“Fuck, you’re hot,” he groaned as he pulled away from my lips and kissed down my neck, sucking and licking up drying chocolate patches. He had to suck hard to extract the chocolate from my skin, and I especially enjoyed this treatment over my breasts and my sensitive nipples.
He pushed me then, and I yelped as I collapsed onto the hard, cold wooden top. The chocolate was now barely liquid, but I still felt the last vestiges of moistness sticking to and creeping down my back. He yanked up my legs, and I wanted to yell at him to stop as my full bottom stretched and he rested my ankles in one strong hand. But all I did, as another slap warmed my bottom, was moan my pleasure.
“Fuck,” he groaned after a few more swats. “I need you.” Still holding my legs straight up, he wrestled with the scrap of red lace that was my knickers. He cursed, even as I lifted my arse to aid him. I felt him stretch away from me then heard the unmistakable sound of a knife being pulled from its wooden sheath. I froze with fear and moaned with delight as the cold, hard blade slipped underneath my knickers and the back pressed against my hip. It took one gentle pull and the material parted. Later, I might be pissed that he’d cut open my best, favourite and most expensive panties, but at that moment, I just wanted to know what he planned to do next.
Pressing my body over to one side he slit the other side of my knickers and then reached back to put away his knife.
“Oh, that’s better,” he said, splitting my legs and letting my ankles rest upon his shoulders. My cheeks were red, my mind full of embarrassment and worry over his unflattering view down to my stomach and uncared for snatch. He, however, seemed unconcerned by either of those things, and I writhed in ecstasy as his face bent to my pussy and his lips and tongue devoured me.
Sex and chocolate is a heady scent. The bitter cocoa seemed to wrap around the sweet heavy musk of my juices, creating a smell impossible to resist, and I drank it in as he ate me. His mouth was divine, his touch blessed. I shook with every flick, and I melted over his tongue quicker than cheese on a grill. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back anything, not once, and as I came in violent bursts, my arms above my head, bound and mastered, I gave myself over to him completely.
His breathing was ragged as he pulled back from me. I heard the zip of his trousers and the soft thump of them hitting the floor. I felt his hands on my buttocks, dragging me to the very edge of the table. My legs wrapped around his waist, keeping me from falling off.
His cock was heavy and hard, and it rested along my slit. I moaned and bumped my hips, but he did not enter me. Instead, he forcefully rubbed himself along me. His cock and balls slipped in my juices and slid up and down my wet, puffy crease with little effort.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded, after what seemed like an eternity of his genitals teasing mine, “Oh please, please, Jack, fuck me.”
“Since you begged so nicely,” I could hear the smile in his voice, “I will.” And with that his cock forced itself into me. I clenched with shock but relaxed with a shudder as his thick hardness filled me.
“Yes,” he exclaimed as his whole shaft entered me. “Fuck, yes.” He did not hold back. He did not think of my pleasure. Why should he? I had had mine already. He just fucked me like he wanted to, like he needed to and my pussy spasmed with the joy of being used for his pleasure.
My breasts swung and bounced as he hauled himself into me, his grip on my hips hurt so erotically. I didn’t care. I didn’t care that my stomach jiggled, that my thighs wobbled. I didn’t care because he didn’t care. He moaned and cursed and groaned with pleasure. His eyes were closed, and his head was thrown back to get every last ounce of energy into his thrust.
“I’m going to come.” The words fell from his mouth in an urgent tumble. “I’m going to come, Emma. Oh, fuck, I’m going to come.”
“Yes,” I yelped as his fingers dug deeper into my flesh. “Yes,” I demanded as his cock plunged deeper and faster. “Yes!” I exploded as he roared. His cum filled me as his cock shuddered and stimulated my clutching vaginal walls.
“Wow,” I gasped as he gently ran his fingers up and down my sides.
“Wow,” he panted. “Wow, indeed.”
He slipped from inside me, and I sat up. He unbound my wrists and rubbed them gently as my fingers began to tingle with the reintroduction of free-flowing circulation. He wrapped me in a hug, and I rested my cheek on his shoulder, happy and content for the first time in, well, a very long time indeed.
“We’re kinda messy,” he said, running his hands over my chocolate speckled breasts. “We’d better go and shower.” He slipped his jeans up his legs. “I’ll go and lock up the shop properly. If you walk through the door at the back there and follow the stairs up, my bathroom is at the end of the corridor. I’ll be up to join you in a minute.”
I nodded, quite relieved he wasn’t going to make me walk home like this. I picked up my skirt, bra, top and tattered knickers and held them at arm’s length as I made my way to the door. The stairway smelled of polish, bacon butties and masculinity. I climbed the stairs with my heart thumping. It felt very strange walking into his home, naked and covered in chocolate.
I went along the corridor, looked through the doors as I passed. Wooden floors. TV in one, a rumpled bed in the next. I held my curiosity in check and continued to the last room, which yielded a bath with a shower over it, a loo and a basin.
I’d only had time to put down my clothes and to start the shower before he walked in. It was awkward. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not as if we really knew each other, even though we had just made mad, passionate love on his kitchen table.
“Hey, we’re all locked up now.” He smiled and slid off his T-shirt. “I’ll get in the shower after you.”
I thought he meant after I’d finished, but when I’d climbed in he was there behind me before I could wrap the shower curtain around me.
“Oh, right,” I gasped as his hands wrapped around my waist.
“I’ll help get you clean, sweetheart.” He smiled as he picked up the shower gel and squirted a good amount into his hand. All the while he was wrapped around me, his chest along my back and his surprisingly hard cock resting between my buttocks.
He put down the bottle. “Spin around,” he said, and I did. He rewarded me by slapping his sudsy hands onto my breasts. He rubbed them leisurely, the masculine musk of the shower gel overpowered me with his familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon and musky spice. It did not smell the same on me, the highlights of vanilla coming through more over the heavy spices but I knew that I would be reminded of him as long as it lingered on my skin.
I did not think much more as his hands rubbed over me. I felt and I smelled and I experienced the joy of his body as it rubbed against mine. It was as if he worshipped me. He lingered over every curve and straight, and I felt treasured with every moan and gasp he freed from his lips as he thoroughly cleansed me.
His hands were warm, wet and slippery, and they lifted me to a high level of excitement after only a few strokes. Arms, hands, breasts, hips, thighs, he washed them all. He renewed his suds and enveloped me in a hug as he scrubbed my back. His lips met mine, and we kissed as the steamy masculinity of his scent, hot and liquid, fiery in my nostrils like inhaling the smell of freshly baked cinnamon buns caressed my senses.
His hands dipped lower and cupped my buttocks. As I gasped in pleasure, his tongue plunged between my lips and dominated my mouth as I so longed for him to dominate the rest of me.
“Now, your hair.” He smiled as his lips deserted mine and left me a panting, wanting wreck. He picked another bottle from the side and flicked open the top. I watched as the thick liquid glooped from the bottle and to the palm of his strong hand, then I heard the click and clunk as the bottle was closed and put away. “Turn around,” he said, and like a good girl, I did. My hair was wet form the constant prickle of the shower water, so he went straight in with his fingers to massage the shampoo into my hair.
I’d always loved to have my hair played with. I’d nev
er made a fuss at bath time as a kid. Even then, I’d found the process of having my hair washed soothing. This experience was anything but soothing. His fingertips on my scalp aroused me, and the way he wrapped my curls around his fingers made me think of rough sex and made my pussy long for it.
The scent was stimulating, too, sharp mint and tangy citrus zinged through me, fresh and vibrant like it must for him as he woke up at ohmygod-o’clock in the morning to begin the baking process. After thoroughly massaging the shampoo into my scalp, he pulled me back, so that the water that had cascaded down his back and just splashed onto my skin was now directed directly at the top of my head. The multiple slaps of rain-like drops sensitised me all over, and I felt myself growing even wetter between my thighs.
“There,” he said, as he gently stroked through my hair down to my neck and along my shoulder. “All squeaky clean. Let me get a towel.” He hopped out of the bath and left me feeling cold and desolate without the touch of his skin. I switched off the shower spray and waited, dripping and a little nervous.
“Here we go. Step out, now.” He held a big, blue fluffy towel, and I gingerly stepped down onto the tiled floor. He wrapped the towel around my body and squeezed me tight. “We’ll go into the bedroom.” He grabbed a smaller towel and slung it round his hips. “It’s warmer in there.”
He led me back along the corridor for a few steps, his hand on the small of my back then he pushed wide a door and waved me through.
“Excuse the mess,” he said, but as I looked around at the rumpled duvet and few discarded clothes on the floor I knew that my own room looked far messier than this. “I wasn’t expecting company.” He winked at me, and I blushed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled me between his thighs. Gently, he started to rub the towel against my sides and my stomach. With one hand, he continued to caress, the soft friction from the towel making my skin tingle and my tummy tie itself in knots. His other hand pulled apart the towel ends. I flushed more as my naked body in all its wobbly glory was again revealed. I felt nervous with him so close, I thought maybe he would see my stretch marks since he was so close to my stomach and I was sure he could only think them disgusting
If he noticed them, he didn’t mention. He just moved the towel underneath his hands to dry my breasts. His fingers ran around my nipples through the thick material, and my knees trembled as strong arousal coursed through my body. He stood and squeezed my shoulders through the towel, then spun me around and continued over my back before scrunching up my hair in the towel to dry it, leaving it looking like a fuzzy-wuzzy lion mane.
He moved down my back, drying as he went to my buttocks, where he scrubbed them dry with great vigour that left me panting for breath and longing for more. He turned me again and sat back down so he could finish my stomach and hips and down to my thighs. He bent right over and ran his hands and the towel up and down my legs, taking care to dry between each toe, lifting one foot then the next to do the sole. I had to hold on to him as he did this, his skin still damp from the shower.
“Oh, wow,” he rumbled. “You’re still very wet here.” He moved the towel between my thighs, and I giggled as it tickled and stimulated me beautifully. “I don’t think that’s water, though.”
He slipped a finger between my thighs and up between my womanly folds. I gasped as he drew past my clit and moaned as he took his finger to his lips and sucked.
“No, definitely not water. Much tastier.” He growled and threw the towel to the floor.
He pulled me on top of him, and I felt his clammy skin beneath my breasts. He kissed me, and I rubbed harder against him.
“You’re still wet,” I gasped as he pulled his lips from mine.
“Never mind. I’ll soon dry.” And with a wink, he moved his body violently to the left and threw me onto the bed. I squeaked as the mattress broke my fall. Before I could move or rearrange my limbs, he was on top of me, pressing me down again, his towel gone, his wet skin slipping sensually against me.
“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed as he looked down into my face. His thighs rested between mine, and the hairs there prickled so erotically along my skin. I shook my head, just slightly. I couldn’t believe that this wonderful chunk of a man actually thought I was good looking. I lifted my hand to run it down his strong chest. It was hard and haired, and his nipples begged me to play with them. He patiently held still for me as I explored the flat planes of his chest. I smelled the shower gel, the shampoo, the linen and even over that I could detect a special, warm scent that was all his own. It excited me.
I skimmed my fingers lower, over his stomach, and he shifted away from me, as if uncomfortable. I wrinkled my brow, but as his lips came down and swept along the sensitive incline of my neck, all questions and wondering dissipated. I concentrated once more on the tingling anticipation that coursed through my veins.
He was not gentle with his caress. The lips kissed, but his teeth nipped and his mouth bruised me in his intensity. I didn’t care. I didn’t want it to stop. The pain wasn’t real pain. It was deeper pleasure that coursed through my blood and demanded I lay still and take whatever my Master wanted to give me.
Already I saw him as my Master. I was his toy, and it felt good. My stomach knotted as I wondered what John would have thought of such an unbalanced relationship, but I forgot it all a moment later as Jack’s teeth fixed around my nipple and bit. I screamed and arched my back. He let go, and my nipple throbbed in time with the pulse of desire in my cunt. I wanted him. I needed him. I was close to begging him to fuck me, to relieve the pressure inside.
“Fuck,” he groaned as I shivered beneath him, not just from the dampness of his skin, which was beginning to dry, but from the arousal that had me firmly in its claws. “I want to do so many wicked things to you. I want to tie you, I want to whip you, I want to test you, but right now, Emma, I need to fuck you. I have to fuck you. I need to have you right now.”
His words felt like intimate caresses to my ears, as he gently nudged my thighs to make me move further up the bed. My head hung over the other side by the time he stopped. All the blood ran there as he ran his hard and thick penis up and down my soaked slit.
“Please fuck me,” I moaned, softly.
“Pardon?” He rubbed his cock against my clit, and I mewled in frustrated pleasure.
“Please fuck me,” I begged, louder.
“Hmm, maybe.” He continued to press himself up and down my slit. His balls snuggled up to my arse, tight and hard as his hot length slipped between my puffed up lips.
“Please, Jack, please,” I begged, mad now with need, desperate to feel him inside of me again. I needed to grasp him firmly with my pussy and feel him using me for his pleasure.
“Do you want my cock, Emma? Ask me for it. Beg me for it.”
“Please can I have your cock,” I begged as he thrust harder between my lips, repeatedly stimulating my clit.
“Where do you want it?” He was cruel, and I wanted to sob with frustration, but I knew it would be fucking good in the end. Jack would satisfy his desires and mine in his own good time.
“In my cunt,” I said, without hesitation. I was completely wanton, completely overtaken by lust.
“Pardon?”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted.
“Please.” My head ached from my prone position. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was smiling.
“No, that’s not what I wanted to hear. You know what I want to hear, Emma. Ask me again.”
“Please fuck me with your hard cock. Please fuck my cunt. Please, Master, please.”
I had said the magic word. He’d needed to hear my submission. He’d needed to know I knew my position. I saw him as my Master, and he needed to know that.
He thrust into me, and I screamed my delight. My neck hurt from my position, but I no longer cared as he filled me. He gripped my hips tightly in his hands as he dragged himself into me. He powered forward and back to create a pleasurable rhythm that made me buck and shake as my pussy con
tracted around him.
He pushed me further and further off the bed. As my shoulders hung in thin air, he swore with frustration and pulled out of me.
“On your knees,” he commanded, and showing his true, gentlemanly nature, he offered me his hand whilst I hauled myself back up onto the bed. I turned over and pulled myself up onto my knees. I no longer cared that my breasts swung, that my stomach hung and that my cunt was on display between my large buttocks. I just wanted to please him and to please myself in the process.
“Move back,” he demanded and hauled me until my knees were on the edge of the bed. He stood behind me and thrust inside of me again.
I screamed out. He felt harder, wider, longer in that position with my arse upraised. He didn’t hold back, and as he thrust into me, I held onto his duvet for dear life. His scent enveloped me as I buried my face in the cover. I could smell him, his scent, his musk, his most intimate smells in his most intimate place. I was giddy with arousal, but even so, I stiffened as he pried a finger between my buttocks as he thrust.
“It’s okay,” he moaned. “I won’t hurt you.”
I relaxed a little as his finger pressed against my tight anal bud.
“I’ve never…” I started, but I finished the statement with a groan as his finger gently popped inside.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” he cooed. “Do you like that?’
“Yes,” I whimpered, and I did, much to my own surprise.
He slipped his finger deeper. “Do you like having my finger in your arse?”
“Yes, Master,” I gasped, and he rewarded me with more of his finger inside of me.
“Would you take my cock up there if I wanted you to, my sweet slut?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, Master. Anything for your pleasure.”
“Good answer,” he moaned and slipped the finger from my rear end. “And you’ll enjoy it too, you little minx. Not now, though. Now, I need to fill this tight cunt.”
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