Page 88 of Creed

More pleasure surges through me. Even though I desperately want to touch myself, I focus on giving him pleasure and submitting completely to the dark need emanating from him.

Pain flares on my scalp as Creed pulls my head back and my mouth off him. Pleasure chases the pain, making me moan. He looks at me, his beautiful blue irises so dark compared to the usual light icy-blue.

“You’re touching yourself,” he snarls.

My fingers dig into his thighs, and I shake my head in denial.

“You think I don’t see you rubbing your thighs together, using the friction and touch of your panties and jeans to give you the satisfaction you seek?”

“I didn’t realize,” I gasp.

He continues to control my head by fisting my hair, holding me away from his cock. Using his other hand, he roughly runs it up and down his iron-hard length.

He’s taking his cock away from me, taking his pleasure from me.

A bead of pre-cum oozes out, and before he can smear it away with his thumb, I beg with a whisper, “Please.”

He stops stroking his length, stops taking that away from me, and pushes his tip to my lips and paint them with the bead of cum. “Take me in, angel,” he rasps.

I waste no time to suck him back into my mouth.

The taste of him… The feel of him sliding deep into my mouth… It fills me with contentment, especially as he cups my head, guiding me to take him deeper down my throat, and he groans long and low.

I love the sounds of his pleasure. The sounds of pleasure thatI'mgiving him.

I want to feel him unravel beneath my touch, to feel him thicken in my mouth and pulse his creamy cum down my throat. I want to glide over him, milking his orgasm and doing my best to drain his balls of cum.

I get my wish as his breathing turns haggard. His hips thrust, his hands tangle in my hair. He groans when I dig my nails into his thigh, which carries me higher in drunken bliss. When he comes,groaning my name, if there was even the slightest touch on my clit or nipples, I would fall over the edge and climax along with him.

I know from experience that he can re-harden quickly, so I continue to worship his cock. When he pulls me off, I smile like a cat who has gotten the forbidden cream because he’s on his way to full mast again.

“On your feet, angel,” he commands in a deep, husky voice.

The power of my need and want for him makes me shake as I rise.

He stands, pulling his belt from his discarded pants on the floor. “Hands out, wrists together.” He loops his belt around them when I listen immediately. Then he pulls me toward the bed, and I admire the bunch and flex of his muscular back, ass, and thighs. I follow him as he steps onto the raised platform of the bed, and he turns me to press my back to one of the posts. “Arms over your head.”

My wrists are bound with his belt and the thought of him restraining them above my head makes my core clenches, and I feel a release of wetness. If my panties weren’t soaked before, they certainly are now.

He secures the belt high on the bedpost, then steps back to admire. His cock juts toward me like it’s seeking its home in me. I know he’s punishing me, making me wait for my release, but this is the best punishment because delaying or denying me orgasms brings the most intense kinds.

He leans low, breathing deeply. “I can smell you, angel.”

His words don’t shame or embarrass me; they turn me on more, and make me squirm in need.

He steps back from me, and panic rises within me. Not because I think he’ll leave me tied up, but because I need him. I’m drunk on him; I’m an addict for him. He can’t take that away; I’ll surely lose my mind.

He is naked, and I am fully clothed. But I need that changed. Stat.

“Are your panties wet?”

“Soaked,” I say shamelessly.

He steps back from me, licking his lips. “Your nipples are visible from here, angel. If I rubbed, flicked, pinched, and twisted them, would you come?”

“Yes.” I know I would because I’m on the verge of detonation just standing here.

“Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?”

---