17. Drowning Again #4
He pulled back before I could choke, spit slick on my chin.
“Get on your knees.” I scrambled to obey, body aching, briefs still stretched tight over my leaking cock.
He pushed me down, bending me over the edge of the bed, hands gripping my hips, grinding his own cock against my ass through the thin cotton.
Victor gripped the back of my neck, fingers threaded hard into my hair, and pulled me up so I was kneeling between his legs, cock jutting out just above my lips.
“Look at you—fucking mess, drooling for it. Open up.” I parted my lips, breath coming hot and desperate, and he slapped the head of his cock against my tongue, smearing precome across it.
He didn’t wait for me to get comfortable.
His grip tightened, dragging me forward, his cock sliding deep, hitting the back of my throat.
I gagged but didn’t fight it—didn’t want to, not with the way his voice dropped to a growl.
“Take it. Take every fucking inch. God, I love seeing you like this, Rowan.”
He rocked his hips, setting a relentless rhythm, using my mouth the way he wanted, not letting me pull back more than a breath before shoving me down again.
I clutched his thighs for balance, fingernails digging into the hard muscle beneath his skin.
The taste of him—bitter, salty, the raw heat of need—filled my mouth, my nose, my lungs.
Victor’s free hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back so spit and precome ran down my chin, marking me.
He leaned over, mouth by my ear, breath hot and vicious.
“Messy little slut. Cock-drunk, and I haven’t even really started yet.
” He spit on me, fat and wet, the glob landing on my tongue where his cock had just been, then forced me back down, making me swallow it around him.
I moaned, shameless, loving the roughness, the way he barely gave me time to breathe before he was fucking my throat again. He pulled out suddenly, strings of spit connecting my lips to his cock, then slapped his dick against my cheek, smearing my face with filth and pride.
“On all fours, Rowan,” Victor ordered, voice cold steel.
“I want to see that perfect ass while you suck me.” I scrambled to obey, face burning with arousal and shame, knees digging into the cheap rug.
My briefs were still stretched taut over my leaking cock, a dark wet patch spreading across the cotton.
I heard Victor’s approval in the sound he made—low, greedy, almost satisfied.
He straddled my back, not letting me turn, and bent over me.
His hand came down in a sharp slap on my ass, the sting making me gasp and arch into him.
“Don’t fucking move unless I tell you.” His cock pressed against my lips again, and I opened wide, eager, needy, letting him fuck into my mouth from behind while his other hand kept a bruising grip on my hip, grinding my ass up into his own body.
Victor set the rhythm—deep, hard, relentless. Every time I gagged, he pulled out just enough to let me breathe, then shoved back in, all while spitting down onto my tongue, onto my cheek, letting it run down to drip off my jaw onto the sheets below. “You like that, don’t you?”
I whimpered, humiliated and so fucking hard I was leaking through the fabric, cock throbbing with every rough thrust. He used my mouth like it was his right, like I was made for this, for taking him, for submitting.
Each time he pulled me off his cock, he’d spit on me again—on my lips, my tongue, my face—then shove his dick right back between my lips, fucking into the wetness, getting off on the sound of my gasps and moans.
“Look at you,” Victor taunted, voice low and mean, “mouth stretched wide, spit everywhere, taking it like a good little whore. You want everyone to see you like this, don’t you?”
He reached around and shoved my briefs down to my knees, exposing my ass and cock, which bounced and leaked for him, desperate and untouched. “You’re dripping all over yourself. Haven’t even touched you and you’re already making a mess. Fucking insatiable.”
Victor slapped my ass again, harder, making me yelp around his cock.
He didn’t slow down—just kept pounding into my mouth, spit running down my chin and neck, filthy and raw.
Every now and then, he’d pull out, stroke his cock over my lips, smear precome across my face, then spit again, letting it mix with everything else.
He bent over me, chest pressed to my back, cock still in my mouth, hand tight on my hip. “Beg for it, Rowan. Beg for my cock. Tell me you need it, tell me how filthy you are for me.”
“Please, Victor, please—need you, need to be used, want you to fuck my mouth, want you to spit on me, make me yours, ruin me—” The words were garbled, desperate, spit bubbling on my lips.
“Good boy,” he purred, then shoved his cock deeper, making me choke and sob around him. He pulled me up by my hair, spit into my open mouth, and made me hold it there, cheeks bulging. “Don’t swallow. Show me.”
I looked up, spit pooling in my mouth, cock leaking onto the sheets below. He grinned, triumphant, and then kissed me—filthy, hungry, making me share the spit between us, tongues tangling, teeth clashing. He bit my bottom lip hard enough to leave a mark, then shoved me back down.
Victor stroked his cock over my face, across my cheeks, painting me with precome and spit. “You look fucking obscene.”
He kept me on all fours, one hand tangled in my hair, the other smacking my ass, spreading my cheeks, sometimes dipping fingers between just to tease but never giving me what I wanted. I could feel how hard he was, the way his cock jerked against my lips, the way he groaned when I moaned for more.
He spat in my mouth again, watched me swallow, then rewarded me by thrusting deep, holding my head in place while he fucked my throat rough and unforgiving. “I could do this all day—make you my little toy, use you however I want, keep you leaking and desperate and filthy for me.”
I tried to answer, but he muffled me with his cock, letting me choke and drool, spit and tears running down my face and chest. Every time I thought I couldn’t take more, he pulled out and praised me—dirty, filthy words that made my cock ache, that made me want to be even better for him.
“Such a good boy,” Victor crooned, “taking it all for me, letting me mark you inside and out. That’s right—let everyone see who owns you. Let them see you ruined and happy about it.”
He pressed his cock against my lips again, feeding me inch by inch, spit and precome running down my chin onto my chest, making a filthy mess of both of us. “Swallow it all,” he ordered. “Every drop. Don’t waste a fucking thing.”
I obeyed, desperate for his approval, throat sore, body trembling, briefs still clinging to my thighs, cock leaking helplessly onto the sheets. I was lost, owned, happy.
Victor drew me upright, using the grip on my jaw like a leash. His cock, flushed and wet, rested against my cheek as he surveyed the mess he’d made of me—spit shining on my lips, chest heaving, hair stuck damp to my forehead .
“Good boy,” he said, thumb tracing the raw edge of my mouth. “You look wrecked. You want to thank me, don’t you?”
I nodded, mindless for him. “Yes. Please—let me.”
He grinned, all teeth and mean pride. “Show me.”
He sprawled back against the pillows, spreading his arms behind his head, body a landscape of muscle and dominance—chest heaving, biceps flexed, pit hair exposed, the scent of him suddenly stronger. He held my gaze, daring me to worship.
I crawled up, mouth watering at the sight.
His pits were dark and inviting, the musk deep and masculine.
I buried my face there, inhaling him, tongue flicking out to taste sweat and salt, lips pressed hard to the warm skin.
Victor watched me with lazy satisfaction, one hand fisted in my hair, guiding me to nuzzle and lick deeper.
“That’s it. Get your tongue in there, boy,” he ordered, voice gone hoarse with approval. “Want you filthy for me. I want to see spit everywhere.”
I licked and sucked at the hollow of his pit, making it wet, my own spit mixing with his sweat.
The flavor was intoxicating—pure Victor, raw and masculine, making my cock twitch with every breath.
He raised his other arm, exposing the other pit, and I obeyed instantly, worshipping with my mouth, my tongue, my need.
Victor grunted, hips shifting, cock thick and pulsing against my cheek as I mouthed at his skin.
He let me suck and lick, spit trailing down his side, glistening in the low light.
“You love the way I taste, don’t you? Love being my filthy little worshipper.
Make a mess. I want to feel you begging for it. ”
“Please, Victor,” I gasped, mouth full of him, “I need all of you. Let me—let me worship your whole body.”
He shoved my face down to his chest, then to his abs, making me lick a path down the line of muscle, tongue tracing every ridge, leaving a slick trail of spit. “Lower,” he growled. “You want to thank me, do it properly.”
I worshipped my way down, pausing to mouth at the line of hair leading below his navel, tasting the sweat and salt, breathing in his scent. He pulled me back up suddenly, forcing me to his mouth, kissing me with spit-slicked lips, tongues tangling, filthy and perfect.
Then his hands went to my hips, rough and demanding, and he yanked my briefs the rest of the way down, leaving me naked and open on my knees for him.
He grabbed my ass, spreading me wide, thumbs digging into the flesh.
“Look at you—pretty little hole all exposed for me. You want me to play with it? Want my fingers inside?”
“Yes,” I begged, shameless. “Please, Victor, anything—need you?—”