Page 35 of My Bratva Dom

Aslan pulls back, his big arms crossed over his broad, naked chest, his gaze raking over me like I’m a gazelle and he’s a starving lion.

“You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to. You don’t come unless I say so. And you call me ‘Sir’ when we’re alone.”

I stiffen. “What?”

He leans in, fists my hair at the nape and yanks just hard enough for a delicious sting to spread over my scalp and invade every cell of my body.

“You begged me last night, sweet girl,” he reminds me, growling low and dangerously scary. My thighs clench. “Now, say it.”

My voice is hesitant. “Yes… Sir.”

“Good girl.” His perfectly sculpted lips curve into a devilish smile.

“Now stand and bend over the table.”

I blink. What is happening? “Wait, Aslan. Maybe we should…”

He grips my hips, hauls me to my feet, and bends me over the edge of the huge wooden kitchen table in one motion. The sheet slips, falling at my ankles.

My skin prickles all over as his hand strokes down my spine. Then, Aslan pulls something from his pocket.

* * *

The first toy presses at my slick pussy entrance. Thick and unforgiving. Almost as big as Aslan’s giant cock.

“Spread for me, sassy.”

I obey, widening my stance. My breaths coming out choppy. My eyes, wide as I stare over my shoulder at his hand working between my legs.

Aslan pushes it inside me slowly. Then, when it’s planted to the root, he pulls out a second, smaller toy. He runs the silicone plug over my lips and I whimper. Knowing exactly what he wants me to do. I part them open. Taking in the soft texture. He presses it against my tongue, and I start licking and wetting it with saliva. At the same time, he’s slowly thrusting the dildo into my pussy. I can hear the wet sounds of my dripping hole. Feel myself stretch and contract around the fake cock. Feel the brush of his fingers. The heat of his huge body at my back. The tickle of the thin layer of hair covering his skin. His breath at my neck. His low, tender encouragements. The ravenous hum at the back of his throat as I suck on the butt-plug like it’s his cock. It’s so fucking hot. So good.

When Aslan decides the plug is lubricated enough, he pulls it from my mouth and palms one ass-cheek, using his thumb to keep me spread, teasing my tight back entrance with the toy.

I whimper.

“Aslan,”

“Sir,” he reminds me, the low growl in my ear sending another wave of pleasure through my body.

“Sir, please…”

Both toys slide in and out. My legs tremble.

“If you come without permission…” Pleasure slams into me. My legs shake. “You’ll be punished.”

I writhe. Pant. Try to hold it in. But the stimulation is too much. Pleasure builds. Spirals. Tears at me.

“Asl… Sir, I can’t!”

“You will.”

I bite my lip. Shake my head. My body locks up, then I come. Hard. Without his permission. Gushing all over the toys. His hands, my spread thighs, the table, and the floor. Shaking from wave after wave of an intense orgasm. My eyes rolling back, my throat scratchy from crying out, my entire midsection pulsating. Then I sag on the wooden surface.

Aslan yanks me up, then bends me again. One hand fisted in my hair, the other one gripping my waist.

“What did I say?” he rumbles in my ear.

I moan, exhausted, drenched, still shaking from delicious aftershocks. “Don’t… come without permission.”

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