Page 76 of Plentywood
Being in control of a sexually subservient partner was what made me hard and totally turned my crank. They could run thehousehold. Hell, they could run our lives, but I was king in the sack.
I grabbed the sides of Ben’s head and moved him over my cock, occasionally testing his gag reflex. He had none and the discovery only made me stiffer as I buried into his throat, as deep as I could, holding him there.
“Don’t,” I ordered, tapping his shoulder when I noticed him jerking his dick. “I do that,” I added. “Not you!”
He glanced up, his eyes relaying the permission I needed to wield the power. Ben liked his role. I liked my role. This was a promising beginning.
He added a twisting hand to his slobbering, causing me to lift my hips from the chair as I fought an urge to blast off. It had been eighteen-plus months since I’d orgasmed with a partner, and head was one of my favorite past times. I loved head when I woke up. Midday head when possible. After work head. Driving in the country head. I was pretty much a head lover, no matter the time or place. I sent a tiny prayer heaven bound as I enjoyed Ben’s skill set. ‘More of this’ was the prayer.
“Fuck!” I hissed, holding his head back. “I could blow,” I warned.
Ben moved under my balls and nipped at them, giving my shaft a break, occasionally checking in on my cock. He had me so amped up I was unsure of what to do. I wanted to shoot in his mouth and I wanted to bury my cock in his sweet ass. All the time wondering and worrying if this would be my only time.
Did I need to prove that I was a good and dominant fuck? Was part of that dominance what he needed, so using his mouth was acceptable? Or did I need to fuck my talents into his obedient ass?
“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” he asked, practically reading my mind.
“I do,” I replied. “I want to fuck you so hard.”
“Good, big boy,” he responded. “I prepped tonight. Hoping you’d want to use my sweet little hole. But I’ll need a favor first,” he added, throwing in a twist, another one of his requests, a lever to be pulled.
I liked fulfilling sexual favors.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: Benedict
Hunt was hard as a rock, his huge cock leaning toward the left, his balls hanging between his legs, and in the position that I loved seeing my man. The visual of a man lounging back on furniture like he expected servicing got me off psychologically.
My sexual brain was wired to serve my man. I wanted to please him, to be used by him. But I also had my wants and needs. I knew the impression I left in public was that I was a bit fussy, or uptight appearing. I felt sexual on the inside but lacked the same confidence out of the bedroom. I believed this was the opposite for most people.
I’ve never been able to explain the feeling of my sexual energy. While at once wanting to be dominated by my sexual partner, I also wanted to participate and make my own demands. Once I make a request, I then slip back into the passive role, expecting my man to lead me to the promised land.
Lazy and pathetic attempts at sex while in college dominated my experiences. Mostly guys figuring out that I’d suck them off led to friendly invites or supposed dates. None of those connections were ever about longevity or me getting the other thing that I craved. Love.
Meeting Rocco was the same in the beginning. He sensed a cocksucker and made himself available for alleyway head once a week when he picked up the garbage outside the hospital. OnceI figured out his route, I was taking a breakeachandeverytime he showed up.
After several months and thinking that his willingness to visit me at my apartment was a true interest in a relationship, I’d thought he wanted me the same way I wanted him. He hadn’t, but it didn’t stop me from attempting to set up house with the fiercely masculine hunk.
The way Rocco acted fed into my sexual desires. He was all about me being his personal fuck doll. If he wanted head, I dropped everything there and then and sucked him dry. If he wanted to bury his cock in my ass, I dropped my pants and bent over. He used me in a way that fed into my kinky desires of being used by such aregulardude.
But Rocco never gave an inch that he couldn’t keep. We were a fuck-buddy arrangement, and that was just the way it was. If I wanted a dick to sit on or suck, he could do that. But if I wanted a real connection where we celebrated things like our months together, or a birthday date outside of my place? Not a chance.
Hunter possessed that raresomethingRocco also possessed. I’d spotted it nearly the second I met him. Somehow, I just knew with certainty that the Sheriff was all man and knew his way around a compliant lover. Sure, Charlie was hot as fuck and sex on a stick, but he didn’t reek of the thing I craved. Quiet machismo, mixed with raw maleness.
“What’s the favor?” Hunter asked, interrupting my wandering mind.
His legs were spread wide, and his arms were crossed over his chest defensively. He was the type of man that set me on fire. He had zero cares that he was exposed, his cock hanging out while he scratched his nuts. He did manly things. Said manly things. Walked and breathed manly things. Shoot me now. But he was also nice and seemed caring. He acted thoughtful and oozed kindness, like it was a natural trait. Hunter Copelandpossessed the ingredients for a very dangerous recipe: lust as well as love.
“I want my ass eaten and then I want this in my ass,” I stated, tugging on his fading erection. His dick jumped, and he uncrossed his arms. I squeezed his dick. “Do you need to come first, or can you last a while?” I questioned.
“You’ll beg me to come by the time I’m done,” he growled. “Any other questions?”
“Are you always this cocky, sheriff?”
“Only when pleasing my boy,” he replied. “Any other questions?”
His attitude was gruff and direct, but his bedroom eyes and droolworthy body allowed him to do and say whatever he wanted in my book. I was clay, and he was the sculptor. Bring it on. Mold me.
He pushed the clothing around his ankles with a foot and slipped out of them, standing while keeping his hand on the top of my head. “Stay right there.”
