Demanding

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  • August 20, 2018
  • I drag my breasts down his torso towards it, my ass tilting up to give him a view that blows away everything on The Strip. His abdomen flexes as my mouth reaches his cock and laps up the pre-cum dripping from the tip.

    “I’m not going to kill you, Victoria.” His voice is husky.

    “There’s a weapon in every corner of this suite at my disposal,” I say. “Of course you’re not going to kill me.”

    I wrap my lips around his eight-inch steel. Goddamn, that feels good in my mouth.

    “Ay…dios mío…dame esa panocha,” he demands, landing his bound hands on my ass, hard.

    The sting makes me hot. His wet tongue reaching my pussy makes me hotter. And the relief…it’s like gliding into a pool on a scorching summer day. My mouth relaxes, briefly forgetting the task at hand as he wicks around my folds, sucking on that nub as I inch into position and rock my hips back and forth. I could grind on his face all night.

    His hands ply my ass as his thick shaft engorges my mouth, nearly gagging me. But all I can focus on is the growing pressure at my slit. His thumb teases my folds and then moves up that delicate skin to that even-more-delicate opening, popping in just a little. But it’s enough for my body to buck as an orgasm ripples through my core. He drives his thumb deeper, electrifying the peak…

    With the Vegas lights twinkling in the early morning sky, I collapse onto him, mouth still full of his cock, feeling like I’ve conquered something. At least in this moment.

    I don’t come for just every man. In fact, I’ve only given into one other lover like this. Control is a wicked bitch, but it’s as much part of me as it is my dance with Diego since the first time we gave into the heat between us. I rotate my tongue around his shaft, wanting to give him that same amount of pleasure…

    “No. Te quiero estar dentro de ti.”

    Diego likes to speak Spanish when we fuck, and I like to disobey him—sucking harder, swirling faster, and squeezing his sack.

    I also like savoring his juices when they explode in my mouth. That massive load. I can’t swallow it fast enough—like a satisfying dinner you’ve just hunted and killed. And then I have to get him hard again, because I need him hard again. I want him inside of me as much as I want to bite into that fresh kill. Not all men can get hard again. Diego always does.

    “Dije que no, Victoria,” he protests, smacking my ass again with both his palms, lunging me forward.

    I roll to my side. “My suite, my rules.”

    “Fuck your rules.” He strains up, his bound hands now in his lap, sweat on his brow. He’s not getting out of that constrictor knot anytime soon.

    “Untie me,” he says.

    I slide out of bed and reach for the leather whip I’ve put under my mattress for protection, my heart beating loudly, swollen knuckles scraping against the box spring. I clutch the rawhide and pull it out, letting the long coil drop to my side. I smack it against the bed and my breathing hastens.

    “I’ll untie you when I’m ready.” My pussy clenches.

    His secured hands stroke slowly up and down his hardness, his eyes fixed on mine.

    “You have a weapon in every corner,” he says, “but we have a man at every casino exit. I’m the only one who can get you out of here alive.”

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