Chapter 12
Finger…ass…fuck, fuck, fuck…need to come…
The vague, disjointed thoughts are all I can manage right now as I struggle to hold onto what’s left of my sanity.
I’m dimly aware that I’m spread out naked on the fucking bar and I can sense Jazz’s heated gaze roaming over my body as he looms above me, but for the most part my world has narrowed to the finger he’s currently torturing me with.
I love it when my taint gets a bit of attention, and it’s something I often incorporate when I’m jerking off.
But the area farther back has always been strictly off-limits; until Jazz started sliding his finger around the edge of my hole and turned me into a mindless wreck, incapable of anything but writhing around and moaning wildly.
I desperately need to come. My cock is fucking aching, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t get some release soon there could be permanent damage. But as intoxicatingly pleasurable as Jazz’s teasing is, I know it’s not going to be enough to get me to my climax.
Which is probably the point. Sadistic fucking bastard.
“Please…” I groan desperately. “Please…need to come…”
“But I’m having so much fun watching you whore it up for me,” he taunts. “I’m not ready for it to end just yet.”
I shake my head from side to side. “Won’t end…”
He lets out a soft laugh. “It ends when you come, dirty boy.”
I shake my head again. “Always a whore.”
He smirks at me. “I’m going to remind you of that later, bunny.”
Before I can summon a response to that, I feel Jazz’s finger slip from the edge of my hole to the opening.
He presses down firmly on my entrance as though it’s a freakin’ elevator call button, and the unexpected sense of pressure has my eyes rolling back as my thoughts are once again sent scattering.
As he alternates between skimming the edge and pressing against the opening I can’t stop myself from shamelessly bucking against him. Fuck, I need more. Hovering at my entrance isn’t enough. I need him to push inside. I need more of that pressure.
“More,” I beg breathlessly. “Please…need more. Put it in me. Need it…”
Contrary as ever, instead of giving me what I’m sure is something both of us want Jazz pauses his teasing. He takes a firm grip of my thigh with his free hand to put a halt to my frantic movements while his finger rests in my crease, just below my hole.
“No!” I groan in frustration, thrashing my head around and making a futile attempt to break his iron-like grip of my thigh.
We’re pretty well-matched for size and strength, but the fact that I’m on my back while he’s standing upright puts him at a major advantage.
Defeated, I slump back and hit Jazz with a beseeching look. “Please…I need it.”
He arches a brow at me, lips curved in a familiar smirk. “You need what, exactly?”
“Your finger…want it in me.”
His eyes gleam devilishly and the cocky grin grows wider. “Is the filthy whore begging to be fucked?”
The question prompts my face to flush furiously but I don’t hesitate with my response.
“Yeah, that’s it—fuck me. Use me like a cheap whore.
Want to be fucked so bad…” His grip on my thigh has relaxed a little and I take the opportunity to jut my hips up in brazen invitation.
“Get in deep,” I ramble on a breathless gasp.
“Make it hard and dirty…want to feel it for days…”
“Are you sure my finger is the appendage you want inside you, dirty boy?” Jazz taunts with a soft laugh. “I’d hate to leave you unsatisfied…”
My body stills and I look up at him with a disgruntled pout. “You love leaving me unsatisfied. Fucking sadist.”
He snorts with amusement. “Well, I thought about trying the warm and fuzzy approach but then I remembered this is S I’ve gone beyond breaking point now and I’m too wound up to care about anything except making this new obsession a reality.
“Fuck, please just put it in,” I groan. “I need to be fucked. I need to come. I need your cum in me…”
“Ah, there we go,” Jazz says, a hint of satisfaction in his tone.
He grabs my jaw and forces my gaze to meet his, which is alight with undisguised amusement.
“I’ll confess, my body is pretty miraculous and these hands are capable of some truly amazing things…
”—he holds his free hand up and wiggles his fingers as if to demonstrate magical potential—“but not even I’m capable of shooting a load from my fingertips. ”
My body stills and I feel my face burn hot with mortification and confusion as I mentally replay my most recent words. I begged for him to come in me. And before that it really sounded like…fuck.
“I don’t—”
“It’s okay, dirty boy.” His expression is wry but his tone is uncharacteristically free of mockery.
Before I can manage to pull any cohesive thoughts together the attempt is thwarted by Jazz taking my ball sac in hand and providing a live demonstration of some of the amazing capabilities he was bragging about moments ago.
The pleasure he’s able to wring from my body as he tugs and strokes and squeezes with what is undoubtedly a well-practiced hand is fucking electrifying. My entire body feels supercharged and I can tell I’m going to go into overload any second.
Fuck, I think I might actually die if he pulls me up short again. I’ll just shrivel up into a husk; or maybe my dick will explode…
“Please,” I groan, tossing my head back helplessly. “Please. So close—need to come. Let me come…don’t want to die.”
Jazz lets out a huff of amusement. “You’re not going to die, you little slut.”
“My dick will explode,” I ramble.
“That’s kind of the point,” he says wryly.
Any concerns of a blue balls related death are wiped from my mind—along with pretty much everything else in there—as Jazz gives my balls a firm squeeze, prompting a strangled groan to fall from my lips.
“Fuck. Fuck, please… Please. Fuck…” At this point I can’t even remember what I’m begging for, I just know I need it more than I’ve needed anything ever.
He squeezes my balls again, and then I feel that mind-numbing pressure at the entrance to my hole.
But this time it doesn’t stop; blackness clouds my vision and my lungs stop working as the pressure snaps into a momentary burst of sharp pain.
Then I feel Jazz’s finger thrusting inside me and it’s enough to make me explode.
My head falls back and I let out a guttural groan as my climax rips through me, more intense and overwhelming than I’ve ever experienced before.
Ribbons of cum spray over my chest for what feels like hours, and by the time I’m finally spent I feel about as solid as Jello, and roughly as capable of regular human function.
“Yeah, you might need a minute,” Jazz says with an indulgent smile, reaching out to pet my hair.
Mmm…that feels nice. I nuzzle into the touch and he obliges with more petting. “I have no bones.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “You actually have two-hundred and six bones. I think you might be experiencing a slight orgasm-induced high.”
I shake my head. “Not high. Jello. Green Jello. And pudding. And custard…”
He arches a brow at me. “Why are you listing desserts?”
“They don’t have bones.”
“Ah, I thought you were throwing out ideas for things you want to roll around naked in,” he says with a smirk.
I smile lazily at the suggestion. “Yeah…messy.”
“Okay, dirty boy, I think it’s time to sit up now,” he says with a snort of amusement as he grabs my bicep and tries to coax me up. “Get that circulation happening.”
“But I’m naked,” I argue, resisting his grip. “And covered in cum.”
He arches a brow at me. “And that’s a problem for you all of a sudden?
” He lets out a wry huff, shaking his head.
“Don’t worry, dirty boy—I already captured this moment for posterity.
” He tugs his phone from his jeans pocket and swipes across the screen a few times before showing it to me.
“I think I’ll call this “Whore in Rhapsody”. ”
Of course, he managed to get the money shot, and “rhapsody” is sure as hell the right word for it. Jesus, no wonder it feels like I’m made of insubstantial goo; I look like I’m being transported. Hmm…maybe I am a little high.
I let out a sigh of resignation and gesture for Jazz to put his phone away. “Fine, I can sit up. But I still want to be a cat,” I say firmly. “I like being a cat.”
His brows creep up slightly but he just shrugs. “Okay…you can be a cat…”
This time I let him pull me up, my head lolling a little as I’m hit with a sudden wave of light-headedness. A concerned expression crosses Jazz’s face and he reaches out to brace my head. I nuzzle against his hand again, sighing contentedly.
“Ah…cat,” he murmurs. For some reason there’s a note of realization in his voice but I don’t spend any brain power on it; I’m too busy basking in the incredible sensation of being petted and scritched. It’s not a turn on—not even remotely close to one—it just feels so nice.