Page 256 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Pounding into me with greedy thrusts.

“I’m gonna fill you with my cum,” he snarls. “Have you dripping with me.”

I do belong to him.

God help me, I do.

The sounds are filthy.

Groans. Growls. Skin on skin.

His voice in my ear:

“You wanted this.”

“I watched you. I waited for you.”

We move like we’ve done this a thousand lifetimes.

Wild. Desperate and hungry.

His thrusts turn sharper.

His thumb finds my clit—rubbing tight, relentless circles.

“Tell me how much you love my cock,” he demands.

“I love it,” I breathe, half-choked.

“Not good enough,” he growls and smacks my clit—sharp, stinging—and I cry out.

Before I can gasp, he spits on it, thumb smearing it messily.

“Say the words, filthy girl.”

I stutter, the words trembling on my tongue.

“I—I love your cock.”

“Where?”

“My mouth,” I whimper. “I loved—your cock in my mouth.”

He groans like it’s the sweetest thing he’s heard, thrusts turning punishing.

“And where else?”

“My... my pussy,” I sob.

“Fuck yes, baby,” he snarls. “Say it.”

“I love your cock in my pussy.”

“Doing what?”

“Fucking me. Fucking my pussy with your big cock.”

“That’s it. That’s my good fucking girl.”

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