Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
He makes a sound I’ve never heard come from a man.
It’s a low, guttural scrub of his vocal cords.
His right hand flies to the arm of the couch, holding on for purchase, his chest heaving up and down. “Oh, fuck yeah. Play with it, baby. Fast. Fast. Take the edge off before I do something bad, like pin you down for my load.”
He’s huge in my grip. Smooth and veiny and turgid. His balls are bigger than expected, too, swelled up and partially hidden beneath his garden of dark pubic hair. I slide my hold up, down, up, watching his flesh move with me, the size of him increasing with every pump, wetness appearing at the thick tip, his hips lifting with my hand, his whole body shuddering and shaking, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Harder,” he grits through his teeth, analyzing me with molten eyes. “Look at you. Kneeling with your innocent tits out, stroking a cock for the first time. Blushing over your first hand job.” His stomach hollows violently and he groans, long and loud, his flesh beginning to pulse with more intensity in my hand. “That blush is going to get you into a lot of trouble with me, little girl.”
“What kind of trouble?” I whisper, my sex tightening and releasing over the words "little girl". Little girl. Why do I respond so feverishly to that name?
“The barefoot and pregnant kind, July.”
“Oh,” I breathe, with difficulty. I’m hot, dizzy.
“I’m almost there.” He heaves the warning, but I don’t really need it. Instinct tells me he couldn’t possibly last much longer with this much pressure built up in his sex. He’s practically made of stone now. I can barely get my hand around him. “Keep jerking it, but kneel on the floor. Right in front of me. Let me nut on that curious little face.”
My legs move without my consent and I’m on the floor before Theo in a flash, crowded in close between the V of his thighs, my hand still racing up and down to pleasure him, my grip tight, so tight, and so much of his pre-come has dripped down that each stroke is a wet frop, the muscles of his thighs bunched to the extreme.
“Call me Daddy when you’re on your knees,” he rasps, beating his chest with a fist.
“Daddy,” I whisper, sticking out my tongue dutifully.
In a way that simply comes naturally.
A rattling shout is ripped from inside and his spurts paint me in thick stripes, landing across my tongue, forehead, cheeks, the consistency like rubber cement, but the taste salty and earthy and perfect. I know this because I draw it back into my mouth and savor the taste of him with a moan, my sex clenching unexpectedly, a ticklish tide invading lower and lower, the concentration of need so incredibly frustrating and beautiful, I can’t withstand it…and I’m…I’m having an orgasm.
Oh my God.
My body knows it before my mind.
My first climax.
I have it while looking up at Theo, his shaft giving off ropes of pent-up lust, his hips thrusting up and grinding at the air, like he can’t stand the pleasure. And when he realizes I’m also in the throes of pleasure, he gets this awestruck and possessive look in his eye that I instantly know will carry on as a core memory.
“Daddy,” I whimper, looking down at the floor where my panties drip with excess moisture and leave a small puddle. “Daddy?”
He bellows a curse up at the ceiling, a final spurt decorating my collarbone. A moment of rasping breath passes, his forearm coming up to swipe the sweat on his forehead and then I’m being scooped off the floor and thrown onto the couch with Theo looming above me, my skirt shoved up to my waist, panties being ripped down to my ankles and thrown across the room
“Theo…” I gasp, still coming down from an incredible height.
“You tasted my come, now I get to taste yours.” He presses my knees open and goes down on his stomach, grinding his face against my sex, abrading the sensitive flesh with his five o’clock shadow, the rough gusts of his breath making me hotter, hotter. “Goddamn, I can’t even see the hole. Where the fuck is it?” He maneuvers me side to side. “Oh my God, there she is.” He spits on me, there, his face a mask of possessiveness. “That’s my fucking property now. That’s Daddy’s fuck hole. Say it.”
“That’s Daddy’s fuck hole,” I sob, that wonderful strain building once again in my tummy, the need almost worse than before, because I know the glory that lies on the other side and I want it, I want it, I want it. “Make it stop!” I cry out.
Theo’s tongue snakes into the top of my slit and I have a flash of embarrassment, because surely I’m soaked and fragrant, but his groan of pure starvation upon tasting me robs me of self-doubt and now there’s nothing but light. Light at the end of the tunnel that gets closer the faster his tongue moves. “Right there, right there!”