Desmond #2
She whimpered around the leather, eyes wide with frustration, hips canting backward, seeking me. I stroked myself once, twice, spreading her arousal over my length, but didn't re-enter. Instead, I slapped her thigh lightly, watching the skin pink up. “You know the rules. Quiet, or you don't come.”
She nodded frantically, biting down harder, tears of need pricking at the corners of her eyes.
Satisfied, I gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks, and thrust back in — slower than before, torturously so.
The angle from behind let me go deeper. I built it again, long strokes that had her trembling, her body slick with sweat under my touch.
Minutes stretched, my control ironclad as I fucked her relentlessly but unhurriedly.
Her walls fluttered on the edge, and I felt my own release building, balls tightening.
But I held back, edging her with every denial of speed, every pause to let her cool.
When she finally shattered — silent, body convulsing around me, milking my cock — I followed, pumping deep and spilling inside her, hot spurts filling her up as she quaked against the window.
I stayed there, catching my breath, still hard inside her, the belt damp from her efforts. Punishment delivered, but the night was still young. She'd earned a rest — briefly — before round two.
I eased out of her slowly, watching as my cum trickled down her inner thigh, mixing with her own juices. Anya's body slumped against the window for a moment, her chest heaving, the belt still clamped between her teeth. She looked wrecked — hair tousled, skin flushed and damp with sweat.
But that spark in her eyes? It hadn't dimmed.
If anything, it burned brighter, challenging me even now.
She'd taken her punishment like a champ, silent through the end, but I wasn't done.
Not by a long shot. Those pictures all day, the lie to get in here — it all added up to more than one round of discipline.
I tugged the belt from her mouth, the leather slick with her saliva.
She gasped, licking her lips, but I pressed a finger to them before she could speak.
“Don't say a word,” I commanded, my voice rough from the exertion.
My cock hung heavy between my legs, softening only slightly and smeared with our combined release.
I zipped up halfway, tucking myself back but leaving enough access for what came next.
She needed to taste the consequences, to clean up her mess on her knees.
“On the floor,” I said, pointing to the carpet in front of the window.
Her knees hit the plush surface without hesitation, the city lights casting shadows across her face.
I stood over her, fetching my belt again — not for her mouth this time, but to loop it around her wrists behind her back.
The leather cinched tight, binding her hands and limiting her movement.
She tested it, tugging lightly, but it held firm. Vulnerable, just how I wanted her.
“Yes, sir.” She whispered, and for a moment, the only sound I could hear was our breaths.
I freed my cock once more, stroking it to full hardness right in front of her face.
It thickened in my grip, veins pulsing, the head brushing her lips.
“Open,” I ordered. Her mouth parted, tongue darting out instinctively, but I held back, teasing the tip against her lower lip, smearing the salty mix of cum and her arousal.
It would have been impossible to miss the little grin she was sporting.
She leaned forward, eager, but I gripped her hair at the nape, pulling her head back to meet my eyes. “This is punishment. You suck when I say how I say. No rushing. And if you make a sound — any gag, any moan — I'll pull out and fuck your thighs until you're crying for my cock.”
She nodded, eyes locked on mine, and I guided her forward, her big hazel eyes looking up at me. “Blink those pretty eyes three times if it’s too much, wicked thing.”
She nodded. Her lips wrapped around the head, soft and warm, sucking gently as her tongue swirled over the slit, lapping up the remnants. I groaned low in my throat, the sensation pulling me taut, but I kept my hips still, letting her work.
She took more, inch by inch, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed slowly, the bound hands making her balance precarious on her knees. Saliva built up, dripping down her chin.
I watched her, the way her throat flexed, trying to take me deeper without gagging.
She was good — practiced from stolen moments in the hospital supply closet — but tonight, I demanded perfection.
When she hollowed her cheeks too hard, sucking with too much enthusiasm, I yanked her hair, pulling her off with a wet pop.
“Slower,” I growled, slapping my cock against her cheek lightly, the sound echoing. Pre-cum streaked her skin, and she bit her lip, silent, frustration evident in her furrowed brow.
Back in, deeper this time, until the head hit the back of her throat.
She breathed through her nose, eyes watering, but didn't falter.
I rocked my hips minutely, fucking her mouth in shallow thrusts, controlling the depth.
Her tongue pressed flat against the underside, tracing the ridge, and I felt the pull building in my gut.
But no release — not just yet. This was about her learning restraint, mirroring the tease she'd inflicted on me all day.
Minutes passed like that, her jaw aching — I could see it in the tension of her muscles — but she persisted, sucking and licking with deliberate slowness. I pulled out occasionally, letting her catch her breath, rubbing the slick length over her face, her neck, marking her.
“Look at you,” I murmured, voice thick. “Doctor Vaughn’s little slut, on her knees in his hotel room. You lied for this, didn't you?” She nodded around nothing, lips swollen and red, and I thrust back in, holding her head steady as I pushed to her limit.
Her gag reflex kicked in once, a soft choke escaping, and I froze.
“Noise,” I warned, withdrawing completely.
She whimpered — barely audible — but it was enough.
Punishment. I hauled her up by the arm, spinning her to face the bed, bending her over the edge.
Her bound hands pressed into the mattress, ass up, pussy exposed and clenching emptily.
I didn't enter her — instead, I dropped to one knee behind her, spreading her cheeks wide.
My tongue flicked out, tracing her, tasting the mess we'd made.
She jolted, thighs quivering, but bit down on the bedsheet to stay quiet.
I licked harder still, lapping up the cum leaking from her, sucking her clit between my lips with firm pressure.
Her hips bucked, seeking more, but I held her still, one hand on her hip, the other pinning her bound wrists.
Slow circles around her entrance, dipping inside to fuck her with my tongue.
She was dripping again, fresh arousal coating my chin, but I kept it torturous — light flicks, long drags, never enough to push her over.
When her breaths turned ragged, body tensing for release, I stopped, standing up and slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint.
The crack rang out, her skin blooming red, and she buried her face in the bed, muffling any cry.
“Not yet, pretty girl,” I said, circling around to her front.
My cock was rock hard, aching, but I made her wait too.
I untied the belt from her wrists just enough to reposition, then rebound them in front, forcing her to hold her arms above her head as I laid her back on the bed.
I straddled her chest, knees pinning her arms, and fed my cock back into her mouth from above.
This angle let me control everything — thrusting down in measured strokes, watching her throat bulge.
She sucked greedily now, lesson learned, her tongue working overtime.
I fucked her face slowly, pulling out to let her gasp, then plunging in, balls slapping her chin.
Saliva pooled, her eyes streaming tears of effort, but she took it, hollowing her cheeks, swallowing around me.
The build was intense, my control fraying, but I edged myself too — stopping when the heat coiled too tight.
Finally, when her lips were numb and her body thrummed with denied need, I pulled free, stroking fast over her face.
“Open wide,” I grunted, and she did, tongue out.
I came with a low curse, ropes of hot cum painting her tongue, her cheeks, dripping down to her neck and onto the hotel sheets.
She swallowed what she could, the rest glistening on her skin, marking her as mine.
I collapsed beside her, breathing hard, but my hand immediately went between her legs, fingers circling her clit without mercy.
“Your turn — but only if you beg quietly.” Her whisper was broken, pleading, and I finally let her shatter, fingers pumping deep as she convulsed silently, soaking my hand.
Anya lay there, spent and quivering, her body slick with sweat and the remnants of our release.
I watched her chest rise and fall, the way her thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the ache I'd built and denied for so long.
But mercy wasn't on the menu tonight. She'd started this game with her lies and those damn photos — now she'd finish it on my terms, every inch of her used until she understood the cost of teasing the chief.
“Please, Desmond.” She whimpered softly, eyes hazy.