Page 73 of The Trust We Broke
Unlike some men, I love going down on a woman. I’ve always believed it’s a full-face contact sport. I want the scent of her in my beard.
I force my tongue between her lips as I use my nose to rub against her clit.
Roughly, I thrust my tongue into her, leaving a trail of saliva to mingle with her wetness. One of her hands grabs my hair, fisting around her palm like a rein. The sting of it makes my aching cock throb, and I grind into the mattress for some relief.
I used to have some beautiful jewelry for her clit. Beaded clamps that would restrict blood flow until I released them.
God, she’d scream sometimes when the blood rushed back in as she came.
I never saw them again after she left and always wondered if she took them with her. I wondered if some other man was getting to use them on her and felt a strong wave of jealousy.
Remembering how much she loved it causes me to pinch her clit, restricting it tightly.
“Oh God,” Lucy cries, tugging on my hair.
When she used to masturbate, Lucy would hump her vibrator. She’d lie face down with a pillow between her legs and grind against it. And I’d get so fucking hard watching her ass move.
I used to get turned on by catching her getting herself off. And Lucy would often oblige by getting started without me if she knew I was on the way home. Sometimes, she’d send me short videos of what she was doing. Sometimes, it would just be an image of her favorite vibrator.
Both were enough to have me rock hard by the time I entered the apartment.
She’d laugh when I’d release my cock, climb on the bed over her, and fuck her in either hole while she continued to grind.
Ruthlessly, I slide a finger into her pussy, then another. “Use the heel of my hand,” I say. It’s a dance we’ve done before. “I want you to fuck yourself off on me, Luce. I want you to rub one out on my hand, so I get to feel your cunt tighten around my fingers.”
She places the back of her hand over her eyes as I slide one hand up her body to pinch and tug at her nipple.
More splotches appear on her chest.
“Zach,” she cries in desperation.
“Can’t hide your need for me when I see you fucking any part of me you can line up against, Bug.” I release her nipple and smack across the tip of it, a batting action that’s sharp and harsh.
“More,” Lucy gasps.
And I oblige, putting more speed behind it. “So fucking dirty and desperate. You like when I hurt you, don’t you?”
She gasps, and I feel the telltale tightening of her pussy.
She’s so close, I can smell the need in her actions.
I bend forward and bite down on her nipple so hard, it’s bound to leave teeth marks on her skin. And she explodes around me.
The piercing sound of her cry. The scent of all her pussy juices. The clamping of her cunt around my fingers and the delicious slurping sound created by all her wetness.
It’s an intense orgasm too. No gentle waves, but a full-body spasm that causes her to lose control and give me everything she has.
21
LUCY
It took many years to reconcile the abject need I have for feeling used and abused, with how society tells me I should behave as a woman.
Be polite, but not too polite. Be quiet, but not too quiet. Be engaging, but not too engaging. Be good in bed, but not too good. Be every man’s desire, but noteveryman’s because that would make me a slut.
And yet…
I love the idea of being someone’s slut.
