Page 78 of Wicked Believer
Not when I’m giving her what she needs.
Helping her break the shameful shackles her bloody excuse of a father created for her.
I’ll spend the rest of our immortal lives undoing the damage humanity’s bastardized teachings of my Father’s blasted Bible has wrought onmypussy.
And that’s exactly what she is.
Mine.
Wholly. Completely.
No matter the desperate prayers she still whispers to my Father when she thinks I’m not listening.
She gives a greedy, eager moan.
When I first shove past her gag reflex, she sputters, her eyes watering and her throat attempting to close as she coughs around me, but as I pull out and thrust back in again, my movements fast and punishing, she relaxes for me, submitting to me.
“That’s it, darling,” I coax. “You’re my nasty little slut, aren’t you? Open your throat.”
She lets out a muffled cry as I push farther in, until she’s deep-throating me, my balls slapping against her chin.
Fuck me.
“You take me so well.”
I thrust and thrust, my movements becoming more and more feverish as I hold her still by her hair until her eyes are leaking, practically weeping, exactly like she wanted, to the point that she’s soaking my thighs, her mascara running down her cheeks, until I can tell from the redness in her face that she’s forgotten to breathe.
“Breathe, Charlotte. You deserve this.”
She does as I instruct, inhaling through her nose so that her throat tightens around me, sending another delicious pulse up my cock to my spine. But it isn’t until she grips my backside unexpectedly, her sharp manicured nails digging into me, that the muffled hum of her cries sends me careening over the edge.
“Fuck, how do you do this to me?” I snarl as I empty myself into her, only her throat at first as she tries to drink me clean, taking every last drop of the perverted Eucharist I offer, before I pull her off just in time to coat her chest and face. As I finish, she beams up at me, a bit of cum and spit on the edge of her lip, which I brush away quickly.
Her lipstick and mascara are ruined, and she looks a right bloody mess, covered in my cum, but she’smymess, and she’s never been more beautiful to me.
“How did I do, sir?” she whispers, those seemingly innocent doe eyes staring up at me in complete and total adoration.
I smirk, unable to suppress the euphoric high she creates in me. “You were excellent, love. Made for me. You want to be a good girl for me now, don’t you?”
She smiles and nods like my praise means the world to her, the pride she offers to me bringing a fresh round of tears, her long lashes gleaming. It’s the relief that fills them, the love she gifts me that lets me know what’s truly happening. Even if I couldn’t recognize it, I feel it through the connection between us, identifying this show of emotion for what it is. This happens occasionally. Subdrop settles into her quickly.
“Hush, little dove. All’s forgiven,” I whisper, bending down and taking her into my arms.
She wraps herself around me, snuggling her head against my chest as I lift her and begin to carry her toward our bedroom with ease.
“Was I a good girl?” she sniffles, relaxing against my shoulder.
“So good,” I purr, eager to indulge her, lavish her with the praise she needs.
“And do you love me?” The desperate look she gives me then, her need for reassurance, makes my pulse race in a way that is ... uncharacteristic for me.
Until there’s nothing left but a feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach, a sense that she makes me feel something close to whole in a way no one else ever could.
My throat constricts.
“How could I not, Charlotte?”
I carry her to our bedroom, whispering reassurances to her over and over, long past when she lies beside me asleep, until I find that I’m too in awe of the gift of her submission, by her love, to continue to speak, to worship her in the way she deserves.
