Page 85 of Filthy Dirty Dom

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Leslie was in a world of sensation, every touch, every whisper of Alex's voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body as she sucked him, trying desperately to take him inch by inch deeper down her throat. The way he was taking control, the way he was guiding her, was incredibly arousing. There was something heady about the dominance, the surrender to his will, that pushed her out of her comfort zone and excited her to her very core.

As she took him in her mouth once again, his hand in her hair guiding her movements, she felt the potency of his desire, the raw need that mirrored her own. She reveled in the power she held, the ability to bring him to the brink, to hold him captive in the throes of pleasure. His gasps, his moans were a testament to her effect on him, the sweet sounds stoking the fires of her desire.

She brought him closer to the edge, the rhythm of her movements designed to tease, to torment. The way his body tensed, his grip in her hair tightening, was a clear sign of his impending release. Yet, just as she was about to tip him over the edge, he stopped her again.

She growled, resisting but he clasped her firmly around the neck, making her raise her head and back away from his cock. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark with desire, his chest heaving with effort to control his racing heartbeat.

“Are the rocks hurting you?”

He gave her a look like she was crazy. “I like it,” he said, and she felt a flood of wetness down her thighs.

Then, in a swift move, he stripped off her shorts and panties, and shifted them until he was lying on the ground on his back and she was straddling his face. The sudden shift in their positions, the change in dominance, sent a thrill through her. His hands on her hips held her in place, his strength and control a tantalizing contrast to the vulnerability of her position.

She felt his breath against her, his lips so close to where she craved him the most. The longing for his touch, the promise of pleasure in his heated gaze, was enough to make her squirm.

He didn't make her wait long before his mouth was on her, his lips, his tongue, exploring her in ways that made her gasp and whimper. The sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure that drowned out everything but the feel of him, the taste of him.

Leslie surrendered to the pleasure, her hands finding purchase in his hair, her body moving in rhythm with his teasing tongue. The world narrowed down to just the two of them, their bodies entwined in a dance of desire, each beat pushing her closer to the edge.

Every stroke of Alex's tongue, every soft nip of his teeth was a brushstroke on the canvas of pleasure he was painting. It was a world of sensation, a chorus that resonated through every cell in her body. Alex was a virtuoso, playing her body like a well-tuned instrument, drawing out notes of pleasure that she hadn't known existed.

He didn't rush. He took his time, exploring her with a patient, deliberate thoroughness that had her squirming and writhing in sweet torment. Each time she felt herself edging closer to that precipice of release, he'd pull back, his lips leaving her, his fingers stilling. Just as it had been when he’d edged her the night before, the denial and the expectancy of release was a heady mix, stoking the fires of her arousal, pushing her towards the edge only to draw her back again. It was sweet torment, a delicious agony that she reveled in.

Then, without warning, he spanked her ass. The sharp sting of his palm against her flesh was a jolt of sensation. She gasped at the suddenness of it, the sting quickly melting into a warm, tingling pleasure that added to the intoxicating mix of sensations coursing through her.

He hesitated, probably gauging her reaction, then he was back at it, his mouth on her, his fingers dancing over her sensitive skin, stoking the fires of her arousal to new heights. Over and over, he brought her to the edge, only to pull back and spank her again, the sting of his palm against her flesh a tantalizing contrast to the teasing pleasure of his mouth.

It was a dance, a rhythm they found themselves in - the teasing pleasure of his mouth, the jarring jolt of his palm, the build-up and the pull back, over and over until she was writhing and whimpering, begging for release.

When he finally granted her release, it came with an intensity that left her breathless. It was like a dam bursting, waves of pleasure crashing over her, wracking her body with spasms of pleasure, drawing out cries of release from her lips.

The afterglow of her climax was still pulsing through Leslie's veins when she felt Alex's strong hands on her hips, lifting her gently off his face. She collapsed to the ground beside him, her body limp, spent, the exertion of her climax leaving her breathless and trembling. But Alex, he was still firm, still hard, the desire in his eyes burning as fiercely as ever.

After a few seconds, Alex tugged Leslie up then positioned her on her knees while he towered over her. After scanning the area around them, likely making sure no one could see them, he focused on her again. She quickly parted her lips, expecting him to seek release in her mouth. But he shook his head, his gaze locked onto hers, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Confusion washed over her, but she closed her mouth, her gaze never leaving his. His smile deepened, and he began to stroke himself. He was watching her, watching her reactions, his gaze intense, focused.

It was a raw, primal display of masculinity, of unbridled desire, and it struck a chord deep within her, adding a layer of arousal to her already satiated body. She watched, spellbound, remembering how he’d come on her chest in the sex club. He worked toward that release now, his muscles tensing, his breathing becoming ragged, a guttural groan escaping his lips. Then he shot his come onto her face, the act filthy and wholly desired on Leslie’s part. She instinctively jerked when his seed first touched her but then she opened her mouth, catching streams of come that missed their mark in her mouth and swallowing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Alex groaned.

When he was spent, he jerked up his pants and zipped them, then quickly lowered himself to her knees in front of her, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, smearing his essence into her skin. His gaze was softer now, filled with a tenderness that made her breath hitch. "The sight of me covering your face, my come dripping from your eyelashes" he murmured, his voice husky, "is my favorite thing I've ever seen."

He kissed her deeply for several long moments before he finally stood, took off his shirt, then gently cleaned Leslie’s face before putting it on inside out just like he’d done in the sex club.

Then he helped her back into her panties and shorts. "We should head inside," he said, his voice low, the softness in his eyes replaced by the familiar guarded expression she had come to recognize.

With a nod, Leslie watched as he stepped away. The air seemed to chill instantly without his warmth next to her, the reality of their situation descending upon her like a cold gust of wind. He was back in his element, the dominant, untouchable Alex who seemed worlds away from the man who had just given her such pleasure and taken it from her.

As they made their way back to the house, Leslie could barely keep her eyes off Alex. He moved with an ease and grace, and she was captivated by the man who once again was able to shift from gentle lover to ruthless protector in a heartbeat.

The house loomed ahead of them, the lights glowing invitingly through the windows. A stillness had settled around them, the soft rustle of leaves and distant hoot of an owl the only sounds accompanying their footsteps.

The next day, Leslie sketched at the kitchen table. Next to her drawing pad and pencils lay an assortment of paper dolls, their whimsical outlines rendered in bold strokes of crayon colors. Maria had meticulously crafted each figure, showcasing an unexpected level of detail for a child her age. The dolls were marked by various splashes of color, reflecting her imaginative mind—sky-blue dresses, fire-red hair, and twinkling green eyes, each one a unique character from her innocent, vibrant world.

There were those that were undeniably rudimentary, the way young children often drew with bold, unapologetic strokes and colors outside the lines. But some were surprisingly nuanced, with delicate shapes and thoughtful additions, a surprising sophistication beyond her tender years. It was a charming mixture of childlike simplicity and budding artistic talent.

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