Page 37 of Far From Sherwood Forest
With his grip on my hair, he hauls me back onto his cock. This time, he doesn’t stay still. He does exactly what he said he was going to do. He fucks my throat. Hard. His cock glides across my tongue, letting me feel the veins, taste his skin. I gag a few times, but the sound only seems to urge him on.
I barely resist the temptation to take my own cock out. It’s so fucking hard in my jeans. But I want to show him that I can be good.
That I can makehimfeel good.
“This is where you belong, Robin,” Henry says, deep and breathless. “On your fucking knees being used.”
That probably shouldn’t make me even harder, but it does.
When I moan, Henry thrusts brutally into my mouth a few more times before pulling me off once more, giving me a chance to breathe as I slump a little lower to the ground. Then his boot comes up, and he rubs my aching cock through my jeans. I moan again as I grind against him.
“Who knew Robin Hood was a little thiefanda little whore?”
I stare up at him, feeling more pathetic and more turned on at the same time than I’ve ever been. But I can’t even careright now with the warmth of pleasure pooling low and surging upward, blooming along my spine like catching wildfire.
He continues rubbing his boot on my clothed dick as I grind against it, that heat growing hotter and my balls tightening.
“I don’t think you should get to come,” he says to my absolute horror.
I whine and shake my head. “No. Please. Please, I’ll—”
“Shut up,” he growls as he drives his cock back into my mouth. He doesn’t thrust, just holds it there, heavy on my tongue, as his boot continues applying pressure. “I’ll tell you what. If you can come like this, I’ll allow it.”
Fuck yes.
I’m already so fucking close, so it doesn’t take much more thrusting and grinding on my part, chasing every bit of friction I can get. Henry’s dick twitches in my mouth, throbbing on my tongue. I won’t even try to deny it. That’s what sends me over the edge.
Whatever sound I make is choked off by the thick cock in my mouth as my entire body shudders just before every muscle locks up tight. It hits me like a dam breaking, and I flood the inside of my boxers as Henry’s boot drops back to the ground.
“Fuck.” His voice sounds a bit like it’s underwater, but I can hear the shock and wonder in his tone. “You actually just came on my boot.”
I’m not surprised considering how fucking turned on I am by him using me.
Iamsurprised he let me come at all.
Before I’ve even come down from my orgasm high, he thrusts into my mouth again, just as intense and savage as before. He grips the sides of my head with both hands as he ruthlessly fucks my mouth. Everything goes a little hazy around the edges, and I barely register the first burst of salty cum on my tongue before he pulls out of my mouth, stroking his cock sothe rest of the thick, hot ropes shoot out onto my face. The half growl, half gasp sound he makes has my soft dick twitching in the sticky mess it’s already made.
“Fuck,” he says again, his chest heaving as he tucks his cock back into his underwear and does up his jeans.
A moment passes where we both just stare at each other, catching our breaths. His gaze is somewhere between content and tortured, and when my lack of understanding what that means is too much to take, I start to lower my gaze. Before it drops too far, his hand shoots out and grasps me by the chin, forcing my eyes to lock with his again.
His thumb brushes along my heated skin, swiping through his cum on its way to my mouth. My lips part for him, and I suck on his thumb, tasting the evidence of the pleasure I gave him.
He groans. “You know, Robin, you’ve actually got a pretty face when it’s covered in tears and cum.”
Despite sounding like he hates admitting it, something inside me lights up.
But then it goes dark again when he pulls his thumb out of my mouth, takes a step back, and says, “And now I never want to see it again.”
Something in my chest aches, and I hate how much it hurts.
This time, I let him walk away.
I slept like a fucking baby last night. It could’ve been because I didn’t get shit for sleep the night before, but I think that was only part of it.
When I came home yesterday after skipping out on the rest of my shift, I must’ve been in a state of disbelief because the self-loathing I expected to feel never came. I thought it would hit when I woke up this morning, but it still hasn’t.
I lie in the queen-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling. Waiting.
