Buy Me, Sir

She wriggles as I tug at her knickers, and she’s soaking wet when I slip my fingers between her thighs. Two straight in, my thumb rolling around her clit as she tilts her hips for me.

I drop to my knees and her thighs scissor my head as my tongue laps at her. Her pussy is heaven. The way she squirms is religion enough for me.

I grab her thighs and lift them, tip her back on the dresser with her legs spread wide. She spreads her pretty pink cunt for me without being asked, and it’s so easy to suck that sweet little bud, so easy to make her beg for more, for harder. For everything.

Three fingers and she gasps.

A fourth, in her tight little asshole, and she cries out.

She wants cock. The hunger is in her eyes, her teeth gritted and feral as she hisses my name. My real name.

I haven’t heard anyone scream my real name in far too long.

I haven’t known anyone in far too long.

It’s dangerous. Everything about this is dangerous. But I don’t care.

She’s ready as I get to my feet, her pussy taking my cock in one thrust. She arches her back and I palm her beautiful tits, and it’s too inviting. She groans for me as I wrap my fingers around her throat.

“Yes…” she whispers, and I tighten my grip as I fuck her, her throat straining with every stroke.

Her whole body tenses as I angle my hips for the spot, her eyes screwing shut as I fuck her deep.

I let her breathe. Once, twice, three times, before I take her air all over again, and my balls are tight and desperate, my own breath ragged as she goes without.

I’ve only got a short window, but my own fuse is about to blow. I keep my eyes fixed on hers, soaking in the change in her pallor as her chest heaves.

I’m going to make her come without breath. I’m going to take her body to the edge without sound, without voice, in that hazy light of unconsciousness where there is only me.

Her hands grip my wrist but don’t push me away. Her eyes wide as the pull of orgasm takes a grip of its own.

Her pussy clenches around my cock, her hips bucking for more even as she struggles for air.

She shudders. Squirms.

I feel everything.

Every tiny undulation as she comes for me. Every tremor as her body milks me dry.

I’m over the edge as I let her go, my cock pulsing deep inside her, my exhaled breath the first she takes into her lungs.

She coughs. Rasps. Her chest heaving under mine as I press my lips to her forehead.

I don’t want to pull out of her.

I never want to pull out of her.

Her eyes come back into focus, her fingers a ghost against my cheek as she calms.

“Alexander…” she whispers, and my name is magic from her lips.

I hold her to me, cradling her head as I pull her up to sitting, and her legs squeeze me hard, her arms wrapping around my shoulders as though she never wants to let go.

She amazes me.

Her trust in me amazes me.

“Does it scare you?” I ask her, and my voice is more unsure than I’m unaccustomed to.

She shakes her head. “No.”

I smooth her hair, my gaze not letting up as I search her face for more.

“No?”

Her eyes are so big. So vulnerable.

“You said you wouldn’t kill me.” She smiles so gently. “I trust you.”

And I trust her.

I trust the way she looks at me. I trust the way she wants me.

I trust the way she trusts me.

Even if I don’t quite trust myself.MelissaMy heart pangs with all the lies I’ve already told.

I feel them in my stomach, twisting around.

But I can’t.

I can’t risk it.

That seems crazy, even to me, given that I trust him to choke me until I see stars.

I trust him with my life, but not my name.

Yeah, that’s crazy.

“I love the name Alexander,” I tell him as he pours me champagne.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m glad you approve.”

“You look like an Alexander.”

“And you look like a sweet little peach.” His eyes twinkle as he hands me the glass.

My hair must be a mess, my makeup all but destroyed as I cross my legs in the armchair, caring little for how on display I am.

I can still feel him inside me. I can still feel the throb of where he’s been.

My throat is scratchy and it welcomes the champagne bubbles. My clit aches for more of his mouth.

He recovers his jacket and drapes it over his chair, reaching into his pocket for another envelope to add to my collection.

I tell myself it’s all for Joe as I thank him, picture the figure rising in his savings account as I slip it into my handbag.

“Why cats?” he asks as he takes a seat opposite me. He looks more relaxed than usual, his cock hard but unassuming, still wet from me as it lays against his belly. His ankle rests on his knee, sprawling more contentedly than I’ve known him.