Chapter 42 #2
Morgan steps out of her sweatpants, then pulls me back up and out of the kitchen to the sitting area next to it. She drapes back against a low mid-century leather chair and tugs me between her legs.
I swallow hard to keep from drooling on her as I kneel on the lush black carpet.
“What are you waiting for?” she says.
It’s a test. “Your permission,” I breathe.
“Very good boy,” she purrs.
I swallow again.
“Open your mouth. Keep it open.”
I know better than to protest. As soon as my mouth is open, thick drool runs off my outstretched tongue.
“This chair is vintage,” Morgan purrs. “And now you’re ruining it.”
I whimper, even more drool pouring from my tongue, but I keep my mouth open.
“So obedient,” Mogan purrs. “I think you’ve earned a treat.”
Morgan reaches up and grabs my head, yanking my open mouth against her cunt. The taste is honey and spice and ambrosia. Perfection. I’m drowning, and she’s my air.
My cock throbs, tight in my leggings, but that’s not important right now.
I moan into her, and Morgan arches into me. I can tell she likes it because her breath stutters, and for once she’s not taunting me.
“Oh, good boy… Oh, very good, yes, good boy, yes!”
Morgan’s thighs close around my head like a vice. I can’t breathe, and I don’t want to.
When she finally relaxes, I lean my head against her thigh, breathing hard.
“Come here,” she says, looping her finger through my collar and gently pulling me up to straddle her. She pulls me down into a deep, slow kiss. Her tongue sweeps across my face, tasting her own arousal.
As she slides her tongue between my jaw and the collar, her phone buzzes from where her sweatpants lie crumpled on the floor.
“Fetch,” she says.
I hurry to obey, and as I hand her the phone, she accepts the call and pulls my head back between her legs.
“What is it, Owen? This better be good. I’m busy.”
Her nails grip the back of my head and press me in, and I return to my dutiful ministrations.
A muffled male voice responds on the phone.
“We already closed that deal.”
I strike a slow, steady pace this time, really savoring it. I could spend hours here—and I might, depending on how much business Morgan has to do.
Her voice is remarkably measured and even as she debates the particulars of this deal with Owen.
The call drags on, and Morgan’s irritation slowly rises. “Do I have to do your job for you?” she snaps.
As I press my tongue between her folds, she clenches hard, and it’s not just anger making her breath quicken.
I watch with intense satisfaction over the next ten minutes as, one by one, every muscle in her body goes tight.
If I’m overeager, I know I’ll get scolded, but I take in every signal and gently push her closer and closer to the edge. If I’m good enough, I might make her cum on this call. The mere thought gives me a head rush.
Morgan’s fingers tighten in my hair, and I think she’s come to the same conclusion.
Her walls clench tight, and her eyes roll back.
Owen is still talking. She’s been letting him talk for a few minutes now.
Morgan is measured, deliberate, focused as she lowers the phone and hits mute.
As soon as I see the red circle, I suck hard on her clit.
“Oh, good boy,” she moans, arching up into me, shaking with every wave of the pulsing orgasm. “Fucking good boy… God dammit…”
Finally, Morgan slumps back against the chair, and I slow to a leisurely pace.
“Morgan? Are you still there?” Owen’s muffled voice comes from the phone.
Morgan unmutes and lifts it back to her ear. “You cut out. … Uh huh. Deal with it—what else do you want me to say? … Fine. Yes. … Bye.” She ends the call with a tap.
Morgan gently pushes me back and ruffles my hair. “You are a fun toy. Now, up. Let me see what that did to you…”
I stand next to her, and she brushes my top aside and drags a nail along my cock. I don’t realize how hard I am until the jolt of pleasure nearly knocks me over.
She hooks a nail over the edge of my waistband and says, “Down.”
I pull the leggings down, revealing the black lace thong that had been pinned to the hanger just behind them.
“Very good,” she purrs. “This looks just as pretty as I knew it would. But alas, it too must go.”
I slide the thong down, freeing my cock and letting it settle into Morgan’s palm. She slides her thumb along my tip, already slick with pre-cum.
She hums with approval, leaning down and sucking it off my tip.
I moan, and she sinks deeper. My awareness contracts to her heat, her tongue.
Morgan pulls me right to the edge, then stops short. I shake, balling up my top in my fists.
“Where do I want to put this…” she purrs, dragging a claw up my shaft. “Hold this for me.” She grabs my hand and wraps it around my cock, but I know I’m not supposed to move.
Slowly, leisurely, Morgan shrugs out of her jacket and loosens her top, sliding it down her arms.
“I want you right here,” she croons, brushing her fingers over the crown of her breasts.
My grip tightens, but I don’t dare move.
Morgan gives a cruel laugh. “So obedient. I’ll take this back.” With painful tenderness, her hand replaces mine on my cock. She slowly slides me all the way into her mouth and throat, presses hard with her tongue, then pulls back, grazing me with her teeth.
Oh fuck.
Then again, tauntingly slow.
And again. And again.
I’m on the edge, and Morgan pauses, her hand tight around my base. She waits for me to drip on her tongue, and I moan with every breath.
Another drip into her mouth and my heat coils, my muscles tense.
“Mor…”
“Right here, baby.”
Morgan takes me one last time, sucking hard as she pulls away, dragging me over the edge.
She drops my cock right as I cum, except for her fingertip under me to guide my spend across her chest. It’s a ruined orgasm, but my body still shakes through the waves, pouring out onto her.
“Very good,” Morgan croons, and while I’m still dripping, she sweeps her tongue down my length and sucks hard. It’s almost enough to make me cum again. Almost.
So, when Morgan sweeps a finger across her chest and licks it off like icing, I’m still dripping.
“Hmmm… you know what I’m in the mood for?”
I don’t dare even guess.
“It’s a good time for a workout,” she says, standing and hooking a finger through my collar again. She takes a step, and I stumble after her, my leggings still around my knees.
“Oh, is that hard for you?” she purrs, tugging me another two steps. I trip into her, and she easily catches me, fully lifting me off my feet before setting me upright. “I suppose I can let you strip. Go on.”
I wriggle out of my leggings, shrug off the jacket, and pull off my shirt. Morgan takes each item in turn, laying them across the couch, until I’m naked again.
She traces a nail down the tattoos on my arm. “Lovely.” Then she catches my collar again and pulls me further into the house.