Page 11 of Spicing It Up

Pre-cum leaked onto her tongue, rich and thick, and she knew he was close. His shaft swelled, swelling her cheeks. He sank deeper.

She held her breath. This was it.

“Ah fucking hell…” he said then groaned as his first wave of release flooded her mouth. He pulled back, thrust in again.

Cassandra toppled slightly.

He held her up, one hand in her hair, the other beneath her chin.

She was his vessel for pleasure. That feeling, that moment of being claimed, owned, of him giving up his absolute control over everything, thrilled her utterly. She loved that split second of time when he knew only her, thought of nothing but her.

More cum coated the base of her tongue, and she swallowed it down.

He slowed. A long, low moan vibrated through his body and she felt it in his cock. His control returned.

“Good girl,” he said breathlessly. “You’re so damn good at that.”

Unable to speak, she batted her eyelashes. She didn’t think she was particularly good at blow jobs, she just opened her mouth and let him do what he wanted to do. She was simply a tool for him to get off on.

Except she knew there was much more to it than that, even if the thought of being just a female body to be used did stoke her darkest fantasies.

He released his grip on her hair. Several tendrils made a bid for freedom and hung over her face, her ears and down her neck.

“Oh, I am sorry,” he said, pulling his cock from her mouth. “I seem to have made you look rather disheveled, Cass.”

He didn’t look sorry in the least. In fact, his gaze seemed to take in her now scrappy appearance as though it delighted him. But then he did like to see her messy, her neat work persona as far removed as it could be.

He tucked his softening cock away then re-zipped his fly, but he left the top button undone, so there was a hint at the dark hair that fanned from his navel to his groin.

He wiped the back of his hand over his brow. His cheeks were flushed. She knew she should look at the floor again but couldn’t tear her attention from him—he was so beautiful.

He undid the top button on his shirt, then the next and the next then drew it from his shoulders revealing his wide chest. He dropped the top next to his belt then held out his hand.

“Stand.”

“Yes, Sir.” She gratefully placed her hand in his palm and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her knees were a bit stiff.

“So,” he said, releasing her hand and running his finger into the groove of her cleavage. “How is your dress?”

“I don’t know, Sir?”

“You don’t know.”?She shook her head.

“Is your pussy wet?”

“Yes, Sir, very.”

“And have you allowed your juice to leak onto your clothing?”

“I’ve tried not to, Sir.” That was the truth, but as for it not leaking, she would bet her last pound that she had a disgraceful stain on the red material. “I’ve tried really hard.”

“Trying isn’t always good enough, is it?”

“No, Sir.”?“And if there is a mark you know you’ll be punished, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The way he said punished always made her stomach flip. Punishments from Sir were always as much a treat as they were torture. Yes, it would likely hurt, but it was good hurt and it would end well—for both of them.

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