Forced Series Box Set (Forced 1-5)

“That’ll do,” I said and pulled the side of my g-string away so he could tuck the money in.

His fingers were shaking as he placed the warm bills against my skin.

I took his hand and led him to the living room before pushing him down onto the sofa.

I bent over in front of him and picked up the remote from the ottoman and hit the music. A deep, hard beat started playing. My song. My rhythm.

His hands found my hips.

I whirled. “No touching, sir. This isn’t that sort of club.”

He yanked his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out credit cards, flicking them at me until they littered the ground around me. “Spend all you want, Sasha. Max them out and spend some more. I don’t care.”

I put my finger to my chin, as if I was thinking about it. “Well, for you, I think I can break the rules this one time.”

He leaned back and unbuckled his belt.

I knelt between his legs. “No, sir, let me.” I unzipped him and reached in to pull out his length. He was so hard that my pussy gushed at the sight. I blew on the head before standing back up and admiring him, dick out and ready. He put a hand on himself but didn’t stroke. Not yet.

I swayed my hips to the beat, back and forth in front of him. Then I turned around and stepped up on the leather ottoman. It would be my stage for the evening.

I dropped low and shimmied back up. I danced for him and him alone, seducing him with every turn, twirl, and shake. I wanted him desperate for me. I turned toward him and undid the yellow ribbon holding my top on. His eyes were glued to my every movement. I loved the feel of his rapt attention. I teased him by almost opening the top, then not. He glared at me as his hand slowly worked his cock.

When I whipped off the fabric so that all was left was my tits in the open cup bra, he let go of his cock and closed his eyes.

“You’re going to make me come by just looking at you, Sasha.”

I spun around and bent over. His eyes flew open and focused on the pink triangle of fabric between my thighs. “Well, you did pay for the best, sir.”

“Show me,” he grated.

I reached between my thighs and pushed the drenched fabric aside so he could look right at my pussy. He groaned and gripped his cock again.

I stripped the g-string completely off, rolling it down my legs slowly and stepping out of it. I stepped down from the ottoman and lay against him, just like old times. When my ass hit his bare cock, he hissed in a breath.

I began to work, rubbing his thick head and hot shaft with my ass. Instead of fisting his hands at his sides like he did at the club, he ran them up to my tits and squeezed as I worked him. He was doing what I’d always hoped for at the club, breaking the rules. My pussy was already clenching, the heat from him making my stomach tighten and my clit hyper aware of my folds rubbing against it.

“These tits were made for fucking,” he said in my ear.

“Yes, sir. The customer’s always right.”

“Get up and bend over, Sasha.”

I rose and put my hands flat on the ottoman. My hooker heels made sure my ass was up in the air, the perfect height for him. He stood and fisted his length, walking to me and rubbing his head against my hot, wet skin. He slid home and I gasped, my pussy clenching around him as he sank all the way inside.

“That’s it, take it all.” He reared back and slammed into me. His fingers dug into my hips as he punished me with hard, fast strokes.

I’d driven him over the edge, finally made him lose control. I licked my fingers and reached down to stroke my clit, enjoying every surge of him inside me, every jarring impact and the slapping sounds of skin on skin.

My clit was so sensitive that it only took a few moments of my strokes to send me hurtling, careening out of control before I erupted into a million sparks. I came screaming his name like a cheap whore, unable to stop myself.

A few more hard thrusts and he pulled out with a loud groan. I felt hot spurts of cum lashing across my back, my ass, my pussy.

“Fuck!” he bit out as the final wave of heat splashed against me.

I heard something, something that wasn’t in the deep beat of the song. Something metallic. Like a lock clicking over.

I looked up toward the front door. A man entered and then my mother. I stood straight up.