Page 54 of Yearn
“Yes. . .” My eyes slammed shut as the heat of her hand seared into me. “Yes, Mommy. Stroke it. Stroke your Good Boy’s cock.”
She gasped at my words, but her hand was already moving, sliding up my thick length. The glide was obscene—the slicknessof my pre-cum smeared under her touch, turning each stroke into wet friction that made my balls draw tight.
“Fuck. . .Dominic, it’s so thick. So big.”
“Too thick for one hand?” My breath came rough. “But you’ll take it all. You’ll worship every inch.”
She stopped and gripped me so hard it caught my breath. “You think you’re in charge here? Good Boys don’t tell their Mommy what to do.”
“I-I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“Good Boy.” Her pace quickened—half power, half hunger—and my head snapped back. Muscles flexed down my torso, every vein straining. The sound of her fist on my cock was filthy, wet, a rhythm that had me shaking.
“Oh fuck. You’re going to make me cum all over you, Mommy.”
“So naughty. So bad.” She glanced down, eyes widening at the slick shine coating her knuckles, at the way cum bubbled at the tip and smeared down her fist with every stroke.
“I’m about to send you upstairs with cum all over your face. And you better not wash it off. When you read the story, just say it’s special lotion for your skin.”
Her gaze hardened and made me shiver. “You put it all over my face, baby, and I’ll make you lick it up.”
I widened my eyes. “Fuck—”
“Such a Bad Boy.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Her strokes sped up, then slowed, then tightened—like she was testing how much I could take. And every change had me spiraling deeper. “You ever had your cock stroked like this?”
“Fuck no.”
“You should have let me go upstairs. I’ll have you at my doorstep tonight on your knees begging to please me.”
“I’ll be there anyway. Look at how bad I need you, Teyonah. No one else could do this to me. No one. Just you.”
She jerked me faster, harder, her fist sliding wet up and down, slapping against my abs when she drove to the base. My hips bucked, chasing her rhythm like an animal rutting, desperate for more.
My balls tightened under me, begging to unload, heavy with days of restraint.
My thoughts fractured, obsessive, feral.
I wanted to paint her hand with my cum.
I wanted to cover her breasts in it.
I wanted to see her drenched, dripping with me until she smelled like nothing but my seed.
My cock throbbed in her grip like a heart ready to rupture—each stroke a defibrillator shock, every future drop of cum would be resuscitation and collapse at once.
She wasn’t just stroking me off.
She was rewriting my prognosis.
My cock swelled harder in her grip, veins bulging, balls aching like loaded grenades. “Stroke it faster, Mommy.”
My voice cracked raw. “Please—don’t stop—fuck me with your hand.”
“Oh Baby. You’re so bad.”
