Chapter 8 #3
I hadn’t wiped the countertops, so I didn’t think he wanted my face inches from a missed smudge, but I wasn’t sure what this was.
I didn’t ask, though. I didn’t hesitate even a second, just walked to the lower section of the island and folded forward, breasts pressed against the cool surface, ass out and tilted up a little, since that’s his preference.
He didn’t say what to do with my arms, so I stretched them out over the top of my head.
He stepped in behind me. I heard the soft sound of his zipper, then felt the blunt, oversized head of his cock press against me.
Shock made me stop breathing. He’d told me, way back in the beginning, he could use me at any time of day, but he’d only ever fucked me morning and evening, on schedule. Twice in the evening once, but still.
And it irritated me, that he was going off the routine our last night before he leaves, but the thought barely formed before I was gasping, holding the edge of the island with my left hand and trying to find something to do with the right.
The angle made everything different — he’d never fucked me from behind, and he was bumping against the plug even more than normal, making me even tighter than when I’m on my back.
I gasped and yelped, then started begging. “Sir! Please, Sir! A little slower! I need time to get used to you like this, Sir!”
But instead of slowing, he pulled nearly all the way out and shoved in harder.
Then he did it again. And again. His thrusts were relentless, driving himself into me without mercy until tears formed in my eyes from the stretch and burn, and the front of my thighs were driven against the side of the island.
I begged some more once the friction from the rough part of his cock was scraping and sanding away at the tender tissues inside my pussy, raw nerve endings screaming.
And then he ordered me to come, and my body obeyed even as tears finally spilled over and streamed from my eyes. My internal muscles tried their hardest to spasm and jerk around his hard length inside me, and I gasped, fighting to breathe around the cincher.
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Milk my cock, slave. Squeeze that cunt around me.”
The dirty talk was like hitting a nitrous button in a racecar, and my orgasm went into overdrive. I cried out, clenching hard around him, and he just kept thrusting through it, muttering more filthy orders and comments while I shook.
My arousal levels crashed hard when the orgasm waned, and I was abruptly plunged into raw pain because he didn’t back off even a tiny bit.
Every vicious thrust landed on tissue that suddenly felt too tender, too used, and the dual stretch of his cock and the plug bordered on pure pain for long, drawn-out minutes.
I took it anyway — breath short, body tense — until the hurt gradually shifted and the heat started building again underneath it, pulling me back toward the edge whether I was ready or not.
As always, he knew when my body eventually caught up, and I was close once again.
He had one hand braced on the small of my back, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise, and when he ordered me to come again, the release rolled through me in long, almost painful waves.
My legs threatened to give out. The heels and the angle kept me exactly where he wanted me, and I swear he aimed so he knocked the plug around inside me even fucking more.
The third orgasm was enormous, and it threatened to shatter me. It was deep and wild, so intense I couldn’t breathe while I pulsed around him and practically left my body while the universe pressed in around me — and he suddenly pulled out, leaving me empty, my muscles clenching around nothing.
“On your knees, slave.”
He lifted me off the island and set me down, so my knees hit the floor gently, and then he was over me, fisting his slick cock and demanding, “Open.”
Meanwhile, my pussy was still aching and empty, the orgasm I’d been having completely ruined, leaving me at the top of the peak, needy and throbbing.
But I opened my mouth as ordered.
He pushed in a few inches while still jacking himself off, and seconds later hot pulses hit my tongue while he ordered, “Swallow every motherfucking drop, slave.”
I did. The taste was bitter and thick, and I hated it, but I swallowed and swallowed until he finished and pulled free. My cunt was still throbbing, the semi-ruined third orgasm leaving me needier than I’d been before he ever touched me.
He looked down at me for a long moment, then he tucked himself back in his pants and quietly said, “Go to the French doors and assume the wall position. Good slaves stay out of the way when ordered.”
He offered his hand to help me stand, but then stepped back and watched me until I turned and made my way to the doors on trembling legs, pressed my hands to the wood surrounding the glass, and stared out at the darkness with my ass tilted up, my pussy still throbbing and empty while the plug stretched my asshole wide open.
Behind me I heard him moving something heavy, possibly a kitchen chair. I tried to catch the reflection in the glass, but it was at the wrong angle to the table.
So I kept my eyes on the darkness outside, and waited like a well-behaved slave while my overheated body felt the loss of the last, stolen orgasm.