3. Azra #3
Quicker than I can blink, Matteo spreads his thighs wide and rocks his fat dick in and out of my mouth.
My panties are thoroughly soaked, but again, embarrassment doesn’t affect me.
Matteo’s growls as he fucks my mouth are extremely pleasing.
I refuse for something as pitiful as shame to seep through the cracks.
“God… fuck.” The sweet bliss of agony in his voice does crazy things to my insides. I’m blistering all over and hot enough for the driver to adjust the AC setting. “Keep going… Just like that… Take me deep and fast. Choke on my dick.”
His tugs on my hair become violent, and I relish the bite of pain.
It reminds me that I’m alive.
As I grow slicker, my clit throbs. My knees are seconds away from wearing the marks of carpet burn, but I don’t care. He grows thicker and longer with every suck, and as such, I devour him more greedily and hungrily.
It’s a cruel cycle I don’t see ending any time soon.
I flatten my tongue so I can take him to the back of my throat, my lungs burning, but I continue pumping him, coercing him for every salty droplet of pre-cum he’s willing to give.
“Ah… You’re going to make me come so hard.”
Several pumps later, Matteo strokes my aching cheek, silently demanding my eyes to him.
When he gets them, the vessels supplying blood to his magnificent manhood throb.
I can only imagine what he sees, but it must be awe-inspiring, as somehow he gets thicker—as do the squirts of pre-cum I struggle to swallow.
“In or out?” His gruff voice announces his usually unbreakable demeanor has turned to dust. “I really want to finish down your throat, but I’d pay a million dollars to see your pretty face messed up with my cum, so I’ll let you pick. In or out?”
Uninterested in money, I reply, “In.”
His groan is delicious, and it sets off every one of my hot buttons. “In it is.” With his hand still on my jaw, he thrusts his hips, fucking my mouth. “Then maybe next time I can sully up this angelic face with my cum.”
I’m too horny to let his words truly sink in. With my hands gripping his strained thighs, I work him with my lips and tongue. I run my tongue along the underside of his cock and moan when my efforts are rewarded with a thick blob of pre-cum.
“Fuck…” His breaths burst out of him in guttural gasps as he loses control. “You’re making me come.” He stiffens before the heat of hot cum shoots down my throat, and a deep, serrated groan rumbles up his chest. “Swallow me, Azra. Don’t miss a drop.”
I eagerly obey him. I feast on his cum, my eyes burning as they fight the strain of him being at the very back of my throat.
He’s so deeply seated that my tonsils feel every throb of his release.
He tastes so good. I squeeze the root of his penis, milking him more. I urge him to give me every drop of his cum, and whine like a baby when he slowly backs away.
“My turn.” Matteo pushes in a droplet of cum that seeped through the cracks, his eyes on fire with lust.
My pussy contracts violently as he plucks me from the floor and spreads me across the seat next to him. Sweat dots his dress shirt, and even though we’ve only engaged in foreplay, he smells like sex, sin, and me.
I like the latter more than I care to admit.
After huddling my dress around my waist, he lowers his eyes to my shamefully wet panties.
“You’re fucking drenched.” He peels back my panties, the backs of his fingers following the slick trail. “Did sucking my dick make you that horny?”
I nod, too turned on to care what persona I’m presenting.
He can make out all he likes that submissiveness is a turn-off for him, but his actions speak otherwise. My chin barely veers toward my chest once before he turns into the barbarian a man with a cock as large as his must be.
He pushes my dress up until it reaches the underwire of my bra, and then he rips my damp panties off my body.
I’m confident he’s about to bury his head between my legs and eat me for dessert, but I learned early on that it’s better to be safe than sorry.
“Remember… no penetration.”
Matteo frees his lower lip from his menacing teeth, confused. Understandably so. I’ve heard about the rules the Carusos have been striving to implement, but they’ve not stretched as far as Turkey just yet.
I blame the cum clinging to my tonsils for the huskiness of my following words. “I can’t marry Antonio if I don’t pass the purity test.”
Even though Matteo doesn’t speak, his reaction is immediate. He stills, his jaw flexing. As his fingers tighten around the edge of the seat, he inhales through his nose, slow and controlled, the way someone does when they’re struggling not to break something.
He locks his eyes on me, but he doesn’t see me. He’s looking past me.
I wait for him to argue. To scoff. To tell me I’m ridiculous.
He doesn’t do any of that.
He tugs down my dress, stuffs his rapidly deflating cock back into his boxers, then pushes the intercom button on the doorframe.
“Find a way through the traffic,” he tells the driver, voice flat. “I don’t care how.”