Chapter 8 Keep Your Mouth Shut, Malaya #3
I parted my lips and ran my tongue along the tip, heart hammering as the warmth of him met the soft, unsure flick of my tongue.
The texture was foreign—silken but firm, hot and smooth against my lips.
I tasted salt, skin, something musky and masculine that made my stomach clench and my core flutter with nervous heat.
He groaned, low and dark, his hips giving the smallest twitch.
The moment felt heavy, charged with a tension I didn’t know how to name.
I was painfully aware of how new this was to me, how unpracticed, how exposed.
The thought should have made me pull back.
Instead, it made me ache. I wanted to learn him, to please him, to hear that rough sound spill from his throat again and know I was the reason for it.
Even with my nerves screaming, the desire was louder.
“Good girl,” he said, the praise laced with threat. “Now open wider.”
Only then did he push forward—slow at first, testing. Filling me inch by inch, stretching my lips, daring me to take more. My eyes watered as he reached the back of my throat, and I gagged.
He held my head in place with one hand buried in my hair, the other braced against the wall, using it for leverage as he began to thrust.
Tears ran unchecked, mixing with spit as my lips struggled to keep up. I choked, throat burning, eyes stinging—but my body refused to retreat. I looked up at him—God, he was a work of art, his abs tight and flexing with every thrust, the sight of it making me impossibly wet and desperate for more.
He slapped my cheek. Then the other. My thighs clenched at the sound, the sensation. The humiliation made my pussy throb harder.
“You act like you’ve got bite—but all I hear is you choking on my cock.”
He fucked my mouth with no mercy, his size overwhelming, my breath coming in ragged pulls.
My throat ached. My jaw burned. And still, I couldn’t stop it—my hips started rolling, my shirt riding up like it wanted to expose me. My pussy throbbed so hard it felt like punishment. If my wrists hadn’t been bound, I’d be touching myself like a fucking animal.
His stare dropped, lingered—and that’s when it hit him. I wasn’t wearing a damn thing beneath the shirt. “Look at that,” he chuckled darkly. “No lace, no shame. Just a needy little cunt begging for attention.”
He twitched in my mouth and then I felt it—his hand sliding up to my breast, fingers curling hard through the fabric of his t-shirt. I arched into it, needy. But just when I thought I’d get more, he let go.
Tease. Torment.
He traced slow, infuriating paths across my belly, stopping just shy of my bare pussy, like he was studying how much torment I could take before I broke.
I whimpered in protest. My whole body was begging.
He smirked and finally cupped my pussy. I was soaked, dripping. One knuckle slid slow against my clit, just enough to spark fire—then vanished, leaving me gasping.
I moaned, shaking.
“One brush against that clit and you’re begging like a good little slut.”
I hated how true it was.
He pressed again—and then pulled away. Again. Again. Every time I thought I’d get relief, it vanished.
It was torture and I would’ve sold my soul to feel his hands on me again.
Suddenly, he yanked free and grabbed my cheeks in one strong hand, forcing me to look at him. “Beg for it, Malaya,” he growled. “Beg me to touch you.”
I had no pride left—whatever scrap I’d clung to vanished the moment I took him in my mouth like I’d done it a hundred times before. “Please, Maksym… it’s unbearable.”
He tilted his head, voice pure mockery. “Unbearable, huh? What exactly is so unbearable? Spit it out.”
“You want obedience? Fine. I’ll be your perfect slut. Just don’t leave me like this.”
He didn’t hesitate. He slid back inside me with a brutal thrust, one hand in my hair as he picked up that same merciless rhythm. Then he slapped my clit—sharp and sudden.
Pain collided with pleasure.
My vision blurred. I didn’t know where I was anymore—only that I needed more. I moaned, cried out, screamed for him, the sounds muffled around the weight of him inside me.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
His breathing shifted—rough, primal—as his cock twitched against the back of my throat. He groaned, low and brutal, and thrust deep one final time, holding me there.
Hot, thick spurts flooded my mouth. Salty.
Musky. Overwhelming. I swallowed on instinct, throat working around him, dizzy from the sudden rush of heat sliding down.
A little escaped, spilling hot over my lips, dripping down my chin.
I moaned around him, drunk on the taste—on the fact that I made him lose control like that.
My whole body pulsed with adrenaline and filthy euphoria.
His cock slipped free, glistening and heavy.
I gasped at the sudden emptiness, my lips swollen, chin wet, chest heaving.
Before I could catch my breath, his hand dropped between my thighs.
No warning. No tease. Just two fingers finding my clit—hard, fast circles, ruthless pressure that made my hips jerk off the bed.
I arched violently, a broken sound tearing out of me as the orgasm hit like a fist. My whole body locked, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around nothing while heat exploded behind my eyes.
I came hard, choking on air, my mouth still warm from him.
Only when the spasms started to fade, when my limbs went loose and trembling, did he finally grab my jaw. Rough fingers tilted my face up, forcing my glazed eyes to meet his.
“You came,” he said, voice cold and steady, “because I let you.”
I whimpered, lips swollen, spit and his release still on my tongue.
“I was merciful tonight,” he went on, wiping my mouth with his thumb. “But say her name again—just once more—and I’ll fuck you raw.”
His smile was cruel.
“No pleasure. No reward. Just my cock and your punishment.”
The room fell silent except for our breathing, the aftershock still humming through me—equal parts euphoria and warning.
Then he stepped back.
I watched, dazed, as he tucked his cock away, calm like he hadn’t just destroyed me. He walked to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and retrieved the key.
The metal clicked as he unlocked the cuffs. My wrists fell free, sore and raw, but I didn’t move.
He stood over me, expression flat.
“Now go back to your friend,” he said coolly. “And make sure she’s breathing.”