The Remains of Christmas

Chapter 18

Daphne

We tapped our cups and sipped, staring into each other’s eyes. I thought it smelled vaguely like chlorine from the bleached paper, but the wine was good enough it didn’t matter.

“Oh! This is... something.”

“Good? Bad?” He put his nose over the cup. Even now, without the fancy glass or an elaborate swirl and sip routine, he looked like a connoisseur.

“I don’t know anything about wine. You know that. But good doesn’t seem like a good enough word. I just don’t know how else to describe it. If this is wine, I could get used to this.”

“Please, don’t. Even I can’t afford a Lafleur habit.”

“What am I supposed to be tasting?”

He took a sip and savored it, staring at the orange floral bedspread as he thought. “Medium-bodied with silky tannins. Berries and currants with hints of truffle and cracked stone.”

“Cracked stone? You can really pick out all those flavors?”

“No. That’s what Wine Spectator wrote when I looked it up to see if it was any good. I don’t know much about wine, besides whether or not I enjoy drinking it. It’s why I raid my parents’ stock whenever I go back. I trust whatever they have is good. I do know that it should not be served in paper cups, and at the very least, it should breathe a bit first.”

“While it’s doing its thing, then, I’m going to take a shower. Send me your thoughts and prayers that I don’t run out of hot water, and that it stays clear.”

“I’ll see what’s under the bedspread. We’ve been operating under the assumption the sheets are clean.”

It felt wrong not to kiss him before turning away, but I was trying hard to be on my best behavior. He was in enough turmoil.

The water wasn’t as hot as Chris’s house, but I couldn’t complain. I wasn’t even under the stream long enough for my hair to become saturated before I felt a breeze and whipped around.

Chris nodded toward the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he’d placed on the bathtub ledge. The ones I’d used in his guest shower. I mentioned several times how much I loved them because they smelled like Earl Grey tea.

“Thank you,” I said, shielding my body from him. Not because I wanted to. Because I was trying to make it easier on him.

Chris opened the curtain wider and leaned against the wall. His arms folded across his chest as he watched me with an expression of placidity. No smile. No scowl. He was just there. Taking me in.

If he wasn’t going to make this easier for himself, neither was I.

I turned to face him, raising my arms up to my hair, separating the strands and showing my body to him. I was his to see, even if he didn’t want it to be true.

The way he was looking at me, like he was trying to unnerve me…

He didn’t though.

“Join me?”

“I can’t.”

“But you can watch me shower like I’m putting on a private show for you?”

“I can’t do this either.”

“Take off your clothes or I’m pulling you in, cashmere and all.”

He scratched his nose and let his gaze slither between my legs. It was predatory in a way he got sometimes, like he was done with the pretense of being a gentleman, and couldn't take it a second longer.

Slowly, with his gaze locked on the water trailing off my hard nipples, he kicked off the wall, and pulled his glasses off his face, carefully folding the arms before placing them on the sink counter. His movements were deliberate and precise. This was calculated. The thrill of seeing him like this rushed through me and I shivered under the water.

He grabbed a fistful of his sweater by the back of the neck and tugged it over his head, bringing his button-down with it.

Chris wore clothes exceptionally well. I loved men in clothes, how they draped and hung in long, clean lines when they were tailored to the right frame. Chris was exactly the right frame. A body built for slouchy library tweeds and slim tuxedos. He even moved well in clothes, with an easy, languid gait that was sexy without trying to be.

I’d never really looked at his body without the clothes. He didn't try to hide himself, it just always happened that he got me naked, and couldn't be bothered removing his own clothes until after we'd both come. By then, I was too delirious to really notice the details.

Now that I could, I found his naked body equally impressive. He was thin, but not scrawny. He had the lean muscles that spoke of a childhood playing sports and semi-regular enjoyment of physical activity in adulthood.

He unbuckled the side of his pants and they slipped down. He hadn’t been wearing anything underneath them, since he’d creamed in his boxers after the strip club.

His cock was hard. It was always hard. That was the only way I’d ever seen it. His refractory period was like a nanosecond. I was pretty sure it was a superpower. An annoyingly pointless one, since it meant his balls must be constantly aching around me.

Probably similar to how I was constantly aching around him. Every minute his thick, uncut, perfect cock wasn’t filling me up was time lost. And shit, the way it swung low and heavy, already leaking threads of pre-cum as he stepped over the tub, had me dying for it.

“Don’t bother touching. No use looking either. This is my problem, not yours. Turn around.”

He wet my hair under the stream of water and pulled me back out again, while all I could do was squeeze my legs together and brace myself against the wall. I loved how he controlled me. Something about him made me surrender to his every whim. Finally, I’d found my safe person and I could relinquish every bit of exhausting control.

I heard the cap of the shampoo bottle flip closed. Seconds later, his hands were in my hair, massaging my scalp slowly and firmly with his fingertips as he worked the tea-scented shampoo down my long stands. When he felt my hair was sufficiently clean, he moved me back under the water and massaged the shampoo out. Then he repeated the process with the conditioner. Never had anyone treated me so gently before.

When I turned to face him, he looked like he was in agony. Not because of the state of his arousal, but because this, us, was torture for him.

“Chris, please. Let me touch you. Tell me it’s okay. I want to make you feel good.”

He groaned and reached for the soap. But he didn’t lather up his hands.

“I think you better do this part.”

I took the bitty bar and rubbed it in my hands before soaping up my tits, spending way more time there than was necessary. “That’s what you said to me about my rock-climbing harness.”

“I was right.” He started shampooing his own hair after I’d finally moved on to my arms. “I knew you were going to be trouble.”

After he rinsed his hair, I cleaned between my legs with plain water. Then I turned around, bending over farther than strictly necessary, and used my soapy fingers over my ass, first my cheeks, circling smaller and smaller until I was sliding down the slick center. I stayed there, rubbing my tight hole and moaning from how good it felt, not just the nerve endings there, but giving him his sordid show.

I looked back. His gaze was right there. He was no longer cool and controlled.

Garbled syllables escaped from behind me before he cleared his throat.

“Clean me here, Daddy. Please?”

He groaned. “Oh, fuck.” His hand gripped my hips.

“I want you to have me here. I’ve never had anyone there before. I don’t want it with anyone but you. Do you want me there, Daddy?”

I turned around and—fuck the no touching rule; he was the one who joined me in the shower. I placed my arms on his shoulders. It would have been chaste, sweet, if his cock wasn’t bobbing against my belly.

“You think there’s a place I haven’t wanted to fuck you, darling? I can’t wait to feel your ass clenching around me, sucking me in.” He smiled deviously. “In two years.”

Disappointing, but not unexpected.

“I don’t believe you. Not even you have the willpower to wait. You need to come before then. I need to come before then. I need to come now.”

I grabbed his cock and lifted it up. Not toward my entrance, just up. Between us.

He let me. He even went further, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his waist. His dick was positioned in a way where he could rut against my belly while his balls hit my clit. Just that alone made me want to die of happiness, but he took it further.

He reached behind me, sliding his slippery, soapy fingers through my slit. Back, back to where I’d been massaging my asshole, getting it ready... for what, I didn’t even know. We weren’t prepared. I knew water was no good as lube. I knew he wouldn’t cave, but now this.

His fingers were stroking over and over my entrance. It felt so filthy, even though I told myself it wasn’t. It was beautiful because it was what I wanted and what he wanted and there was nothing dirty about my body, or our desires, or us exploring it all together.

He circled and circled, rubbing his cock absentmindedly against me.

“Let me in, sweetheart. Let me feel you on my fingers.” The way he kissed my temple was so sweet and tender, it was easy to relax further, breathe into what I expected to be pain.

When he pushed in so slowly with his fingertip, we both moaned.

“Fuck.” He shook his head and exhaled. “Tight. So fucking... yeah.”

“More, Chris.”

“Does it—” he breathed. “How does it feel?”

Honestly, it felt amazing when he was rubbing the outside. The moment he entered me it’d stopped feeling like anything sexual, and it was just fine. But the pleasure came anyway, because he was inside me in a place no one else had been before. I hadn’t even put my own fingers inside my asshole. Of course, there was the issue of Dad’s terribly tiny water tank and shower sprints, but also, I’d never really been curious.

I couldn’t give enough of myself to Chris and giving him this made our situation... better somehow. Or maybe worse. I had no idea what I was doing anymore. I suspected he didn’t either.

He went in further, moving so slowly it almost didn’t register as movement, but his cock was stroking my belly in rhythm. I pressed my hand flat against it, increasing the pressure.

“Stop, sweetheart. I’m going to come.”

“I need you to come. Come for me? Please, Daddy.”

“Oh, Jesus... fuck.” He was spurting up onto my tits from below. “Oh, fuck, you’re so good. How am I supposed to...?” There was a noise like a whine, attached to a moan and then more words. “Shit, I wasn’t gonna... your ass is so perfect. My darling. Your fucking… and your sweet tits.”

It was nonsense. Nonsense! But I loved that he got this way when he came. Spilling verbal gobbledygook because he was so blissed out from me. From my body. I gave him this. It gave me so much power I could float out of this murder motel bathroom and live for years on just this feeling. I fucking loved rendering this intelligent, educated man incoherent; like calling me sweet, old-fashioned names like sweetheart and darling while he did the most depraved things to my body.

“I’m hanging by a thread, here, Daphne.”

“Break it, Chris. Don’t wait for someone to throw you a line. Break that thread. With me. Say the word and I’ll cut it so fast you’ll be free falling.”

“I already am.”

“I am too.”

He looked so much younger without his glasses. Not age wise. There was no difference there. He probably looked thirty-six ten years ago, and he’d look it twenty years from now. But there was a vulnerability in his eyes that was hidden behind his tortoiseshell frames. There was hope. And mischief.

Then again, he did still have his finger in my ass.

That night, after we’d settled into a happy sort of delirium from the wine, and held each other during that perfect final scene of It’s a Wonderful Life, we lay in bed, side-by-side.

We should have been sleeping. It was well after midnight on what had been the longest, most eventful day of both our lives.

But I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.

Chris was there, he was right there across the pillows. Glasses off, face composed, even if it wasn’t quite at peace. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep.

Ice pelted against the windows and rooftop as my desire overpowered my will to be good.

I didn’t come in the shower. Now the need was building up again, and I didn’t even know my own body anymore. Only that it was made for fucking him. Being licked and sucked by him.

I turned onto my other side. I wasn’t wearing underwear. I hadn’t worn them since the strip club and I wouldn’t wear them tomorrow. I didn’t have any that were clean. It was easy enough to touch myself in just his extra t-shirt.

My fingers slipped between my pussy lips. I was already wet. I canted my pelvis forward just enough and opened my legs. Reaching farther down, I easily slid inside my vagina with two fingers, but it wasn’t great. I wasn’t thick like his fingers or his cock. I couldn’t reach my G-spot that made penetration feel good like it did with Chris—achy, like I wanted to crawl out of my skin with pleasure before everything inside me built up and up and up, swelling with need until it burst, sending a million little fragments of my soul shooting out.

This wasn’t doing it for me, but I kept going. Maybe it would do something for him.

He groaned behind me, reaching around my waist and dragging me back to him.

“Are you trying to drive me crazy, sweetheart?” His warm breath bloomed on my neck, under my ear. “Do you know how hard it’s been, lying next to you, knowing you don’t have any panties on? Now this?”

“No. How hard is it, Daddy?”

He moved his hips forward, pressing his hard cock against my ass. I whimpered with need for him. “Please, Chris.”

“You need me to touch you, baby?” His hand came down between my legs. “God, you’re soaked already.”

I parted my legs further as he played. His touch felt so much better than mine. “Your little clit is all hard. Filled with blood. I want to taste you, want to feel it dragging across my tongue.”

“Yes, Chris.”

He rolled onto his back and smiled up at me. “Come up here. I’m already a dead man, you might as well finish me off and make it good.”

I knew I had the biggest, goofiest smile on my face. It was a triumph of sorts. It conquered my doubts and quelled my fears.

“Um… how?”

He scooted down the bed and adjusted his pillow vertically. “Hands against the wall. Use my mouth and take what you need. Use me up, because I’m not going to get another chance at this for a long time.”

Shit. I was already leaking down my thighs.

“I’m going to get a towel.”

His chuckle came from low in his belly and turned on the faucet inside me.

I ran to the bathroom in my socks and t-shirt, catching a glimpse of my red cheeks and wild eyes in the mirror as I passed. I looked hot and needy, every bit of my greed for him showing on my face, in the tangles of my hair and the rock-hard peaks of my nipples.

When I came back to the bed, I peeled off my shirt and socks and straddled his face. His handsome, distinguished face that looked way too smart and aristocratic for this.

But he was a secret freak. So was I. We brought it out in each other.

“Spread your knees. Lower. Lower. That’s it. Fuck, you smell good.” He groaned as he moved his head back and forth, brushing his lips across my swollen pussy. “Nothing makes me harder than the way you come.”

When he spoke, it was quiet and serious, thinking through every one of his filthy words. It wasn’t dirty talk. It was a love letter, written with yearning and fire.

The first lick was slow and intentional. He grabbed my ass and opened me from behind, moving me on his face, using me like this was for his pleasure, rather than mine.

He groaned and swirled his tongue around my clit, moving his head back and forth until his entire face was slick and wet.

My orgasm built heavily in my pelvis. Sex had never felt like this with anyone else. Chris was the only one who’d wanted my vulnerability, and didn’t use my kindness against me, but upheld it as a strength. Not because he wanted dominion over me, but because he was kind. And vulnerable. I could lose my inhibitions with him, and the more I lost, the more he gave.

He ripped himself away from me with a choked moan. “Come in my mouth, Daphne. Even if you squirt. It’s okay. I want every last drop.”

His face was so raw and pleading when he’d said it, asking for me to come like I was doing him a favor. He stared into my eyes and sucked my clit between his lips, his fingers working inside me. The pressure built so suddenly I had no warning.

“I’m coming, Daddy. Oh, God, it’s… coming.” I shrieked and I shot a stream of fluid onto his face and into his waiting mouth, spilling out onto his chest and the pillow under him. It was so wrong. So filthy. So perfect.

We were so fucking perfect together.

My hands slid down the wall and gripped his hair, dragging my pussy over his tongue to lick up the last drops. I was thoroughly spent, but I needed more. I needed to feel him stretching me and filling me up. “I need your cock, Daddy. Please.”

I sat on his shoulders and leaned back until I could reach to wrap my hand around his hard cock.

His eyes squeezed shut and he pushed my hand away. “You have no idea what I want to do to you right now.”

“Tell me.” I rose up and inched my way down his body, kneeling over him, reaching for him again, but he jerked away. His jaw tightened as he looked away.

“I want to tear you to pieces. Pull you apart and fuck you so deep you’re screaming.”

“Yes.” I wrapped my hand around his cock, rubbing the wet tip on my lips, licking the thick beads of pre-cum as more and more eased out of him with each stroke. I closed my eyes, I took him in my mouth as deep as I could while circling my tongue around his head. I was a lolling, drooling mess as I made love to his cock, caressing and sucking to prove myself to him, to prove my worthiness.

He groaned, a deep gravelly sound that made my eyes roll back in my head and suck him harder. “Fuck. What are you doing to me, you sweet... how do you… oh, fuck. Fuck, yes.”

He held his head in his hands like he was in agony. The wet, choking noises coming out of me as I bobbed on him, trying to take as much as I could. Was I even doing this right? Who knew? Who cared. Chris was leaking more and more salty bitterness into the back of my mouth and the sighing, breathless, tortured sounds of his impending pleasure matched my own until he was gripping me by the neck and pulling me off of him. I didn’t even have time to swallow the trail of spit and pre-cum that had been pooling in my mouth, it just came drooling out after me.

“Fuck. I can’t. Get off me.”

I scrambled back like I’d done something wrong. Oh, shit. I really had this time. I had done... something.

He was up and on his feet, grabbing my duffel bag and throwing it onto the bed.

“Chris, no. What are y—” The words stuck in my throat as panic set in.

He rifled through the bag and produced the box of condoms. “You need to be fucked? You need Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes.” Everything was moving slowly, like I was drugged. I was almost afraid of what he was going to do to me, but more afraid I wasn’t going to find out.

He threw a condom onto the bed in front me. “One more night. I can’t fucking take another moment of not being inside you.”

I grabbed the tiny foil package and ripped it open. Immediately, he was around the bed, his eyes boring into me with each step until he was gripping the back of my head and pulling me up and into his ravenous kiss. He kissed me like he was a man dying and I held the spark of life in my lungs. He breathed me in and consumed me. My body was on fire. But there was a promise that it would soon be quenched.

I rolled on the condom with shaky fingers. I was more nervous this time than our first. Or our second, or third, or tenth.

He broke the kiss and picked me up, turning me away from him and pushing my torso down onto the bed. “Hands and knees.”

I scrambled to follow his order.

The bed shifted behind me, and I crawled up to accommodate him.

“No, you don’t. Come back here.” He yanked my hips so hard, my arms shot out in front of me and I landed on my face. His hand was immediately on the back of my neck, squeezing hard and pushing my face into the bed. "That's better."

Fuck. I didn’t know he was capable of rough . I didn’t know I was capable of liking it.

“I know you can’t see your pretty little cunt, Daphne, but it’s fucking gorgeous. Lips so puffy and proud, like she knows she’s my undoing. Making me her slut.” I bit into my lip as his fingers slid through my lips. I knew I looked obscene, the way my ass was sticking up into the cold air, fluid already building inside me, leaking down my legs.

I heard the slap before I felt it. A current of shock ran up my spine. The sweet sting sent a gush of fluid pouring out of me.

I whimpered when I felt his tongue there, on my pussy, soothing the sting and cooing sweet words so low, I couldn’t discern them.

He slapped again, and I sucked in a breath. Now he licked lower, catching trails of my wetness on his thirsty tongue. “I don’t want any going to waste.”

Then he was pushing me down again, into the mattress. His cock was there, his head replacing his tongue and hands... oh, God... rubbing through my slit, teasing before... oh. Fuck, he was deep. All at once, and so deep. “Oh my god.” All of his cock was rammed inside me and it so thick he was going to rip me in half. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

With a grunt, he fisted the flesh at my hips and dragged my body closer to him, sliding his cock so far in my knees lifted off the bed.

“Daddy.”

He held me there, using me, fucking me like it was nothing. Like I was nothing, pounding into me fast and hard, with a brutality I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. Punishing me for our predicament. For his betrayal to himself and his damned ethics. For giving in.

And I wanted to take it. God, it felt good taking it. His cock and his punishment and his pleasure. All his anger and resentment and the ironic unfairness of the situation.

His fingers were bruising my hips. He was pulling my cheeks apart wider and wider, as if he could somehow crawl inside me.

Each thrust split me open, slamming into my cervix so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“Oh, god, Chris. Yes, that feels... it feels..." and it did feel. It felt more. Painful. Degrading. Glorious. Being used by Chris was a pleasure beyond pleasure. “Yes, Daddy, I love how you’re fucking me. Use me. I’m yours.”

“Fuck. Don’t talk,” he ordered. He slowed his pace.

“Yes. Chris, yes,” I begged him through clenched teeth. “Fucking use me. Take it all out on me.”

This was good. This was so good. This was exactly what we needed.

“Please,” he begged. His voice, his will, his conscience all on the edge of breaking. “Don’t, baby. Don’t talk.”

It was happening already. In spite of his order, or maybe because of it, my body was skyrocketing off a cliff before I’d even realized I’d climbed the mountain. “Oh, Fuck, Daddy, I’m coming. You’re making me come.” A wail escaped from somewhere deep in my lungs. Like an animal in heat. I had no consciousness, no humanity. My body was made to be pleasured by this man. It didn’t matter how he fucked me, I was always going to come with him. “Oh, God, your cock feels so good.”

But he wasn’t letting me feel it. He was pulling out. No. No. Come back, I wanted to say, but I was still coming and my pussy was gushing cum all over... his face. Holy shit, he was there, under me, catching as much of it as he could in his mouth while it rained all over his face and chest. He massaged my clit and I kept coming. I didn’t know if it was another orgasm entirely, or if my body decided not to stop the first one.

Then he was inside me again. Plunging into me without relief. I looked back and saw he was still wearing his glasses, only they were fogged up and covered with droplets of where I’d squirted on him yet again. His hair was soaked, slicked back from his forehead with my fluid. “Remember it, sweetheart. Remember how much of a slut you are for Daddy’s cock. Remember exactly how it feels. How well you take it. What you reduce me to.” He gripped me hard by the back of the neck, giving me nowhere to go. “Remember what you fucking do to me.”

He didn’t slow again. He didn’t even give me time to recover. Somehow, some way he went deeper, harder, fucking me ruthlessly as his fingers clawed into my skin and sinew. I bit the pillow to stop from screaming and waking the poor traumatized neighbors, but my orgasm was building again. He grunted with each stroke. The sound of pain and self-loathing mixed with bliss. He grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked my head back. My scalp burned and my eyes teared up, but he fucked harder and it was the best feeling in the world. I could feel the stream running down my inner thighs, not as wet as before, but the orgasm just as powerful. The tears streaming down my face from his tight grip in my hair and the acute angle of my immobile neck.

“Fuck. This is wrong. It’s wrong. I can’t do this,” he chanted as he shallowly thrust inside me, losing the edge of roughness.

“No, Chris. I need you. Stay with me.”

“Stop it. Stop. I can’t, I—fuck.” He slid out, his cock still rock hard. I looked over my shoulder to find him sitting back on his heels, breathing hard.

I rose onto my knees and kissed him, tentatively at first, not knowing if he was so disgusted with himself he'd pull away, but he kissed me back, communicating all the feelings he couldn't verbalize.

I gripped his cock. Hard. Hard enough that when I stroked him, the condom slid off into my hand. His eyes flared open and I nodded.

“No,” he pleaded, cradling my face in his hands. “Baby, no. Don’t do this to me.”

“I want to feel you. Just once.”

“It won’t make a difference. You won’t be able to feel it.”

“Can you feel a difference?”

“I’ve never done it without a condom.”

“Me either. Please.” I begged. “If I can’t have you for two years, I want you tonight. All of you. Fill me up, Daddy. Make me yours, so I can’t forget.”

He lost.

He collapsed on top of me, his chest falling onto my back, still pressing me down onto the mattress. Lining himself up, he slowly pushed himself back into me, groaning as he felt every inch of my bare cunt. “Oh, Jesus, you feel... I was wrong. There’s a difference. There’s a fucking difference. Oh, fuck, I was wrong, I was wrong. Oh darling. My darling girl... so fucking good. So..."

He fucked me slower now, his hands spanning my waist and pressing me down into the mattress while he knelt behind me. My legs splayed in a frog-like position. It felt fucking amazing—the way the sheets rubbed my clit on the outside and he massaged it from inside me. It always felt amazing when he was deep, whether he was going nuts, or blathering sweet, incoherent words of pleasure and praise.

His pre-cum, my ejaculate, and our moisture all mixing with wet, slurping sounds, making it fucking filthy and hot, turning me on even more.

Every time his cock dragged against my G-spot, it felt like the one. This one. This was going to be the stroke that sent me over the edge. But the next one came, and the next and the next. I grew more and more slippery with every bead of moisture that slid out from between us. From both of us. More frantic as every stroke felt like it was going to kill me. The pleasure was going to actually explode and I was going to die of bliss and dehydration.

The slow slide of his cock, filling me up, then the rush of heat pouring down as he eased himself back out. The way he moved his hips so that his balls massaged my clit when he was bottoming-out inside me made me lose sense of the room around us.

I heard myself moaning and panting from outside my body. I felt the orgasm from somewhere else, too. I’d slipped off into a different plane of existence where nothing existed in the same way anymore. He’d coaxed so much pleasure from my body, my soul was likely floating somewhere above us. When he flipped me over and wiped the hair from my face, he had to position my legs, to splay them open for him.

“Willing. Eager. Enthusiastic,” I said. “Just can’t move.”

He let out a single hoarse choke of a laugh and leaned back on his knees. For a moment he didn’t move. He just looked in my eyes with his sleepy, curious expression and smiled, catching his breath. “One more?”

I shook my head. “I have nothing left.”

“We’ll see.” He wrapped my legs around his waist as he held me up, pressing into my clit with his thumb.

“Chris… how?”

“What, baby?” He hissed as his hips pumped. He was close. I didn’t know how he’d held out so long.

“How do you know my body so well?” His face melted as he struggled to keep it together. I wanted to come again. For him. Wanted to let him have more.

And it was. It was coming. The muscles were tightening around him.

“I don’t. I try things and watch your reaction. If you like it, I do it again.” He started to shudder his hip against me, uncontrolled and spazzy. “Sweetheart, please,” he begged. “Come for me.”

I reached down and circled my clit as his hips shook against me, and a sob broke from his chest. He was coming. He couldn’t help himself, he was coming. Fuck he looked good like this.

“Oh, fuuuck, this is…” he slowed the roll of his hips to watch, open mouthed and panting, as his cum poured into me. The first time. I felt the warmth slickening my pussy and it brought me with him. Only a little less overwhelming this time, only a little gush, dribbling onto his cock. “Oh, Daphne, yes, look at this. You’re so fucking… everything. You’re…” he stopped talking and pulled out, but rather than flopping onto the bed with me, he lifted my hips up and up and up to his mouth, draping my legs over his shoulder. And licked.

He was caring for me, cleaning me the way he always did, unconcerned that it was his own cum he was eating out of my pussy.

Or maybe that was part of the appeal. A source of pride that he’d marked me, and I was still his to consume.

I was owned. And when he looked down into my eyes, with his tongue deep in my cunt, we both knew he wasn’t going to let me go.