Stacy — We play rough, baby (3)

Stacy — We play rough, baby (3)
His tongue swirled round and round my nipple as he watched me.

"Surely it's not this little thing making my dirty girl come so hard," he said, teasingly flicking the nipple with the tip of his tongue repeatedly. "Tell me what my secret whore liked more: the pleasure or the pain," he said, calling me out as he took my nipple between his teeth again.

Pissed off with him for toying with me, I grabbed his hair and yanked his head away from my breasts. Then I grabbed his neck and bit down hard on it.

"Jesus," he said with a powerful hiss, the grinding of his hips into mine starting up again.

"I'm not discussing this with you," I said, forcing myself away from his neck again.

The damage was done though. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I knew I broke skin this time even before I saw the bite mark. Still, I had to look. Horrified, I watched as blood trickled down his neck.

"We have to stop," I said feebly, all but begging him not to encourage the flames between my legs. His body stopped against me instantly, a hand creeping up my dress and stilling on my right hip. He rubbed little circles into my flesh, keeping the orgasm going.

"Is that what you want? See because I have it in my head that your sweet, wet, tight, little pussy wants me to bend my slutty girl over my knee and spank her ass. That's my horny fiancée's favorite one yet, isn't it? Your left asscheek. This is mine," he said, wrapping the fingers of his other hand around my throat.

"For fuck's sake, Scott. You're bleeding," I said, watching the tiny stream flow down his neck with wide eyes.

"It's not the first time today, is it my baby? It probably won't be the last. The way you sink your teeth into my flesh. Your hands around my throat. You sucking on my skin. The bite marks. The scratches. It's not torture, it's foreplay. We play rough, baby and we love it. Get the fuck over it," he demanded in that no room for discussion voice of his, as his fingers tightened around my throat.

A few moments later, he withdrew his hands from me completely. I instantly regretted asking him to stop. He laid his hands on his shirt. He pierced me with those demon eyes, the ones that meant he was beyond turned on. I averted my gaze, watching him unbutton his shirt instead, mania consuming my brain at the loss of physical contact as his chest came into view.

Damn baby, have mercy on me.

Unable to resist, I reached out to touch him, my torturous pussy still contracting.

"Spank my ass until it hurts," I said, entranced by my fingers clawing into his chest.

"You might need to take me to a hospital and explain all the shit you're doing, Stacy Kendrick," he said, watching me with a satisfied grin as he unveiled more of his torso, fingers still working on the buttons of his shirt. "Are you sure you want to keep going, my dominatrix?"

The carefully selected little nicknames. The feel of his mouth and hands lingering on my erogenous zones. The permission he gave me to keep going. All of it combined in my head and I felt like he was fucking me the way he does. Brutally. Savagely. Even though he stopped touching me because I asked him to. It all went to my head. I needed more. I needed dick, not the torment of an orgasm without the fucking.

"Prague," I said, trying to rein it in, forcing order onto the situation. "The safe word is Prague."

Then I was pulling him towards me and smashing my lips into his. Not even the warmth of his blood on my fingers was enough to stop me from roaming over the bite mark on his neck. My legs tightened around him as our mouths collided, hands all over each other. I heard the sound of my dress ripping as he obsessively worked to get it off.

"You really did look gorgeous in it, but now it's in my way," he said with a smirk as he forced the dress down my body.

With me in nothing but a pair of lace panties, he sat down on the chair and drank me in. Then he patted his lap, inviting me to him. True to his word, he bent me over his knee, pulled my panties down to my thighs and smacked my ass.

"Harder," I demanded, accepting our new reality, letting his words soothe me as the sting of the next blow landed on my ass.

Not torture, but foreplay. He liked what he was doing to me. What I was doing to him. There was nothing to do but enjoy each other.

"Always fucking harder with you," he said, spanking my ass repeatedly. "And you always get it too, don't you? My fiancée is such a spoiled whore."

I took every last slap, still begging for more even as my body flailed about on his lap, collapsing into equal parts pleasure and pain as I came for him.