4. The Morning After #2
She looked up at me with glazed eyes. Her face was a mess—tears and drool and the shiny slick of pre-come smeared across her lips. Her hair had come loose from its knot, spilling over her shoulders in wild tangles. She’d never looked more beautiful.
“What—what else?” she managed.
I reached down. Gripped her upper arm. Hauled her to her feet.
“The basement,” I said. “The bench. Lesson five starts now.”
****
The spanking bench was still slick with lube from our earlier session.
I positioned Kayla over it again—chest on the leather pad, ass elevated, wrists and ankles strapped down. But this time, instead of standing behind her, I walked around to the front.
Her face was level with my hips.
“You’re going to suck my cock while I stretch your ass open,” I said. “Then I’m going to fuck your ass again. While you beg for it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Open.”
She opened.
I fed her my cock for the third time that night. She took it like she’d been doing it for years—deep, wet, eager—her tongue working the underside, her throat relaxing around the head. The angle was perfect. Every time she swallowed, her throat muscles milked me.
Behind her, I reached for the bottle of lube. Drizzled it over her ass. Watched it pool in the cleft and drip down onto her cunt.
“Greedy hole,” I murmured, pressing two fingers inside her. She was looser now, the residual stretch making entry easier. “It’s like your ass doesn’t want to be empty anymore. Like it’s learned that empty is wrong and full is right.”
Kayla moaned around my cock.
“You’ve been trained, haven’t you? One night and you’re already trained.
Already programmed to need something inside you.
” I added a third finger. Twisted. “What would your mother think? If she came home right now and saw you like this—bent over, strapped down, your stepfather’s cock in your mouth and his fingers in your ass? ”
The question made her tense. Made her ass clamp down around my hand.
“Would you be ashamed?” I continued. “Or would you be proud? Proud that you’re learning things she never taught you. Proud that you’re becoming the woman your body was always designed to be.”
She pulled off my cock just long enough to gasp, “Proud, sir. I’d be proud.”
“Good answer.”
I fucked her ass with my fingers while she sucked me. Slow, at first. Then faster. Matching the rhythm of her mouth, so that every time she pulled forward, my fingers pushed deeper. Every time she swallowed my cock, I stretched her open wider.
The sounds were obscene—wet suction from her mouth, slick squelching from her ass, the creak of the bench beneath us. My balls tightened. My thighs tensed. I was close—too close—and I pulled out of her mouth before I could lose control.
“Not yet,” I gritted out. “I’m not coming until I’m buried in your ass.”
“Please,” she begged. “Please, sir, fuck my ass. I need it. I need to feel you inside me again.”
“Need? Or want?”
“Need. I need it. I can’t—I can’t explain it, but I feel empty without you. My ass feels empty. It’s like there’s a hole inside me that only you can fill.”
I positioned myself behind her. Pressed the head of my cock against her stretched, lubed hole. “There is a hole. And I’m going to fill it.”
“Please—”
I pushed.
The entry was easier this time. Her body had learned me, accommodated me, welcomed me. My cock slid into her ass with a wet, obscene pop, and Kayla screamed—not pain, not shock, but pure, unfiltered pleasure.
“Yes—yes—fuck yes—”
“Fuck yes what?”
“Fuck yes, sir. Fuck yes, thank you, thank you for filling my ass—”
I bottomed out. Held. Let her feel the impossible fullness.
Then I started to move.
The rhythm was brutal. Faster than before. Harder. Her ass bounced against my hips with every thrust, flesh rippling, the bench creaking under the strain. My hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling her back onto my cock, impaling her deeper with every stroke.
“Take it,” I grunted. “Take my cock in your ass. Take it like the fucking slut you are.”
“I’m your slut—I’m your anal slut—I’m your fucking whore—”
“You are. You’re my whore. My property. My holes to use however I want.”
“Use me—use me, sir, use my ass, use my cunt, use my mouth—”
I reached around. Shoved two fingers into her cunt.
Kayla shrieked.
Both holes filled. Both holes stretched. Her body didn’t know which sensation to process first—the thick cock pumping into her ass, the fingers curling inside her cunt, the way I was pressing against that internal wall from both sides.
“I can feel my cock,” I growled. “Through your cunt. I can feel myself fucking your ass. You’re so thin here—just a membrane between my cock and my fingers. You’re just a sleeve for me to fuck. A warm, wet, willing sleeve.”
“Yes—yes—I’m your sleeve—I’m your cocksleeve—”
“Come. Come right now with both holes full. Come like the good little whore you are.”
She came.
The orgasm was even more violent than the last one—her body convulsing against the restraints, her ass milking my cock, her cunt gushing around my fingers. She screamed my name until her voice cracked. Her head thrashed against the leather pad. Her bound hands clawed at the air.
And I kept fucking her through it.
“Not stopping,” I warned. “I’m not stopping. You’re going to come again. And again. Until I decide I’m done.”
“Can’t—I can’t—”
“You can. You will.” I pulled my fingers out of her cunt. Gripped her hip with my slick hand. Fucked her ass harder. “You’re stronger than you think. You proved that tonight. Now prove it again.”
Her second orgasm hit before the first one had fully subsided. The two blended together into one long, rolling wave of pleasure that left her sobbing, incoherent, completely unmoored.
I felt my own control starting to crack.
“Where,” I gasped. “Where do you want my come—”
“In my ass,” she wailed. “Come in my ass, fill me up, breed my ass—”
I slammed home. Buried myself to the hilt. And came.
The orgasm was ripped out of me—pulse after pulse after pulse of hot seed flooding her tight channel. I felt it pool inside her, felt her body milk me for every drop, felt the way she moaned at the warmth spreading through her lower belly.
When it was over, I stayed inside her. Softening. Still buried.
Kayla was limp against the bench. Trembling. Crying softly—not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of everything she’d just experienced.
I reached down. Unbuckled her restraints one by one.
“Can you stand?”
“No,” she whispered.
I lifted her. Carried her to the sectional. Laid her down gently, her head cradled on the armrest, her body curled into the cushions.
“Don’t move,” I said. “I’ll get water.”
“Sam?” Her voice was barely audible.
“Yeah?”
Her eyes fluttered open. Met mine. “Thank you. For—for all of it. For teaching me.”
Something tightened in my chest. I leaned down. Pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Now rest. We’ve got two more hours before your mother gets home. And I’m not done with you yet.”