5. Both Holes Filled
Both Holes Filled
Kayla was still trembling on the sectional when I came back downstairs.
The glass of water in my hand sweated condensation.
I set it on the floor beside her and watched the way her chest rose and fell—slower now, the frantic rhythm of her breathing finally settling into something that resembled calm.
Her eyes were half-closed, lashes dark against her flushed cheeks.
The mess between her thighs—my come leaking from both holes, the slick shine of her own arousal—caught the fluorescent light.
“Drink,” I said.
She reached for the glass with an arm that shook. Propped herself on one elbow. Drank in small, careful sips.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
A laugh. Weak. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. A very sexy truck.”
“Sore?”
“Everywhere.” She set the glass down. Her eyes found mine. “But I don’t want to stop.”
Something flickered in my chest. Pride. Possession. Something softer underneath that I refused to name.
“I know you don’t.” I took the glass from her hand. Set it aside. “Come here.”
She tried to stand. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate. I reached down and pulled her upright, steadying her with a hand on her hip, feeling the tacky residue of everything we’d done sticking to my palm.
“Sit,” I said, nodding at the couch.
Kayla lowered herself onto the middle cushion of the old sectional. The leather creaked under her weight. She looked up at me with those wide, glassy eyes, waiting for the next command.
I didn’t give one. Not yet.
Instead I stood in front of her and unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way. Let it fall. Unbuckled my slacks—already undone from earlier—and pushed them down with my boxers. Kicked them aside. My cock was half-hard, still slick with lube and come, and it swayed as I moved.
Her eyes dropped to it. Lingered.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“Can’t help it.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s—you’re—”
“I’m what?”
“Big. You’re so fucking big. I still can’t believe I took all of that in my—” She stopped. Swallowed. “In my ass.”
“You took all of it in every hole you have.” I stepped closer. Brushed a strand of hair from her face. “And now you’re going to ride me.”
Her breath caught. “Ride you?”
“You heard me.” I lowered myself onto the couch beside her, leaning back against the worn cushions. My cock stood up against my belly, thick and veined and already leaking at the tip. “I’ve been in control all night. Now it’s your turn. Show me what you’ve learned.”
Kayla stared at my erection. Then at my face. Then back at my erection.
“I don’t know if I can—my legs are—”
“You can.” I gripped her chin. Made her meet my eyes. “You’re stronger than you think. I’ve been telling you that all night. Now prove it. Get on my cock and ride me until I come. Show me you can take control when I give it to you.”
She rose on unsteady legs. Swung one knee over my lap. Positioned herself above me, her slick cunt hovering over the head of my cock.
“Wait,” I said.
She froze.
“Turn around. Reverse cowgirl. I want to watch my cock disappear into you from behind.”
Kayla turned. I helped guide her—hands on her hips, positioning her backward over my lap.
From this angle, I could see everything.
The curve of her spine. The swell of her ass, still marked with faint red handprints.
The pink, puffy hole I’d stretched open and filled with my seed.
And lower down, her cunt, glistening and swollen and ready.
“Now,” I said. “Sit on my cock. Slowly. I want to feel every inch.”
She reached between her legs. Gripped my shaft. Positioned the head at her entrance.
And sank down.
We groaned together. The sound filled the basement—twin exhalations of relief and hunger.
Her cunt was hot and wet and impossibly tight despite everything we’d done, her walls gripping me like she’d never been fucked before.
She took half of me in that first descent, then stopped, her thighs trembling with the effort of holding herself up.
“More,” I grunted. “Take all of it.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. You’ve taken me deeper than this. Sit. All the way down.”
She let herself drop.
The full length of my cock disappeared inside her cunt.
Kayla cried out—a raw, broken sound—and her head fell back against my shoulder.
Her ass pressed against my pelvis. The heat of her body, the clench of her muscles, the obscene wetness of her wrapped around me—I had to grip the couch cushion to keep from thrusting up into her.
“Fuck,” I breathed. “Fuck. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”
“In my fucking throat,” she gasped. “You’re in my fucking throat, Sam.”
“Good. Now move.”
She moved.
The first rise was shaky. Uncertain. She lifted herself a few inches, then dropped back down with a wet slap that echoed off the basement walls. The sensation was indescribable—her cunt sliding up my shaft, the drag of her walls, the way she clenched around me when she bottomed out.
“That’s it,” I said. “Find your rhythm.”
Kayla started slow. Finding her balance. Her hands braced on my knees for leverage, and her hips rolled in an experimental circle that made us both gasp.
“There—fuck, right there—”
“You like that?” Her voice was breathless, almost surprised. “You like the way I move?”
“I like watching my cock disappear into your cunt from behind. I like watching your ass bounce while you ride me. I like that you’re doing all the work and I’m just sitting here enjoying it.”
She laughed—a wild, slightly unhinged sound—and picked up speed.
The reverse cowgirl angle was obscene. From where I was sitting, I could see my shaft glistening with her wetness every time she rose up.
Could see her lips stretched around my girth.
Could see the way her cunt gripped me when she sank down, like it was trying to pull me deeper.
Her ass—full and round and still marked from my hands—bounced against my thighs with every movement.
“Look at you,” I growled. “Look at what a fucking slut you’ve become. Riding your stepfather’s cock like you were born for it.”
“Say it again,” she panted. “Call me a slut.”
“Slut. Whore. Cocksleeve. Whatever you want me to call you. You’re all of them. My slut. My whore. My perfect little fucktoy.”
“Yes—yes, I’m your fucktoy—I’m your cocksleeve—fuck, Sam, I can feel you so deep—”
She was riding faster now. Her hips pistoned up and down my shaft with a rhythm that was gaining confidence, her thighs working, her spine arching. The wet sounds of our fucking filled the basement—squelching and slapping and the obscene squish of her cunt taking my cock over and over.
I reached around. Gripped her breasts from behind. Her nipples were hard points against my palms, and I rolled them between my fingers, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp.
“You’re dripping,” I said. “You’re dripping down my balls. Can you feel that? Feel how wet you are?”
“So wet—so fucking wet for you, sir—”
“You’re going to come like this. Riding my cock. Bouncing on my lap while I play with your tits. Say it. Say ‘I’m going to come on your cock, sir.’”
“I’m going to come on your cock, sir—I’m so close—”
My hand left her breast. Slid down her stomach. Found her clit.
Kayla screamed.
“That’s it. That’s it. Come for me. Come on my cock like a good little whore.”
The orgasm detonated through her. Her body arched backward against me, her cunt clamping down around my shaft in rhythmic pulses that made me see stars. She rode through it—barely—her hips still moving in jerky, desperate circles even as her muscles seized and released.
I held her through it. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other still working her clit, drawing out every last shudder.
When she finally sagged against me, I gave her three breaths. No more.
“Again,” I said.
“Can’t—”
“Again. You said you didn’t want to stop. So don’t stop. Ride my cock and come again.”
“Sam—”
“Now.”
She started moving again. Slower this time—her muscles were shaking, her thighs burning—but she moved. Lifted herself up. Dropped back down. Found a rhythm even through the overstimulation.
“Good girl,” I murmured against her ear. “My good fucking girl. You’re so tired and you’re still riding my cock. Still making me feel good. You know why?”
“Why,” she gasped.
“Because you’re mine. Because your body knows it belongs to me now. Every hole. Every nerve ending. Every orgasm. Mine.”
“Yours—yours—fuck, Sam, I’m going to come again—”
“Already? I’ve barely touched you.”
“I can’t help it—you’re so deep—I can feel you in my stomach—”
She came again. This one was smaller—a ripple rather than a wave—but it still made her cry out, still made her cunt flutter around me, still sent a fresh gush of slick down my shaft.
I didn’t let her stop this time.
“Keep going,” I commanded. “Don’t slow down. Don’t you dare slow down.”
“I can’t—my legs—”
“Your legs are fine. Your cunt is fine. Keep fucking me.”
She sobbed. Kept riding.
The sounds she made now were barely human—a mix of moans and whimpers and broken syllables that might have been words. Sweat slicked her spine. Her hair clung to her neck in damp tendrils. Her ass slapped against my thighs with every descent, the sound wet and rhythmic and obscene.
I watched my cock disappear into her cunt. Watched her stretched hole grip me. Watched the way her body accepted me like it had been designed for this and nothing else.
“Enough,” I said.
She stopped immediately. Gasping. Shaking.
“Get off.”
Kayla lifted herself. My cock slid out of her with a wet pop, and she collapsed onto the couch beside me, chest heaving.
“Turn around. Face me.”
She turned. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, tears and sweat mixing on her cheeks. She looked completely ruined.
I stood up. Pushed her legs apart. Positioned myself between them.
“Now you’re going to ride my cock again. But this time—” I reached down. Gripped my shaft. Pressed the head against her asshole. “—this hole.”
Her eyes went wide. “Sam—I just—you already—”