Page 49 of Toy Shop

“I’m very pleased with how well you tied it.” I meander over to her, trailing an index finger across her mounds to emphasize my point. Her tits are cinched together, spilling over the corset. “Thing is, love—”

Her breath hitches at the name, stirring the soberness in me. A smile cracks, a mere twitch. “You are loved, in case you were wondering.”

“Is this—” She clears her throat. “This is how you’re telling me you love me?”

The next step I take brings us chest to chest. She has to crane her neck up to meet my gaze. Her eyes gloss over, luscious lips opening the lower I descend.

When my mouth is right on hers, I don’t kiss her. “No. That is not how I’ll tell you.”

She goes in to capture my lips, and God does it hurt not to reciprocate. Still, there are other things at play. I’m at her back, tugging slowly on the bow she so elegantly tied at her home, until it’s loose.

“What I’ve been trying to say is,”—I push the corset down so her tits are out, then cut short the air she tries to stream into her lungs, fastening the ribbon and as a result her corset doubly tighter—“it’s not as snug as I intended it to be.”

She struggles to grasp the air she fears she will not have again. I drape her hair to the side, inhaling the scent of argan oil.

“Relax.”

This is the one word none of the women I’ve been with ever heard before. They were silently expected to suffer through on their own. But they were experts, and when I’d cut their breath short, they were acquainted with the process, or at worst safeworded.

Nola is no expert, nor does she use her safe word. Her struggle flares the heat in my groin, draining the blood in my body down south. If you think it’ll stop me from having my way with her, how I originally planned, then you haven’t been paying attention.

I assume the role I have played these past few weeks. I teach her. My hands skim over her bare arms, mouth talking at the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. “Relax. Breathe. Daddy’s here.”

Her breathing slows. But there’s still a way to go.

“I’ll never bring you over the edge.” My lips coast down to her bare shoulder, hands flat on her stomach, pinning her to me. “Won’t ever demand anything that’d put you at risk.”

The declaration gets her to breathe how I intended her to breathe. Short, methodical breaths where she finds her rhythm.

“I know you won’t,” she pipes out.

My hands travel higher to her neck, wrapping it and drawing her into me. The loops of the corset pierce into my chest, the soft waves of Nola’s hair caressing my lungs. I’m on the brink of losing all signs of my sanity.

I draw my lips to her ear, growling, “Who are you breathing for?”

“You.” Her throat battles to drink in more air, but in measured gulps now that she knows better. “I breathe for Daddy.”

“Damn right you do.” Her moan is chopped, the sound the epitome of sex when my teeth mark the side of her neck. “Even with Daddy’s cock in your mouth, even when you choke on it, you’ll keep breathing. For me.”

I spin her, the movement rough. My cock jerks in my jeans, hearing the air blown out of her, at the slight resistance her body puts up. I push her shoulders to lower her to her knees. My defiant, yet docile baby complies.

“I’ve had other plans to start with.” My left hand tugs her chin, instructing her to open her mouth, the right undoing my button and fly. “But you ruined it with your red lipstick.”

My throbbing hard-on is out in her face, followed by another moan Nola fights to exhale. Her sighs of arousal while her breath is restricted are unpracticed, her struggle painfully erotic.

“Suck on me, Nola.” I hold the back of her head, shoving her lips to the glistening head. “I want to see you painting my cock in red while you fucking choke on it.”

Her agreement burns bright in her eyes, in the parting of her lips.

“Such. A. Good. Girl.” I groan each word out to the rhythm I fuck her mouth in. “Almost making me come deep down her throat.”

Nola’s eyes glimmer, her throat gurgles. The few times air filters in is when I allow it. Three forceful strokes, then pulling out. I’m testing her further, pounding into her four times, taking it up to five and six.

I can do it for hours, cum on those round, supple tits, and go at it again. And I will. One day. With a ragged grunt, I pull out of her, wiping a drop of saliva off her chin.

She yelps when I yank her up on her feet, her knees wobbly.

“Come here.” I grab her waist, simultaneously walking out of my jeans and boxer briefs.

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