Page 27 of Filthy Little Secret

“I need it, Tim. I need you inside me. Fucking me. Hard. Make me come.”

His left eyebrow arches higher than the right before he fills me with his hard dick.

As he touches those same nerves that his body is so good at exciting, jolts of energy race up my pelvis, through my spine, then shooting out in every direction.

Once he’s worked into me, he pushes deep and hits my prostate. A rush of adrenaline stimulates me further. Takes me higher.

He fucks me hard, hitting all those sweet places inside me. I love the sensation of being filled with him.

My face warms. I’m stiff as a board.

He kisses me.

It’s a volcanic eruption. Wild. Chaotic. A force of motherfucking nature.

His tongue slides past my lips, and I welcome it with my own.

I feel my climax rise and rise, droplets of pre-come oozing from me as his cock slides deep inside me.

I watch his tight ass in the camera, his movements swift, powerful. Each thrust reveals another beautiful contraction of his glutes.

He leans back and steadies his pace. He runs his hand through his hair before turning to see our work in the camera.

I wonder if he’s enjoying watching me as much as I’m enjoying watching him.

Am I giving the sort of performance he wants? Is this a recording he’ll be proud of?

He turns to me and tilts his head back. He lowers his body, pressing his hands on either side of my head as he moves close like he’s going to kiss me. But he never gets close enough. Just hovers.

“You like having me inside you, cocksucker?” he asks, a bit of spit trailing behind his words and hitting me in the face. “You like when I hit that spot just right, you greedy bottom?”

“Yes.”

“You spend too much time thinking. Someone else needs to think for you. Someone else needs to tell you what to do. Push you around. Show you what you like.”

“Show me. Please.”

He grips my hair and pulls back forcefully, but not enough that it hurts.

He moves even closer so our cheeks touch. His breath slams against my ear.

“I know what you really want,” he says. “You want me to totally make you mine. You want me to make you my fucking sex slave. Tell me that’s what you want.”

He leans back, a bead of sweat dropping from his forehead and landing on my cheek.

His movements are even more frenzied. And the delight rippling through me intensifies. Pre-come pools in my navel.

“I want to be your fucking sex slave,” I admit.

And it’s the truth, but I’m terrified he’ll take advantage of this weakness. That he’ll take this too far.

He wraps his arms around my thighs and clings tight as he holds me in place, drilling into me. Owning me. Pounding me with such power that the intensity of the high I’m experiencing becomes too much for me. And I can’t hold in the come that aches to escape any more. I reach for my cock.

“Get it away,” he says, his voice like a growl.

I obey.

“You come when I want you to come.”

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