Page 67 of Masks and Mishaps

“Harder, Daddy,” I urge, crying out when his thumb strides over my clit, swelling it and sating it, kindling on embers. “Please.”

Daddy. It just slipped out.

“That’s it, my girl,” he replies, fucking me relentlessly, moving my body up the unforgiving surface of his desk. “Spread your cunt and take it.” He pushes more vigorously, thrusting his length. “Show Daddy how you squirt.”

And everything ignites. My climax is more than a release; it’s a revelation. I’m gushing, squirting on him and coating his cock with it, making the most absurd mess I’ve ever made. I’m crying out, nearly screaming, pawing at his arms, at my tits, at the desk—but I can’t find stability in my own body.

I don’t even care.

Dalton doesn’t stop. “So good, baby. So pretty when you come. Eyes on me. Tell me you want mine too.”

“I want it.”

“Every drop is yours, sweetheart,” he grits like gravel, filling me with a generous spurt and the murmured sounds of his approval when I squeeze around his dick, milking his cum into my body. He pulls out and shoves his cock back once, pushing all that cum deeper into me before he replaces his cock with his fingers. “Look at you,” he whispers, sliding them through the mess of cum and fluid on my pussy. “Look what I did to you.”

I look down—and I look sofucked. My dress is wrinkled and wet, my pussy is covered—and Dalton’s clothes look just as bad.

The guy couldn’t care less.

“For the next three weeks, I’m going to make you so much goddamn money,” he promises before laying a single chaste kiss on my mouth.

Then Dalton goes and turns off the camera.

When he returns to me, he takes in my exposed body. His big hand rises and rests on my tummy. “I’m going to fuck you like that until you tell me it’s enough,” he promises. “Anytime you want, anywhere you want—whatever you need to make your money, Essie. I’m yours—and I’m going to take care of everything.”

Twenty-Five

DALTON

I’vewatchedEssietakeher clothes off approximately three hundred forty-three times.

Three hundred thirty-nine of those times were on my laptop—almost every night for a year until I finally met her in real life.

Three of those times have been while I’ve filmed her.

Now, number three hundred forty-three is the first and only time I’ve ever watched Essie take her clothes off without a camera on her.

She is…uncoordinated.

“What,” I ask, “the ever-loving fuck are you trying to accomplish right now?”

“Blow me,” she responds with her face mashed against the neckline of her dress.

“If you had a dick, I would gag myself on it and thank you from my knees. Now, that said—Jesus,woman.”

I catch Essie before she crashes into the edge of her dorm bed while she hops around, trying to wriggle out of her skintight dress.

“Can you please undress me like before?” she practically begs, muffled through the fabric.

I was waiting for her to ask. “Baby, come here,” I request before I pull the dress over her head.

Now, Essie is naked in front of me, and my fingertips tingle with the idle urge to check how much cum is still inside her pussy.I’m dying to get back in it. Burying my dignity inside her and leaving it to slowly leak out feels as vital as breathing, and yet I find myself working an oversized t-shirt over her head.

“Sit, Ess,” I guide, leading her to the bed.

She perches while I go through the containers on her desk until I find a package of makeup wipes. I pull out a couple and remove her makeup, being extra gentle around her eyes.

“You’re good at this,” she mentions.

---