An Innocent Obsession

His hips begin to slap deliberately, slowly against my bottom and my eyes roll back in my head at the delicious friction. My being is already beginning that delicious descent into a climax, my pulse walloping, lower body melting.

“I’ve found you now, Emery, and I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” His hand slides down from my mouth to the front of my throat, squeezing firmly. “If you ever leave me again, I’ll go fucking insane. I’ll take a wrecking ball to everything I own. You are what I need to survive, and if you think you’re obsessed, angel, just watch. My own obsession already far surpasses yours.” He stoops down and drives back up into me, bringing my feet off the floor and there I am, dangling in his arms as he pumps inside me, one hand around my throat, the opposite arm wrapped around my waist. Slap slap slap. He fills me over and over, his pace quickly becoming frantic and furious. “It’s going to take me decades to recover from this morning,” he growls. “Finding out you’ve been cleaning houses when you should have been spoiled rotten in your Daddy’s care. I can’t stand it.”

I throw my head back onto his shoulder, my back arches, thighs writhing. I can’t get any leverage to achieve my orgasm and all I have to do is whine “Daddy” and I’m thrown face down onto the bed, Clarke pressing me into the thin mattress. He holds open my thighs in a punishing grip and shoves his thick rail of flesh into my hole without cease, groaning his pleasure into my tiny room. The ancient, rusted bed creaks loudly, bumping into the wall with every thrust of his hips and I once again hear the door to my room open, probably Karen being worried about me with all the noise.

I’m beyond caring about the interruption, though. I need relief. My fingers sneak down between my thighs and I press down on my clit, tweaking my hips side to side, grinding down—and Clarke’s manhood finds that spot deep, deep inside me and I pop. I scream into my pillow as a rush of satisfaction courses through me.

“That’s a good little girl,” Clarke pants into my neck. “Now hold still while Daddy gets rid of the pain you caused. Feel how much my cock needs that fuck-tight pussy. All day and all night.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” I gasp. “I don’t mean to make you hurt.”

“Don’t be sorry, angel. Just stay sweet for me. Just like this. Keep letting me do these bad things to my little girl’s body.”

Instinct makes me tighten the walls of my femininity and I almost have another orgasm when Clarke jerks on top of me, cursing as his drives start going faster, turning desperate—and finally he finishes with a shout, sweat from his forehead dripping onto my back, his teeth sinking into my shoulder blade.

“Mine,” Clarke says, breathing heavily. Then louder, “Mine.”

I stare up at the pictures above my bed, a secret smile curving my lips as my obsession—the man I love to the point of madness—gathers back his control on top of me. As if I’ll ever let that happen. My whisper is barely audible in the dim room. “Finally.”

EPILOGUE

Clarke

Two Years Later

My obsession with my wife knows has no end and knows no boundaries.

Sitting in the back of my limousine, I scroll through the thousands of photographs of her stored in my phone, landing on one of her wearing nothing but black stockings and my come splashed across her stomach. Judging I’m still ten minutes from our home, I take my cock out and abuse it in my fist with great, groaning strokes, my gaze never leaving the picture.

“I’ll be inside you soon, little girl,” I mutter thickly, willing the driver to go faster. Get me home to Emery sooner. Today is one of the rare days she didn’t come in to perform her duties as my “assistant,” which generally include me feeding her a lunch of caviar and champagne, before she slips off her panties and rides my dick.

Thinking of my wife’s tight cunt milking me up and down, I grit my teeth and tip my head back, my hand on my cock going faster, faster. My God, I love her. My angel, my Emery and my little girl, all rolled into one sweet, savvy package.

And she is savvy, my wife. She wasn’t at the office today because her private tutors gave her an exam. The one she’ll need to earn her Bachelor’s in Business.

When I brought her home two years ago and declared she was never leaving, Emery insisted she be allowed to attend college. She wanted to learn, so she could become a true help to me at Carroway-Silver. So I created my own college and named it after her. Emery University. She’s the only student and her tutors—women, every last one of them—teach her everything she needs to know from the safety of our penthouse, while I watch on a closed-circuit camera that connects to my phone.