Page 68 of False God

The build is dizzying; it happens so quickly. A different form of the insane propulsion I experienced at the track earlier. Except now, the whole world is standing still. Nothing else is moving, but I’m flying.

There’s finesse and skill—the perfect pressure in the perfect places—but I’m most focused on the speed. How I’m reaching the peak that’s sometimes hard to climb impossibly fast.

I cry out his name when I come. Scream it really, the rush of euphoria washing away all my inhibitions. Decimating any awareness of what exists beyond this bed.

When Charlie’s head lifts, his lips are glossy. His pupils are blown wide, the tendons in his neck raised in sharp definition.

He’s made me orgasm twice, and I’ve yet to see his cock once.

I just came so hard that my toes are tingling and the edges of my vision are as fuzzy as an old photo. But all I can think is,More. Not only so I can experience the staggering satisfaction again. But so I can finally witness him lose complete control.

Charlie tugs the waistband of his suit pants down. His dick bobs free.

It’s bigger than I thought it’d be—and I wasn’t making small estimations. Long and thick. The flared tip flushed dark red and damp with pre-cum. He fishes a condom out of his pocket, then fists his massive erection to roll the prophylactic on.

There’s something incredibly sexy about the sight. The consideration, for one, that he’s not leaving the responsibility of protection up to me. But also the pause of preparation, intensifying the anticipation of contact even more.

The veins on his groin and cock are raised. Ropes of lean muscle twine down his arms.

The sight is incendiary, a signal of what’s about to take place. There’s no question about what’s going to happen next. And I want it so,sobadly, the pull of need dragging me under like a powerful undertow.

“Did I tongue-fuck the ability to speak out of you?” he asks conversationally, tossing the condom wrapper away. “You haven’t said a word since you stopped shouting my name.”

“Oh, you need me to talk you through it?”

The head of his cock probes my pussy, but he doesn’t push inside. I can see the shininess of my arousal on the tip.

I don’t know where to look. Anywhere but away.

His straight jaw clenches sharply, so rigid I’m concerned it might snap in half, as he stares down at me.

This is sointimate—and not in the obvious sense of us both being naked.

My lungs burn, reminding me inhales are important.

He still doesn’t thrust.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Many times,” he promises.

But there’s still no stretch. He’s dragging the flared head of his cock up and down along my swollen, sensitive flesh, the slickness creating a smooth glide. Taunting me with the thick length I’m desperate to have inside of me.

His hand is holding my thigh against the mattress, keeping me from moving very much. I try anyway, attempting to lift my hips and hurry things along.

The erotic torture finally ends.

I moan, watching him push inside of me. My feet flex, and my fingers fist the quilt I’m lying on, adjusting to the thick invasion. He inserts a few inches and then withdraws, less than half of the rubber coating his cock now shiny. His grip on my thigh tightens, bicep flexing, as twin lines wrinkle his forehead.

It’s a delicious sort of pain, like massaging sore muscles. It hurts at first, but that only feeds the underlying pleasure.

“More,” I beg, trying to lift my hips again. They don’t move a centimeter.

I’m at his mercy, and it only amplifies my arousal.

A devilish smile spreads across Charlie’s face. “More what?”

Everything. I need it faster and harder and deeper.

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