Page 35 of Promise and Punishment

“What’s my lesson… Papi?” I side-eyed his biceps as he meticulously rolled up his sleeves. All I could do was watch, silently awaiting as he removed each button on his shirt. The cosmic black ink that stretched along his arms branched onto his exposed chest, meeting the black angel wings on his pec. I desperately wanted to know whose initials were on his body, but he interrupted my thoughts.

“Your lesson today, Gemma, is that you need to be broken in… slowly.” He pulled my dress past my hips, tugging it like the rein to a horse’s bridle. I grunted, my ass yanked towards his crotch as he rubbed himself against me. “If you can admit I’m your Papi now, then someday you'll be able to admit we’re more, because at this moment, you’re not mentally ready for me… just like how this pussy isn’t ready for my cock.”

Ready for him? That entailed two things: his secrets and his affection. The pressure of everything felt unbearable, confusing me on what really made me leak. Was it the exhilaration of being handled so roughly or the staggering anxiety of the unknown?

“I can admit more, but I need your help,” I pleaded, feeling his zipper brush against the top of my ass, blossoming open with his growing erection.

“I know you do…” He ironed his hands down my arms, ensuring my palms were still stuck to the granite, before tracing back up to my neck, brushing my hair off to the side. “But you can’t just be fucked, Gemma, your body needs to learn to submit, to have that pussy be the little puppet to the tip of my finger… because if you took me now, the real me, it would hurt too much.” His large knuckle tested the mound of my slit, brushing over its warmth. “Jesus, you’re so fucking wet, dripping right through your underwear.” He chewed into his own words.

“You’re making me that way…” I shivered as he shoved my thong down to my knees, keeping my legs spread with the force of his outer thigh.

“I know I am. It’s in my nature to make you wet, because to me, you are, and always will be, myPiedra Preciosa… but since you can’t accept that… then tonight you’re something different and you’ll be treated as such.”

“Tell me, who am I?” I begged.

“My slut,” with a cooled and determined growl, Alejandro reminded me of the power he held between my legs, as he—for the first time ever—swiped the silky wetness that dripped between my lips. It tickled until it didn't, as he reached my clit and rubbed it slowly.

“You’re touching me,” I choked, realizing that it was actually happening, that somehow his rough calloused hands were tender, smooth, inviting as he continued to tease me with the trace of his finger over my bare mound; every part of me fluttered uncontrollably.

“Fucking right I am, and it’s what you wanted, it’s the reason you shaved your fucking pussy, right? To be seen? Thumbed open for my eyes? To be teased? Trust me, this is more for me than for you… I need something, anything… just to stop me from wrecking you completely,” he rasped. “I don’t want to hurt my tight girl, but I can’t promise you won’t be sore.”

My eyes fluttered in the reflection of the counter, captivated by how slow his fingers slipped inside me. I gasped as he pulled me up to my toes, curving himself to the roof of my cunt, hithering me into a response.

“You feel so big…”

“You haven’t felt anything yet, but I’ll make you beg to find out.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, fucking what?” he bated, slapping the lower cup of my ass again, sending a shot that could be felt between my legs and up to my cunt. I literally fucking groaned. How could this man, a fucking daddy, a papi, be such the sporadic sexual bull? One moment he was dangerously kissing me on the edge of a building, the next he was bending me over, punishing me like some unruly little girl that made him impatient.

“Yes, Papi…”

“Good. And do you feel naughty? Having your dress lifted up, getting fingered like my dirty little slut?”

“Yes. Likeyourdirty little slut.” I affirmed, his finger smacking the wet sound loose from my body, echoing amongst the walls. To feel like a slut, to be made to feel like anything other than a sister, was such a prize. His vulgar label was far more of a sexual lure, not taken as an actual criticism. A slut to him didn’t make me feel shameful, but rather, a willing and hungry participant, a fucking animal in heat.

“Fuck!” I cried out as he fingered me harder, an unbearable punishment that exuded as much pressure as it did my urge to come.

“I bet your pussy tastes so damn sweet. God,” he purred, losing himself, driving his finger faster and faster, causing stars to build in the back of my eyes.

He slipped himself out, wiping the wetness along the back of my thighs as he grabbed my hips, lifting them upward toward his face, my knees now placed on the counter. Starting from my pussy and up to my ass, his tongue licked me so slowly, so deliciously, that I thought I’d come undone from that single, dirty move.

“Do I taste ok?” I shuddered out, devoured by every bit of his tongue that moved down my slit, preparing me just for him.

“Like my own fucking treat,” he growled between licks before slipping me off the counter, forcing me to sit at the edge to face him.

His erection shifted, bursting through the top of his slacks and into the band of his black Calvin Klein underwear. He was huge, much too big for me, leaking a dot of semen into the fabric.

“I don’t know how hard I’m going to come.” I wrapped my hands behind his neck, whimpering. He leaned in, pressing his lips into mine, opening my mouth with the slip of his tongue. He was there, almost reaching my entrance, my legs spread wider for him as he reached to pull his cock out.

But then everything stopped.

Our frenzy felt like a quick memory, captured by the still rolling beads of sweat that fell over my chest.

“Who is it?” I stared at the screen that lit up our faces.

The room filled itself with a buzz, a rattling hum that came from his phone, an intruder to our moment whose name sat in fat, white letters: Miguel.

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