Chapter 172 Fucking My Slut Student
I’d been hard since the second her text came through saying she was on her way. Every red light on the drive home, I pictured her in the passenger seat instead—skirt hiked up, fingers circling that swollen clit while she whimpered my name. I’d edged myself raw all week thinking about tonight. Jerked off in the shower that morning until my balls ached, then stopped. Again at lunch in my office, door locked, hand wrapped tight around my cock, remembering how her pussy clenched when I filled her on the desk. Stopped again. I wanted every drop saved for her. I wanted her so full of me she couldn’t sit without feeling it leak out.
The house was quiet when I got home. I’d already set everything up in the spare bedroom—soft black cuffs tied to the headboard posts, a sleek vibrator on the nightstand, bottle of lube, extra towels. I lit one lamp, low and warm, so she could see every filthy thing I did to her. I wanted her to watch herself take it. I wanted her to see how wrecked she looked when she came for me.
The doorbell rang. My cock jumped.
She barely made it through the door before I was on her. The door slammed shut behind us, rattling the frame, and I crashed my mouth onto hers. Rough, claiming, tongue pushing past her lips like I owned them. She moaned into me, hands fisting my shirt, and I walked her backward until her back hit the wall. The impact jarred a gasp out of her. I swallowed it, then bit her lower lip hard enough to sting.
“Been thinking about this all fucking week,” I growled against her mouth. My hand slid under her skirt, fingers finding her bare and dripping. Two plunged inside without warning, curling deep. She cried out, hips bucking into my palm.
“Soaked already,” I muttered, voice thick. “Did you touch yourself on the way here?”
“No, Daddy,” she gasped. “Wanted to save it for you.”
“Good girl.” I pumped my fingers harder, thumb grinding her clit. Her knees buckled. I pinned her tighter against the wall with my body, free hand grabbing her throat—not choking, just holding her in place while I finger-fucked her standing up. The wet sounds were obscene, loud in the quiet foyer. Her arousal coated my wrist, dripped down her thighs.
I pulled my fingers out, brought them to her lips. “Taste how desperate you are.”
She sucked them clean, moaning at the tangy-sweet taste of herself mixed with my skin. I watched, eyes hooded, then spun her around, bent her forward so her hands braced the wall. Her skirt flipped up. Cool air hit her ass. My belt clinked open behind her.
No warning. I notched myself at her entrance and thrust in one brutal stroke. She screamed—sharp, broken—her walls stretching around my thickness, burning in the best way. I was so deep I felt myself in her stomach. I didn’t let her adjust. Just started fucking her hard, fast, hips snapping against her ass with wet slaps that echoed off the walls.
“Fuck, this pussy,” I groaned. “Gripping me like it never wants to let go. You were made for this cock, weren’t you?”
“Yes—God, yes—Daddy—”
I reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast circles while I pounded into her. Pressure built so quick her vision blurred. She was shaking, thighs trembling, moans turning into desperate little sobs.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” I warned, slowing my thrusts just enough to keep her on the edge. “Not until I’ve fucked you in every room.”
I pulled out—slow, torturous—leaving her clenching around nothing. She whined, pushing back, but I grabbed her hair, yanked her head back so I could kiss her messy and deep.
“Living room,” I said against her lips. “Now.”