook. My hot, needy pussy clenched frantically around him. Tears blurred my sight as I stared at the polished surface of the table inches from my face.
“Ask properly,” he growled into my ear.
“Please, may I come, sir?”
“No.”
The sob broke out of me at once, and he kept fucking me so hard the table shook.
I couldn’t tell how long he had held me there.
Time had gone strange. There was only the relentless rhythm of him, the terrible fullness at my rear, the ache building and building in my pussy until it seemed to spread into my stomach and breasts and throat.
I felt overfull with pleasure I couldn’t spend.
I was crying by then, not delicately, not attractively.
Tears ran down my face and onto the table.
My breath hitched in wet, wrecked sounds.
“Please,” I kept saying. “Please, sir. Please. Please.”
Each refusal sharpened the need instead of dulling it. Each minute made me less myself and more some sobbing female thing trapped under a man’s command, made to wait and wait while he used her body and listened to her beg.
At some point my legs started to weaken in earnest. He must have felt it, because his hand shifted from my hip to my waist, bracing me more securely while he continued to thrust. The casual strength of it undid me further.
“I can’t,” I cried. “I can’t hold it…”
“Yes, you can.”
That stern certainty in his voice made me shudder all over. My body obeyed him even then. It held. It quivered on the brink and held, because he had said no and because somewhere deep below my frantic humiliation, the command had become more real than the desperate urge itself.
When he finally spoke again, my crying had turned thin and ragged.
“That’s enough,” he said.
For one wild second I thought he meant to stop entirely, and panic flashed through me so hard it felt like a blow.
Then his hand gripped the base of the plug more firmly and his voice dropped lower, darker, with a note of approval in it that went straight through me.
“Now,” he said. “Come as much as you want.”
The first climax instantly overwhelmed my body.
It hit with such violence that my cry of helpless pleasure tore out of me in a raw scream.
My whole body convulsed against the table.
My knees nearly buckled, but he held me up and kept fucking me through it, his cock driving through the spasms of my vagina while the plug moved just enough to make the pleasure feel endless, dirty, impossible.
“Oh, God… oh… oh… oh, sir…”
“That’s right.”
I thought it would crest and pass.
It didn’t.
Another wave seized me before the first had fully ended, then another.
I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe.
My pussy fluttered and clenched around him again and again, each climax dragging the next one after it.
I had no dignity left in me whatsoever. I screamed.
I sobbed. I pushed back helplessly onto him because my body wanted more even while it seemed impossible to survive what it was getting.
He did not tell me to stop. He had told me to come as much as I wanted, and my treacherous body apparently wanted to come until I lost my mind.
“Such a needy girl,” he murmured, almost with satisfaction. “There you are. Take it. Give it to me.”
By the third or fourth climax—I genuinely didn’t know which—I had gone almost boneless with it.
Pleasure had become a kind of torment all its own, too intense to hold inside ordinary thought.
My vagina felt swollen and oversensitive and still ravenous.
Every stroke of his cock seemed to strike the very center of me.
The plug, still seated in my bottom, made every contraction spread wider, stranger, more shamefully complete.
Then his rhythm changed.
Until then he had used me with that same infuriating control—the control of a jackhammer.
He had forced my body to spend itself while he remained the orchestrator of it.
Now I felt something in him tighten. His thrusts grew rougher, less measured, heavier with urgency. His breath changed near my ear.
I was dimly aware, through the haze, that this meant something. That I was doing this to him too. The thought gave me another helpless spasm of pleasure.
“Yes,” he said, sounding rough now in a way that made me shiver. “Clench on me. That’s it.”
He drove into me hard, all the way, once, twice, again, and then I felt him come.
The sensation of it—of his cock buried deep in me, of the pulsing heat flooding inside me—made me cry out once more.
He held himself there, filling me, his hand hard on my waist. I could feel each pulse of him in the deepest part of me.
The intimacy of it, the sheer possession in it, shocked me all over again despite everything.
I was still trembling when he reached, without withdrawing, for his phone.
I heard him unlock it one-handed and lift it to his ear while his cock remained inside me and my naked body was still draped over the dining table like a meal he hadn’t quite finished eating.
“Bradford,” he said.
His voice had gone calm again with terrifying speed.
A pause.
“Yes. Is the new young lady’s apartment ready?”
I froze.
Apartment.
He listened for a moment, his hand still resting on my hip as if the conversation and the fact of his semen inside me belonged naturally to the same order of business.
“Good,” he said. “We’ll be down shortly.”
He ended the call, set the phone on the table, and only then withdrew.
I gasped at the emptiness. Immediately I felt warmth slipping out of me. My face burned hotter than ever, if that was possible. I stayed bent over because I didn’t think I was capable of anything else, and because I instinctively felt, with a quick, scalding blush, that I needed permission.
He released my wrists at last.
“You may get up,” he said. I had to push down a whimper.
I straightened slowly, with a little cry at the combined soreness in my bottom, my thighs, everywhere. When I turned, he was looking at me with the composed satisfaction of a man who had just completed a task to his standards.
I wrapped my arms around myself without thinking.
“Don’t.”
I lowered them at once, more blood rushing to my cheeks.
He walked away toward the bedroom with the unhurried ease of someone entirely at home in his own authority. I followed a few steps behind because it did not occur to me not to.
By the time I entered the bedroom he had already opened a closet and was dressing with brisk efficiency, replacing the suit with dark jeans and a charcoal t-shirt that somehow made him look no less in command.
If anything, the simplicity of it made him seem more dangerous, not less.
He belonged in expensive tailoring, certainly, but the casual clothes suggested that the authority came from him rather than from anything he wore.
He crossed to a chest and took out a folded bundle of soft gray fabric, then turned and held it out.
“For you.”
I took it automatically. Sweatpants. A matching sweatshirt.
I blinked at them, then at him. “Now?”
“Yes. You’re sleeping downstairs in your new place tonight.”
Something fluttered low in my stomach at the phrase. Downstairs. Sleeping where he chose, apparently.
I hesitated. “Are you going to… I mean, can I… you know… take it out?” With yet another flush, I turned slightly and gestured to my backside.
His eyes dropped briefly toward the plug, then rose again. “That stays in.”