Page 71 of Lesson Learned

Then his hand is between my legs again, spreading my lips wide, guiding the head of his cock inside me, teasing me with that tiny penetration until I’m bucking back against him, trying to force him deeper, to fill me to the brim.

“You want this? Say it.”

“I want you,” I gasp, face brightening even as I fight back against the licking tongue of the devil, whispering in my ear how I’m a whore, how I’m nothing, how sluts never change. “I want you inside me.”

“Are you sure?” he teases, his voice lilting with a sing song melody that makes me shiver with anticipation, knowing there’s a flipside to this joviality and hoping he’ll flick that switch. “Because I could just stop now if you prefer. Wouldn’t you like that? If I just stop and toss you into a cold shower?”

“Please,” I say. “Put your cock in me, I want you to fill me up.”

His legs move, hand gone from my throat, his weight momentarily lifting, and I spread my thighs apart, then he’s back, between them, pushing my knees wider, his cock nudging against me while his fingers return to pump in and out, bringing the first flutter of another tidal wave.

“How much do you want it, angel?” He bites into my shoulder as his fingers thrust inside me, the sharp pain and the rhythmic pleasure a counterpoint to each other, heightening each other, making me burn for more. “Tell me.”

I’m awkward saying it but with my face turned to the wall and my breath burning in my lungs, it doesn’t matter.

Nobody can see my reddening cheeks.

He wouldn’t be asking me if he didn’t need this. After giving me what I want, it would be cruel to refrain and deny him the same pleasure.

“So much. I need to feel your fat cock inside me, thrusting in me until you make me come. Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

He grinds against me, forehead pressed hard against my cheekbone, breath panting in my ear. “I can, sweetheart. You feel so good.”

And so does he as his cock edges inside me, his initial movements tentative, then growing in force and volume, burying himself in me, creating so many points of friction with his hard length and his fingers that I’m barely aware of anything else.

His fingers clutch harder on my throat, and a shudder runs through me, he loosens them, then tightens again until my breath whistles in and out of my windpipe, until the pressure is so bad it feels good.

“Hold it back for me,” he growls in my ear, the roughness in his voice catapulting me towards the edge while the obedient girl he unleashed claws at the ground, slowing my progress, keeping me from going over.

“Hold it,” he warns again when I start to lose it, the thrust of him at the new angle better than before,everythingbetter than before.

Then he gives a cry and I feel his cock jolt, twitching as he pumps his release high into my waiting body, the sensation of him coming triggering a new, more powerful wave of ecstasy that threatens to take me forward, to spill me over the edge, my attempts to hold back weakening with every breath.

“Now, angel. You can come now.”

And I let go, the sensation far beyond the first, sending me into an elongated series of shudders as my muscles convulse and contort, only his strong arms stopping me from turning liquid and slithering into a pile of boneless mush on the floor.

He holds me in his arms, lifting me back into a seat, cleaning me with tissues while I try to help and just get in the way, my coordination swept away on a giggly high.

“This wasn’t my plan,” he whispers, cupping my breast and lightly pinching at the nipple, sending a twinge of desire stretching through my body, the first sign that it’s ready to be used again.

“What was the plan?”

“To shower you with presents and ask you questions and get to know you.”

I fight to sit up, my brain so sleepy with satiated desire that it feels like I’m buried in a warm bundle of cotton wool. “Doesn’t getting to know my body count?”

“I guess.”

“Mm.” I half turn, resting my face against his chest, never wanting to move. “My favourite colour is racing car green, does that help?”

He settles back in the chair, seeming calmer. “It does.”

“Did you always want to be a teacher?”

“I always wanted to do something with writing, with language, but I’m not a poet or an author or anything like that. Perhaps if ‘professional reader’ was a thing, but I reached for teaching first. What about you? What’s your ideal career?”

My hands stroke along his arms, lifting his sweater so I can stroke the hairs, feel the curve of his thick veins. “My dream is to write and to travel.” I give a self-conscious laugh. “What I wanted most was to get out of the home I lived in. The easiest way to do that was by losing myself in a book and I want to give that to others, but I also want to physically travel. Go everywhere and anywhere until I find a place I fit.”

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