9 - Isa #2
My free hand moves between my own legs without conscious thought.
I unbutton my jeans one-handed, shoving them down just enough to get access, not bothering to muffle the sound.
My fingers find my pussy, and fuck, I'm drenched.
Wetter than I've ever been, my arousal coating my fingers instantly.
I'm so swollen, my clit hard and desperate for touch.
"That's it," the voice encourages, rougher now despite the distortion. "Touch that wet cunt while you suck my cock. Show me how much you love being on your knees."
The crude words make me whimper. I circle my clit while I take him deeper, the head of his cock hitting the back of my throat.
I gag slightly but don't pull off, working through it, wanting to take all of him.
My fingers slip through my wetness, finding my entrance, and I push two inside without preamble.
I'm so wet there's no resistance, just slick heat gripping my fingers.
I fuck myself while I suck him, building my own pleasure alongside his.
Every nerve ending feels alive, hypersensitive.
My nipples ache against my bra, my pussy squeezing around my fingers, and his cock throbs against my tongue.
I'm taking what I want from this encounter.
My orgasm, my satisfaction, on my terms. The fact that it involves his thick cock stretching my mouth doesn't change who's really in control here.
I pull off completely, letting his cock bob in the air while I catch my breath. A string of saliva connects my lips to his tip, and I watch it gleam in the red light.
"Please," he groans through the speaker. "Fuck, please, I need—"
I blow cool air across the wet head, making him jerk. "You need what?" I ask, my voice husky from having him in my throat.
"Your mouth. Your perfect fucking mouth. Please."
The desperation in his voice, even distorted, makes me clench around my fingers. I take him back in my mouth, serious now but still controlling the pace. I bob my head, taking him deep then pulling back to suck just the tip, over and over while my fingers work my clit in tight, desperate circles.
"Such a good girl," he pants. "Taking my cock so well. You love this, don't you? Love being on your knees for a stranger, love having your mouth used."
I should hate the words. Instead, they push me closer to the edge. My pussy is making obscene wet sounds as I finger myself, my arousal dripping down my wrist. I take him deeper, relaxing my throat, swallowing around him.
"Fuck, just like that. You're perfect. Such a perfect little slut, sucking cock like you were made for it."
The degradation wrapped in praise snaps something in me. I moan around him, the sound desperate and needy. My fingers move faster on my clit, my other hand pumping his shaft while I suck the head.
"You don't leave until I come," he manages, voice breaking. "Not until you swallow every drop like the good girl you are."
Something about the command sends me over the edge.
My orgasm crashes through me, making me cry out around his cock. My pussy spasms around my fingers rhythmically as waves of pleasure roll through me. I keep sucking him through it, moaning and whimpering, the vibrations making him curse.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm going to—"
He pulses in my mouth, and I taste the first spurt of his release.
Salty, bitter, just what I need. I swallow on instinct, taking everything while my own climax continues to shake through me.
He comes for what feels like forever, filling my mouth again and again while I drink him down, still pulsing with aftershocks.
I milk him with my mouth until he's spent, until he makes a sound through the speaker that might be pain or oversensitivity. Only then do I pull off, releasing his cock with an obscene pop.
The lock clicks.
Such a small sound, but it echoes through the chamber.
I'm on my feet instantly, pulling my jeans up with shaking hands, trying to look like I didn't just come harder than I ever have in my life while sucking off a stranger.
My panties are so wet my jeans immediately soak through.
The taste of him coats my mouth. I'll be tasting him for hours.
The door swings open easily now. The hallway beyond is empty, no sign of whoever was on the other side of that wall. No sign of the cock I just worshipped, the man who called me good girl and made me melt. Just the exit sign glowing green at the far end, promising escape from whatever this was.
My legs shake as I walk, thighs trembling from the intensity of my orgasm.
Every step makes me aware of how wet I still am, how swollen.
My mouth feels used. My throat is slightly sore from taking him so deep.
My body feels loose, liquid, like I've been taken apart and reassembled into someone who gets on her knees for anonymous cock and loves it.
The cool night air hits me when I finally exit The Aviary. Miami's humidity wraps around me, but it feels clean after the chamber's recycled air thick with sex and secrets. I start walking without choosing a direction, just needing movement, needing to process what just happened.
It meant nothing. That's what I tell myself as I navigate the late-night streets.
Anonymous release with a stranger I'll never see again, never identify.
A moment of weakness in a room designed for weakness.
Tomorrow I'll wake up and this will be a fever dream, something that happened to someone else.
But the praise echoes in my head. Good girl.
Such a perfect little slut. Two sets of words that found something in me I didn't know existed, something that responded with humiliating eagerness.
Why did that work? Why did surrendering control, being degraded and praised in the same breath, feel like coming home?
The questions pile up with each step. Who was he? How did he know exactly what would break me open? Was it really random, or did someone target me specifically?
And the worst question, the one that makes me stop walking: Why do I already want to do it again?