Chapter 7 #2
To drop his pants to his knees.
And there’s even less reluctance when he uses his free hand to guide his cock over to the corners of my mouth so that it can mop up the drool that’s thoughtlessly dribbling towards my chin.
“Such a hungry little toy,” Garcia wolfishly grumbles at the same time he spreads the spit, precum mixture across my lips. “You need Master to feed you?”
I dreamily nod and desperately attempt to lower my jaw even more.
“Good boy,” praises the older male as he slowly skates his dick the length of my tongue, forcing me to cradle it during its descent down my throat. “My. Good boy.”
Could be the timbre…the label…the fucking ownership…that has me eager to swallow him…but…then again, it could just be the simple fact that I’ve jerked off to this very scene in my computer chair back at my penthouse apartment numerous times.
Whatever the reason seems floppy disk level unimportant.
Though nothing here is floppy.
Not me.
And damn sure not him.
Rock hard thickness invades the wet, tight, slender space, instantly causing the muscles to clench.
Clamp.
Cry for room they’re not gonna find.
Yeah, I may be packing a longer cord; however, in comparison?
He’s got much more to store.
This shit doesn’t even fit in my throat.
How the fuck will it fit anywhere else?
Holyshit.
Will he be giving me a chance for it to fit anywhere else?
Will there be more of this?
Us?
Or is this it?
Is this my one free try before you buy opportunity?
And I would buy.
No demo necessary.
Rather than provide a moment of reprieve or a second to adjust, he savagely slams my head forward, forcing me to choke.
Fight for air.
Air that he refuses to let me have when he tangles both sets of fingers in my messy locks for leverage.
“You don’t fucking breathe without my permission,” Garcia callously growls prior to smashing my face against the base of his cock to reiterate the point, musky aroma the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever smelled in my entire life.
His hips slightly pull away, presenting the false notion that he’s about to grant it, only to ruthlessly rock forward, jerking my figure off the mattress. “Understood?”
Strangled sobs barely precede him repeating the action with more strength.
More power.
The next with less composure.
Less polish.
It’s as if each time my muscles constrict, they snatch more and more of it away, erasing the fancy applications he feels compelled to have in his system and revealing the basic beast of an OS he possesses.
“Fuck, I love your spit on my balls,” Master groans while roughly yanking my face away. “Banarlos.”
Grabbing a full breath is interrupted by my face being smushed into the wet territory where it’s brutally dragged back and forth, overpowering my senses with strong scents of saltiness and faint notes of pine from his cologne.
The slap to my cheek is light but so unexpected I can’t stop myself from gasping, unconsciously offering my tongue up for dominating.
“Lick that shit.” He doesn’t wait for me to begin before repeating it in Spanish. “Lame a tu amo.”
Like I’m nothing more than a lion anxious not to lose their place in the pride, I ferociously whip around the wet muscle.
Suck one ball into my mouth.
The other.
Whirl my tongue around them both again and in between them and slide it along the underside of his dick, eyes fixated on the way his are hooded.
How choppy his breathing is becoming.
How the veins in his neck are mesmerizingly pulsing.
Practically spelling out my name in Morris Code.
“You’re such a good little fuck toy,” Garcia gruffly murmurs, head lolling back in unabashed ecstasy, strained muscles on full display. “Swallow Master again.”
And I do.
The speed at which my mouth moves from his nuts to his cock is fiber optics shit as is the rate I begin bobbing.
Every bounce forward drives him deep into my throat and my frame further away from the female on the other side of me.
My laptop teeters on my thighs, yet instead of reaching for it, guaranteeing it won’t need repairs, I grab onto Master’s hips, eliciting dark, almost inhuman grunts to escape through his gritted teeth.
“That’s right…” He tightens his hold on the back of my head once more, convincing my eyes to completely shut.
“Milk my cock.” Gags and gurgles and gurgles and gasps leave me in a ceaseless cycle while my shirtless torso twists and turns and turns and thrashes to withstand the accelerated speed of his bucking. “Don’t you spill a fucking drop.”
Scorching spurts are suddenly released for me to gulp down and like the good submissive I’m happy to turn into for him, I fervently devour them one right after another.
No vacillation.
No breaks.
No concern for anything other than getting additional rounds of approval that I swear only he makes me need.
I wait for his dick to stop twitching in my throat before letting my eyes relocate to his. The instant they do, he leans a little closer and adoringly whispers, “You’re such a good boy for me.”
Sadly, there isn’t time to focus on those words – or what I have to do to keep hearing them – due to the woman who was watching us working her way off the mattress.
“Where the hell are you going?” Garcia investigates, voice equal parts gravelly and unsteady.
“To go row one ashore, Mr. Attorney at Law,” Salay answers without missing a beat. “After watching that shit, I have to.”
His stumbling backwards in surprise grants me the space needed to grab her wrist and purr, “You’re not going anywhere.”
The quirking of her eyebrow is attached to a licentious smirk. “I’m not?”
“We’ll take care of you, baby. Right here.” I gently tug her towards us. “Right now.”