23 #2
“Tha—thank y-yo— Oh fuck!” I yelp as she abruptly takes me in an inch, the top of me disappearing inside of her. My gigantic eyes glue to the sight of us connected, and every atom in me forgets how to function. “Oh my god . . .” I no better than croak.
Walm palms coming to rest on my damp chest, Ezla sinks down another handful of centimetres, moaning breathily, “Alby . . .”
My balls draw up abruptly, and I let out an involuntarily yelp. “O-oh my god,” I repeat, half delirious, slightly alarmed. “Oh my god, d-don’t s-say my name like that, E-Ezla . . . or—or I’ll come too soon.”
“I do not remember telling you that you could give me orders.” Her words come out as a groan, dismissing me, before she deliberately purrs, “Alby. My Puppet.” Her voice is as shiver-inducing, as debilitating, as her slickened walls around me, and my eyes squeeze shut tightly as I hold off my orgasm.
“P-please, I don’t w-want to ruin this.”
“But what if I want you to come until it hurts? Until you are weeping for me?”
I stop breathing, eyes snapping back open. “Th-then—then that’s exactly what I want, too.”
My yell leaves my ears ringing as she takes me all the way to the hilt.
I come straight away.
Hot, sticky fluid paints her insides, and I feel it around me as well as on those tight, silken walls.
“Oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit,” I cry out, body convulsing.
Her gasp is full of devilish delight when my hips buck up uncontrollably, and she purposely clenches around me to milk more cum from my body.
Sweat beading on my brow to replace the shower water, my neck extends as my head tips back into the pillow beneath it, cords rigid as she lets the orgasm roll over me.
I’ve hardly come down, quivering with aftershocks, when she uses my chest for support to rise, the wet glide of her over my extremely sensitive cock painful but somehow so, so good.
The foreign feel of her has my head spinning in wild circles, heart working double time as my body struggles to adjust to all the new sensations.
And maybe the afterlife does exist, because I think I’ve just found heaven.
“Do you like that, Alby? You like a bit of pain with your pleasure?” she says teasingly as she pauses at the crown of my length. “Is my slut a little masochist?”
Groaning weekly, my eyes fall to the back of my head as she sinks back down on me, and my trembling hands reach out for her blindly. I can’t find my voice to answer, but I think it’s pretty clear it’s a yes to all of those questions.
“Yes, you are,” she croons, rolling her hips while she’s sat with her weight rested on me, stimulating her clit when my eyes come back into focus as she takes my searching hands in hers and places them on her hips.
Fingers clenching in her soft flesh, I manage to push down the bond, I am, Ezla. God . . . I am. I’m your good little slut.
“Yes,” she groans, head kicking back as she rises again, and I try to help her, arms straining to work, but my limbs are so floaty and weak. “Yes, you are. You will take everything I give you, and you will thank me for it all like the needy whore you are.”
“I-I will,” I finally manage to get out of my desert-dry throat. “I-I p-promise, Ezla.”
She takes me back in, slowly increasing her pace each time she lifts up and comes back down.
Soon, she’s riding me without restraint, and I can only watch her bouncing on top of me with bleary eyes, my thoughts spewing from my mouth in an uncoordinated stream: “F-fuck, it’s s-so good .
. . Ah! . . . E-Ez, E-Ezla! . . . O-oh shit, shit, I c-can’t .
. . Please, please d-don’t stop. Don’t stop. ”
“I will not. I will not stop, Puppet. You are all mine,” Ezla breathes, and I’m awestruck, worshipful, completely and utterly overwhelmed by the sight of her on top of me.
The Bonding Games Champion, the most feared woman in the world, is on top of me, has me inside her.
Me. And I can tell both from the stunning sight before me and the pleasure flooding me through the bond that she’s enjoying it, too.
I was petrified of her before I was generated for the Games. Then I met her and immediately developed my first crush, fell in love with her, wanted her like I’ve never wanted anything before . . . And now I finally have her. She’s mine, and I’m—
“Mine,” she finishes for me in a hiss, and her hand finds my throat, encouraging me to throb more aggressively inside her wet warmth. “You belong to me. I own you now, Alby. Tell me.”
With a choked noise, I get out, “Y-yes! Yes, yes! I’m yours! I belong to you! Only you!”
Her moan is full of wicked ecstasy, and every downward thrust has her backside smacking against me, winding my balls up tight again.
And when she strengthens her grip on my throat, forcing me to work even harder for my breaths, telling me without words that my life is in her hands, a life I wholeheartedly trust her with .
. . I know I’m about to explode for the third time today.
“Yes. Be a good boy and fill me up again, Alby. I want to be left dripping with you.” The words already hurl me off the edge of that cliff, but if they hadn’t, the sight of her swiping her finger through my release still splashed on her from the shower and sucking it off slowly would have surely done it.
Every muscle within me goes rigid as I spasm uncontrollably, and my heels find the mattress as I buck up into her erratically, hands on her digging into her skin as I try to ground myself.
Her name flies from my lips again in an uncontrolled shout, and she curses beneath her breath, her own body starting to tremble. She stiffens—
“Yes, Alby!” Heat drenches my cock, and her movements stutter.
I have no idea if I’ve even finished my previous orgasm before another destabilising tsunami of pleasure-pain crashes into me in overpowering waves in response. And I’m sobbing, chanting her name, and pleading, though for what, I don’t know.
Alby, Alby, Alby . . .
As those syllables of velvet and sin caress the inner walls of my brain, I can’t help but send back a messy, Ezla, Ezla, I love you, Ezla .
. . Ezla . . . She rewards me with rhythmic clamping of her walls around my length, and I mewl and whimper and whine out loud as I absorb the never-ending sensations, heart banging, banging, banging around inside me.
When she can no longer hold herself up, she slumps down, collapsing into my arms, and my panting is so loud it almost drowns out her own as I instinctively wrap my arms around her. I’m still buried inside her, and I whimper at the feeling while I work to get my bearings.
Her burning skin is all up against mine, cheek pressed to my chest, and her lips tickle the sweaty skin there as she whispers, “So good for me, Alby. You were so good.”
I’m not sure how I can still be bashful after what we just did together, but nothing about the feeling is unpleasant.
Face flaming even hotter than before, I rasp, “I-I w-was? I—I really, really liked that . . .” And my spinning head, overflowing heart, and tingling skin can all testify to that.
“That was perfect . . .” Then I chew on my lip nervously.
I thought I knew the answer with all her reactions, but I still need to double-check.
“Was it—was it perfect for you too?” The vulnerably asked question is hardly audible.
“Was I . . . was I good enough? Was— Am I big enough?”