Chapter 11 Fucktoy
Claire
Stupid, desperate me didn’t even pretend to resist. I just turned my head to the side, in silent surrender, telling him with my whole body: do whatever you want.
The second his big hand closed over my breast, a raw, needy sound tore out of me, loud and shameless, the sound of a woman who’s been starving for touch.
He kneaded me roughly, but I needed more. I needed those fingers on my aching nipples. Like he could hear the plea in my head, his thumb brushed over one stiff peak and rolled it hard. My voice cracked louder than I meant it to.
“I see this is one of your spots,” he murmured, smirking, pinching and tugging until I squirmed.
Then he hooked a finger under the thin strap of my nightie and dragged it down my shoulder, down my arm, baring me completely. As the air hit my skin and I gasped.
His eyes devoured my exposed breasts. “I thought MILFs didn’t have tits like these,” he said, voice rough with surprise.
I flushed, glancing at him. “That’s because Ian never let me breastfeed,” I whispered.
His smirk turned wicked. “My gain.” he murmured.
His palm cupped the bare flesh and I jerked, the contact so much sharper without fabric between us. Every nerve lit up.
He pinched my nipple hard. It stung, but the sting only fed the flood between my legs.
He dipped his head. My breathing went shallow, frantic. His lips brushed the top curve of my breast and I arched on instinct, shoving myself toward his mouth, offering everything. One of his hands slid to the small of my back, holding me there; the other gripped my thigh, spreading me wider.
Then he closed his mouth over my nipple and sucked, hard.
“Oh God,” I rasped.
He licked, sucked, grazed with teeth, bit down just enough to make me cry out. Little broken noises kept spilling from my lips. I was dripping, soaked through, and he knew it.
The hand on my thigh slid higher, effortless, finding my slick heat.
The moment his fingers touched my pussy I shattered.
“Hmmm, right there,” I gasped, voice shaking. I didn’t care anymore. He could do anything, anything, and I would let him.
He kept switching from one nipple to the other, sucking hard, biting just enough to sting, while his hand worked between my legs, rough, no patience, no mercy. I spread wider without thinking, hips rolling shamelessly against the leather seat, chasing more.
Then suddenly he released my nipple with a wet pop and crushed his mouth to mine again, tongue plunging deep, stealing my breath. His fingers never slowed down below.
He tore his mouth away just long enough to growl, “I don’t have the patience tonight, Mrs. Claire.” His hand kept moving, dragging moan after moan out of me. I clung to his shoulders just to stay upright. “We’ll do more of this foreplay later, I promise.”
I could barely hear him, barely think.
“Look at your face right now,” he rasped, voice harsh, eyes wild. “You look like a desperate whore.”
“Oh fuck,” he muttered, suddenly pulling his hand away. I whimpered at the loss, empty, aching.
My gaze dropped to his opened pants. His cock stood thick and angry, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, he didn't even know it was there.
When his eyes found me looking at his hardened cock he muttered “I see,” he said, voice dark. “Come sit on it.”
Like I was possessed, I climbed over him, knees on either side of his thighs. My nightie bunched around my waist as he gripped me hard.
“Put it in yourself,” he ordered, eyes burning.
I reached down. The second my fingers wrapped around him he hissed, hips jerking. Something wicked sparked in me. I started stroking him, slow, then faster, just to hear that sound again. His hands clamped on my hips.
“Fuck, Mrs. Claire,” he groaned.
“Face here,” he demanded, yanking me into another brutal kiss, teeth sinking into my bottom lip as if trying to control himself.
But I was aching too much. I needed him inside. I lifted myself and guided him to my entrance.
Slowly, so slowly, I sank down. He was huge, stretching me, filling me to the hilt. A broken moan tore from my throat when he bottomed out. I gripped his shoulders.
“Move,” he commanded.
I tried, rolling my hips, rising and falling, circling, but it wasn’t enough. Not for me. Definitely not for him.
I could feel it wasn’t cutting it. Before he could mock me, I gasped, “I’m not really good at this.”
“So it seems,” he said, smirking.
Then his hands slid to my ass, gripping hard. He leaned back, spread his legs wider, steadying himself against the seat.
“Up a little,” he ordered.
I rose until my head brushed the roof of the car.
The second I did, he snapped his hips up, once, twice, three times, hard.
“Yes!” I cried out.
That was all he needed.
He started pounding into me, deep, brutal thrusts that slammed into the end of me every single time. I screamed, loud, raw, not caring if the whole neighborhood heard. Skin slapped against skin. My moans, his groans, the creak of the car, everything mixed into chaos. Sweat dripped down my face, down my back.
I was lost.
Completely, utterly lost in him again.
His thrusts turned savage, relentless, and I was right there on the edge.
“I’m about to cum,” I gasped, voice shattered, not from pain but from the overwhelming sweetness he was pouring into me. “Please… let me come,” I begged, my stomach burning so hot I thought I’d melt.
“Then cum,” he growled, mouth latching onto my nipple again.
That was it.
I threw my head back, a broken cry ripping out of me as the orgasm crashed through. My whole body convulsed, juices flooding out, soaking us both. My vision blurred, eyes rolling back.
I thought it was over.
It wasn’t.
His pace only got harder, deeper, like my climax had set him on fire. The pleasure dragged me right back under before I could even breathe.
I lost track of time, of everything. The car rocked, windows fogged, the night swallowed every scream. Guilt should have been screaming in my head, but it was silent. All I felt was him.
I was climbing again, fast.
“Hmm, yeah, I’m cumming again!” I screamed.
“Fuck,” he snarled, face twisting.
The second wave hit me just as he slammed deep one last time. Hot, thick pulses of his cum flooded me, filling me to the brim. My body gave out completely and I collapsed onto his chest, trembling, wrecked.
We stayed like that, panting in sync, sweat cooling on our skin.
A minute passed. Neither of us spoke. I couldn’t have if I tried.
“Oh, Mrs. Claire,” he finally murmured against my ear, voice low and satisfied. “You’re going to be my personal fucktoy for a long, long time.”
I fluttered my eyes shut.
“I’ll let you go tonight,” he continued. “But when I call, you come. No questions. No delays.”
I lifted my head, still impaled on him. “Why me?” I whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m forty-six. I have nothing left that should interest a man. Even my husband doesn’t want me anymore.”
He gave a dark little laugh. “Let’s just say… you’re the only one who makes me cum.”
My eyes flew open.
He smirked. “Now get off me.”
I scrambled up; his cum immediately spilled out, running warm down my thighs.
He reached into a side compartment, pulled out a pack of wipes, and tossed one at me. I caught it with shaking hands and started cleaning myself as best I could.
“You remember what I told you, don’t you?” he said coldly.
I looked at him, confused.
“Don’t interfere with your husband and Pattie.”
I clenched my teeth and nodded once.
I pulled the soaked nightie back down; it clung to me like a second skin. I tied the robe tight and muttered, “I’m leaving.” while I searched for my phone, there it was, laying there, forgotten.
He stared out the window, not even looking at me. “Soon, Mrs. Claire. When I want you again, you come running.”
I opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind me.
The night was still pitch-black. I ran, barefoot on the cold pavement, his cum still dripping down my legs. The roar of his engine faded behind me as he drove off. I didn’t look back.
I crept through the gate, eased the front door open, tiptoed up the stairs like a thief in my own house, praying Luppy wouldn’t hear, because if she did, she'll definitely check.
Finally inside my bedroom, I closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
Then I looked down.
His cum was still leaking out of me, streaking down my thighs. I was a complete, ruined mess.
I yanked off the robe and nightie, let them drop in a sodden pile on the floor, and rushed straight to the bathroom. I needed him off me, out of me, gone.
The shower came on hot and hard. I stepped under it, scrubbing, rinsing, watching the last of him disappear down the drain.
But this time… no tears. No shame. No self-loathing like the last time.
Only a strange, quiet calm.
Liam has a video.
He thinks he can blackmail a starving, cheated-on, miserable woman with a sex tape, using the very thing she’s been craving for years.
I stared at my hands under the water.
If Ian thinks he’s the clever cheater in this marriage, I’ll show him I can do it better, colder, without him ever suspecting.
And Liam?
I let out a slow, bitter chuckle that echoed off the tiles.
He thinks he’s using me? Fine. Let him believe that.
He’s nothing but a fucktoy too, a perfect, hard, young fucktoy to feed the hunger Ian lets rot inside me.
So yes, I’ll play by his rules.
I’ll come when he calls.
And I’ll enjoy every single second of it.