Content Warning:
Under BDSM, the elements of Domination/submission, impact play and verbal degradation/humiliation is explicitly and graphically written here. Readers' discretion are adviced.
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Chapter 9
Mike's lazy strokes sank into my cunt soon after and began to thrust in rhythm. At first, it was the ordinary two fingers, but when he said I'd opened wider (which I did), my raised, folded legs finally had three fingers jammed inside.
"Yeah... Mike, ha...." I cried out, obviously lost in that aching, delicious finger fuck. He began pumping those three, then he tried four.
"How 'bout this?" he said briefly before digging them in. My walls wouldn't have it. He chuckled. "Tight pussy."
I exhaled and looked down at the drilled tunnel. "It feels like nothing, Mike. Bring it back to three. And more lube," I instructed.
He complied and withdrew all his fingers at once. My pussy even parted with a sloshing slip.
He walked to get the lube and came back, a good amount already applied on his fingers. "How 'bout if I eat you instead?" he offered.
"I'm not in the vibe for that right now," I declined. "I'm thinking of giving you a lap dance."
He just made a noncommittal sound before getting back to me. "Later. For now, we'll get you done," he said, and resumed.
Three fingers pumped without faltering as I raised my legs back and spread them wide open. I panted like the horny bitch I can be when I like what he's giving me. There came the rising peak, almost too sweet before it flooded. My mouth opened, panted, and gulped. My hips rolled even with Mike's arm between my thighs, still stroking.
I cried out, my face showing eager surrender to how good it feels, moaning. Until the orgasm came and the expected shiver followed.
Stimulated and my arousal still high, my urge to enact my fantasy had grown stronger. So aroused, but my voice still steady, I said, "Sit up. I want to give you a lap dance."
He did. So in a reverse cowgirl, with my back against his chest, I sat on his bulging dick covered by his pants and started grinding. Doesn't matter if his pants get stained by my creamy pussy, I just wanted to grind some dick after that warm-up.
"Where'd you learn to do this?" he asked, grabbing my hair and placing his palm on the small of my back for guidance.
"Strippers."
He chortled. "Where?"
"That's my day hustle," I said, turning sideways to look at him. Still rolling and grinding. I could feel his dick getting harder and harder. He reclined his head against the back of the sofa and swallowed hard.
"I like how your waist rolls, babe," he sighed, then blinked multiple times, his mouth slightly open. He groaned.
My legs spread wider, finding a good spot to latch my open cunt against the tent in his pants. Once I found a good center of pressure, I leaned further down and circled my hips. "Mike, babe," I cooed. "Can we play rougher than last time?"
Oh, fuck. The pressure was giving me tingles. My neck and brain shivered. I moaned out my request, "I want to be rutted like a good bitch, y'know. Slap my ass and grit your voice near my ear while asking if this is what I want? If I'm made to be your slut."
"Shit," he exhaled in flinching gasps. But then his mouth relaxed, and he let out a throaty groan. "Are you made to be my slut, Kat?"
I hummed and rolled my hips back in steady, slow humps. "What am I right now?"
He stifled his laughter before letting it all out, reclining further back on the sofa to watch me. "I guess you're a stripper right now. You've got some moves grinding my cock, that's for sure. Tell me more, though."
I let my pelvis do the talking, leaning forward and holding both of his knees to keep the lap dance going. "You know, like those song lyrics where you give orders, like: if you're a woman you are made to pleasure me. But out on corners hide those shoulders underneath," I tried to sing.
He laughed, obviously enjoying what I was doing. "I'll try," he blurted in the end.
"Hmm..." I responded in a lazy hum. "'Kay, babe."
I got tired of that position, so I leaned back against his hard chest, emanating warmth, luxuriating in his support. He wrapped his arms around me, then placed one hand on my pussy, following my movements. I let out a pleased purr.
"Or you could snap and pull my hair, then accuse me of being such a bad bitch," I continued, moaning afterward. "Ask if I'm your puta? If this is what I want? I want your pronunciation of puta to hit hard, y'know. The one that'll make me come so bad."
"Babe, I'm not quite sure," replied Mike, hesitance crawling into his voice. "That reminds me of stuff I heard growing up. For real, are you sure 'bout this?"
I nodded. "I want it. Make me your perfect mark. I'd be your loyal bitch."
"I heard we should establish a safe word first. What would be your safe word then, Kat?"
"Abort. The word abort, Mike. Like that." I groaned. "Do you want a blow? I think I'm soiling your pants with some wet-ass pussy right now," I offered, my eyes having closed as I savored the pressure of his dick against me.
"Wait." He told me to get up for a while as he walked towards the TV's drawer to bring out my vibrator.
Yeah, that's how boredom gets me when I'm being a couch potato sometimes. And my sexercise with Kegel balls, don't leave that one out.
Before he sat back down, he opened his fly and sprang out his erected cock. He ordered me that before I sat back on him, I should guide his cock in first and then spread my legs for the vibrator.
I ended up reclined against his chest, whimpering and melting all at once as he teased me with that vibrator while his cock stretched and filled up my pussy. He began stroking too. "You want this, Kat? You want to be stroked and pampered like a feline, don't you?" he said, mildly pumping me in and out, locking his arms around me.
"Mm-hmm," I whimpered. It felt so good when Mike took charge.
Ah...
"You're made to be pleased, aren't you? Turning you into my slut?" he spoke in a deep voice, rubbing my pussy inside and toying with my clit outside. "You like how I make you my cumdump, do you?"
I leaned sideways before looking up, and smiled. "Yeah."
His cock twitched inside me. I received plunging, swift thrusts thereafter. Shooting strings of hot pour inside me. With eyes closed, Mike kept his own shut tight as his head swung briefly.
Then he exhaled. His movements stopped afterward. "Much better. Now, let's get you back in business," he said.
He didn't withdraw. Instead, he kissed my head, reached for my face, and leaned down to capture my lips as we kissed. His other hand played with my tits, but soon, the vibrator was finally applied directly to my clit for a more intense build-up.
I cried out into his mouth, where he locked me, as always, in a long and deep kiss. My body shivered before it convulsed. The vibrator's intensity, combined with Mike's deep kiss stealing my breath, made me gasp. He ended the kiss, leaving me to catch my breath.
My body softened into a pliant heap; I was left in a daze.
"You're not proposing another round, are you?" he then murmured.
Still dumbfounded, I looked up and nodded.
"Nah. Let's take this one to the room."
The room. My mind sobered up, and I took a deep breath. I got up from him and sank onto the sofa while an internal waggle of my eyebrows lit up: our sex room. Instruments, apparatus, furnishings, and toys are kept there for our needs. So far, though, I'd mainly urged him to purchase furnishings necessary for our height difference. No obstacle can overcome horny bitches and sex-driven youngbloods. Duh.
Before anything else, both of us absolutely needed to shower. But I don't really prefer going with him 'cause temptation is high to get sidetracked from the shower room to the more cozy bedroom. Showering together is too water-wet and washes off my lubrication. Besides, shower sex is overrated; it could lead to physical injury like slipping your foot and tumbling on your ass. Sooo comedy-coded.
He took a speedy shower, and I followed, but the momentum got fuckin' ruined. The cozy ambiance of the sex room made us fall soundly asleep instead. In the end, we just slept naked, no sex.
A minor mishap. Which I think was a blessing in disguise since I got to wear my lingerie the next time I had him. And I timed it well, ha-ha. It would be Saturday early evening. I'd lure him, a little massage here and there, a little 'I-prepared-you-a-meal' (but it's actually takeout from a restaurant, since when I cook badly, it often turns into charcoal). And, a little peek at my cleavage while I massage his tensed shoulders, accidentally grazing my perky tits against his back.
I winked at the thought.
In my silk robe, I let myself be seen in the kitchen. Just like Meghan Markle, I transferred that takeout meal from its container to a basic white plate and called it a home-cooked meal done by me.
When he finally strutted in after his shower, wearing a shirt and pj's, he was so delighted he asked what was up. If it's Michael and food, that's always how it goes.
"I cooked you a meal," I proudly presented.
He made an enthusiastic sound before taking a spoon and immediately digging in. "Where'd you get it? At Pao's?"
My face straightened, not even trying to hide it. He snorted and chuckled between chews as he looked at me like a tease. Pao is the restaurant where I bought the meal.
Bitch just killed my vibe.
See? This is another reason why we should have just been fuck buddies in the first place. Having him as a boyfriend really incites urges for physical altercation. "'Kay," I conceded. But then I got annoyed. "Damn it, Mike. It could've been a fine start."
"Of what?" he probed.
My agitation turned into a bristling demeanor. "Nothing!"
And I walked off.
"Katarina," he suddenly demanded in that deep, authoritative voice. "I'm not done talking with you. Get back in here," he coaxed in his last statement.
Okay, Mike. My mind cheered at him being my Dom.
