Page 22 of Mayfly

Spit is leaking from my mouth, and tears are running down my cheeks.

The sick thrill of humiliation burns in my stomach, but I grin around him.

His grip is rough and his rhythm is relentless as he fucks my mouth, the taste of him growing stronger with each deep thrust.

He’s my tormenter, my judge, my executioner—his face beaming with pride as he watches me breaking over the sheer size of him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he strains between clenched teeth, and I smile through the tears as drool drips from my chin. “Such a good boy.”

“Does it feel good?” I ask between gasps for air.

“Good boys aren’t allowed to talk when they’re getting their faces fucked.” Dick back in his hand, he slaps my cheek, and I can feel droplets of my tears and spit splash against my chest and shoulders. “You want it back?” he asks, tracing my lips with the tip.

I hum, but when I try to lick it, he snickers and lifts it just out of reach.

“You should see how fucked out you already are… Your eyes are so red.” He swipes the head of his cock beneath my right eye, coating it with my tears. “Your lips are so pretty and swollen.” Now it’s on my chin, collecting the thick saliva before any more of it drips. “Open,” he says, and like all those women I’ve used in the past, I open wide. “Do we taste good together?”

I nod, consumed with how the salty taste of my tears breaks through everything else.

Jude forces my head against the wall so he doesn’t have to hold me in place.

He braces his arms above me, and I understand it now—why all those women stuck around when I treated them like shit.

The humiliation makes me want to prove myself.

It makes me want to suck him harder.

Open wider.

Drown in him.

Lose my fucking mind if that’s what he wants, as he keeps me pinned, using my mouth like this is the only thing it’s ever been good for.

A guttural sound rips from his throat and he slams harder into me. I choke around him, but the sound is muffled by how deep he is.

His cock starts twitching.

His pre-cum is bitter on my tongue.

His pace quickens.

Each breath is a chore, but the feeling of his cock sliding over my raw tongue has me stupid.

With trembling lips, I look up at him.

He’s on the edge.

His eyes shut.

His mouth slackens.

His breath comes out in short, shallow grunts

My head is spinning. I’m suffocating, but I don’t need air. Not when he’s this close.

Then suddenly, Jude pulls out—one hand back in my hair to stop me from diving back onto him.

I blink up at him.

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