46. Chapter 39
Dashiell
As soon as he lets go of my jaw, I climb off the bed and sink to my knees on the floor.
Lorenzo sits on the edge of the bed, his muscular, hairy thighs spread on either side of me.
I stare up at him, at his thick muscles, at his cock rising from his dark, wild bush.
Fuck, I think. I’ve seen many cocks in my life, sucked many cocks, ridden many cocks, but I think Lorenzo’s cock is going to earn its spot as my favorite. Though I haven’t taken it inside me yet, I am familiar with it, thanks to how he’s had me play with the dildo modeled after him.
It’s thick, heavy, curved slightly to the side, with balls that hang large and full between his legs. I want to take those balls in my mouth, suck them, choke on them. Want to be absolutely smothered in them.
He hardly gives me a second to prepare myself.
I’ve barely had time to appreciate the stately beauty of his cock when one of his hands is in my hair, tilting my head back, while with his other hand he pushes open my mouth.
“Open,” he snarls.
I do—I have no other choice.
I am loose, languid, grateful to be handled like this. He knows exactly how to use me, and I feel perfect. I am like a tool in the hands of a master craftsman, and together we are making something beautiful.
With a sharp tug on my hair, he brings my head down between his legs, burying my face in the hairy crook of his thighs. I inhale the sweet, clean, manly smell of him.
I look up at him with wide eyes, hoping that in them he can see my wordless delight.
He wears a wicked smile. “Good boy.”
His fingers slip from my hair, and I only have a breath to miss their touch before he pushes his cock past my lips, hot and slick around a rock-hard core.
With no patience, no restraint, he thrusts into my mouth. I feel my eyes immediately water at his size, the speed, the stretch.
“There.” His voice is rough, deep in his throat. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Being used like this.”
I don’t answer—I can’t. Not with him filling me to my throat.
But I don’t need to. My body answers for me, my hips shifting, my cock achingly untouched between my thighs, precum already dripping down my shaft.
Yes. God, yes, this is exactly it. This is exactly what I’ve needed, what I have always craved.
To not be asked what I need in the moment. No need to decide if what I want is sufficiently balanced with what my partner wants. I just get to let him take me in whatever way he desires.
His firm grip on my head sets the rhythm for his first thrust. Nothing about it is gentle. He fucks my mouth like it’s a thing for him to wreck for his pleasure.
Those strong fingers tighten in my hair. “Relax your throat. I’m going deeper.”
It’s not a suggestion, nor a request.
I do my best, trying to relax muscles I’m not sure I have any control over.
He thrusts in deeper, burying his massive cock in my mouth until his balls press against my chin, until my nose is buried in the forest of his bush.
His cock pushes against the back of my throat, causing me to gag around it.
My body wants to fight the invasion, to rebel against it, but I welcome it instead.
Spit splatters down my chin, matched by my streaming eyes, and I love it.
“Such an obedient slut,” Lorenzo purrs. “Taking exactly what I give you.”
I moan around his length, the vibration making him groan. His fingers tighten in my hair, strong enough to sting my scalp.
“Eyes on me, baby,” Lorenzo instructs. “Keep those pretty eyes on me while I fuck your throat.”
I keep my eyes up and hold them there. He watches me adjust my position, his hands gentle now on my scalp, soothing the pain from his grasp.
His intense, dark eyes claim me. Mark me. Name me as something for him to use, with no need for me to enjoy it—even though I clearly, obviously do.
I feel more known in that moment than I have in years.
I want this. I want to be used. I want the gentle things too, but I don’t want to be treated like something breakable. Rather, I want someone to see my strength and to use me up for all I’m worth.
“Very good,” he murmurs, pulling out just far enough to give me a breath. But then he guides my head down again immediately. There is no pause. There is no mercy. But I wouldn’t beg for it even if I had a voice.
When I try to cough, he pushes past the resistance in my throat. “You’re not setting the pace tonight, Dash. I am.”
I try to murmur “yes, daddy,” around his cock, but all that comes out is slobber (very attractive, I’m sure).
My body responds where my voice can’t, my back arching, my legs flexing against the floor, my ass clenching as I imagine how it will feel to have him buried in me, his cock slamming inside me with an equal lack of mercy that he’s shown my mouth.
“So fucking perfect,” he says. “Such a good hole. Mouth, ass, I don’t fucking care which. You’re just something for me to fill, do you understand?”
He frees his cock at last from my mouth and I gasp, coughing and choking out the only words I want to say, the only words I know how to say: “Yes, sir.”
Because, God help me, yes fucking sir.
He must read my wild agreement, my fierce desire, my total lack of shame in my voice, because he grabs my face roughly in one hand, spits on me, and says, “Good little slut.”
There is only one thought left in my head, pure and holy as a psalm.
Yes. Whatever you want to do, do it. Use me.