I tried to push his hand away. “Nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sit on your hands and open your fucking mouth.”
He unzipped himself with jerky movements, drawing out his cock. My head was pulled into position while my hands curled into fists beneath my thighs. I hated being treated like this, but my rebellious body still responded to the passion and violence of being forced. My nipples hardened and ached, and a pulse bloomed between my legs. His cock was granite-hard, and yet it felt smooth and warm in my mouth without the latex barrier. It had been so long since I’d sucked a bare cock.
I lifted my hands to caress his length, to make it sexy and civilized, but of course he wasn’t interested in my efforts. He jammed my face on his cock until I choked.
“I told you to sit on your hands, bitch. I don’t want your hands. I want the wet, hot, lying little hole in your face. Just suck me.”
I glared up at him, taking him deep, gagging myself on his length. Like this, you asshole? He undid his tie and yanked my arms behind my back, and cinched them together above my elbows.
That made it easier somehow, this force and degradation. I was tied up, and W had taught me there was solace in surrender. I grunted as he used my hair to pull me off the bed and onto my knees.
I’d given many blowjobs in my life, but those blowjobs were different. Those men allowed me control. W allowed me zero control over my balance, my swallowing, even the angle of my throat. He shoved his cock in as far as he liked, and withdrew when he felt like it.
“Please,” I choked when he let me come up for air. “Why are you like this?”
“Why are you a liar?”
He plunged back in again and drove deep, in, out, in, out. Tears squeezed from my eyes and my scalp hurt where he held my hair bunched in his fist. I cycled between wanting to breathe, and trying not to gag up puke.
“Stop with the retching,” he scolded. “Don’t be a drama queen. Just blow me. That’s your job, you whore. Suck me off until I manage to empty myself in your worthless little throat.”
I knew this was his thing. The insults, the humiliation, the roughness. I knew he’d hold me afterward and make me feel better again, but that didn’t help me handle this now. I gagged hard and really almost vomited. He pulled away and slapped my face.
“I said cut it out. Look at me.”
As soon as I looked up at him, he slapped my face again. I was fucking over it. I tried to crawl away on my knees, tried to lunge myself away from him even as he tightened his grip in my hair. Big mistake. Nothing thrilled him more than a fight. That was the whole point of this. If I’d just gone limp and collapsed on the floor, he would have walked away and abandoned everything. But I couldn’t not fight, and he couldn’t resist controlling me, and I was choking and spitting and gagging with both his hands on my head now. My chest was covered in drool.
I made crying sounds in my throat, and I did start collapsing, because you can only get hammered so many times in the throat before you can’t take it anymore. He merely lifted me up again and made me continue. He was so good at this force, this terror. If he’d been wearing a condom, I probably would have broken it with my teeth by now, and choked on the latex when I accidentally sucked it into my mouth.
See, Chere, be grateful you aren’t literally dying.
No, I was just emotionally dying, because he was using me so brutally, and I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t be sexy, and I had no control.
“Look at me,” he barked. “Look up at me.”
I stared up as well as I could through the tears and the trauma. His hard blue gaze riveted onto mine as if to say I own you. I own this hole in your face. Deal with it. I tried to shake my head, but I think that only turned him on more.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, low and rasping. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I sucked. I shuddered. I hunched forward and stared up at him, begging for that cum, because I wanted this to be over. I felt his fingers tighten and tremble against my scalp, and I braced as he thrust in me hard, over and over. He finally came in my throat, too far back to taste. All I tasted was him, his skin and his scent and his heat.
His fingers loosened, but I didn’t dare move. When he finally withdrew, I swallowed convulsively and took halting breaths. He let me go and I crumpled to the floor.