Page 118 of Tricked By Jack
I pull harder at his hair, directing his mouth exactly where I need it, using his face like a tool calibrated for my pleasure. Jack groans against me, the vibration adding another layer of sensation that makes my inner walls clench around nothing.
“Yes,” I moan, both in answer to the way he’s eating my cunt and his question. “I’ll be yours forever.” His stubble scrapes the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, a pleasurable burn that borders on pain.
“Then fucking use me. Take what you need to feel better, wife,” he growls, breaking contact. “Your pussy tastes so fucking good when you’re in control.” His words buzz against my flesh, making me shudder.
The praise shouldn’t affect me, but something about the raw honesty in his voice cuts through my defenses.
The man who caged me, who humiliated me on a stage,who married me without consent, and then told me he loves me—the manIlove—is now on his knees worshiping me with genuine reverence and hunger.
His tongue dips lower, pushing inside my cunt in a crude mimicry of fucking before dragging back up to circle my clit. My hips buck against his face, chasing the sensation.
I tighten my grip on his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, but he doesn’t flinch. Just doubles his efforts, adding suction that makes spots dance behind my closed eyelids.
“Jack,” I gasp, the word neither plea nor prayer but simple acknowledgment of the man bringing me to the edge of dissolution. “Don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs against my pussy. His hands slide from my thighs to grip handfuls of my ass, fingers digging into the muscle hard enough to leave bruises. “Come on my tongue, Little Bride. Drown me in your arousal.”
The command triggers something primal within me. My body tenses, thighs clamping around his head as pleasure crests and breaks in a violent wave. I cry out his name, the sound echoes off tile and glass as my orgasm tears through me with a force that feels like revenge.
My fingers pull his hair tight enough to make him groan as I grind against his mouth, riding out every aftershock, taking everything his tongue offers without gratitude or shame.
Before the final pulses subside, Jack rises with predatory grace, and quickly discarding his soaked boxer briefs.
He doesn’t speak—just grabs my face and kisses me, mouth slick with my release. It’s carnal and wrong and hot as fuck, and I kiss him back like I’m claiming his mouth the way he just claimed my cunt.
Then he spins me around and slams me face-first against the wall. He cages me with his body, taking the impact, before his cock presses at my entrance from behind, the metal barbs of his Jacob’s Ladder dragging against my sensitive flesh.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growls against my ear, one hand gripping my hip while the other tangles in my wet hair, pulling my head back at an angle that exposes my throat. “To make me so fucking desperate for you I can’t think straight?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. With a single brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside me, the intrusion so sudden and complete that it steals the breath from my lungs.
My body yields to the invasion, wet and ready from his tongue and my own earlier ministrations, but the stretch still burns in the most exquisite way.
“Jack,” I choke out, palms flat against the marble, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he begins to move.
Each thrust drives me harder against the wall, my breasts dragging across the cold surface with friction that sends contradictory signals of pleasure-pain through my nerve endings.
I reach back, nails raking down his arm hard enough to draw blood. The thin red lines well up immediately, droplets mixing with shower spray in pale pink rivulets that disappear down the drain.
Jack hisses but doesn’t slow his pace—if anything, the pain spurs him on, makes his grip tighter, his thrusts deeper.
He pulls all the way out, but before I can complain, he pushes back in. He feeds my pussy his length one rung at a time, and it’s so fucking hot I wish I could see it.
“Yes,” he pants against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “Fight back, wife. Claim me like I’ve claimed you.”
The words unleash something in me—permission I didn’t know I needed, validation of the rage that’s been building. I push back against him, meeting each thrust with equal force, no longer a passive recipient but an active participant.
He pulls my hips back, changing the angle. And suddenly, he’s hitting that perfect spot inside me that makes my vision blur at the edges.
Pressure builds again, faster this time, coiling tight at the base of my spine.
“I’m going to come,” I moan, the words torn from my throat in ragged fragments.
“Do it,” he demands, reaching around to find my clit with unerring precision. His fingers circle the swollen nub, adding the final stimulation needed to send me careening over the edge. “Come on my cock like a good fucking wife. Show me how much you fucking need this.”
My second orgasm crashes through me with even greater intensity than the first, my inner walls clamping down around his length in rhythmic pulses that make him curse and stutter in his pace.
I scream wordlessly, the sound primal and raw, bouncing off the shower walls and coming back to me like an echo of my own release.
