Page 40 of Filthy Mouth
I pulled off with a wet pop.“I want everything your cock can give me,” I whispered, licking the tip, swirling my tongue around the thick head.“Everything.”
“Poppy…are you sure?” he asked, almost wary.
I wasn’t stupid. When he insisted his red room needed to be waterproofed, I knew. Researching the furniture only confirmed it. Given his obsession with me swallowing his come and squirting for him, it was a reasonable assumption.
“I dare you,” I said, sliding back on my knees and opening my mouth wide for him.
“Is that right?”
His cock dragged across my lips, hot and heavy, smearing precum and water over my skin. My whole body shook at the shift in his voice—low, commanding, dangerous. That was the sound of him taking control.
“Open wider,” he said, and I obeyed instantly, tongue out, mouth aching. I felt like a slut kneeling in church, praying for his filth.
He tapped the thick head against my cheek, then my chin, and I whimpered. The weight of him, the taste of him, the promise of what he was about to do made my pussy clench so hard I nearly cried.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and my stomach swooped.“You’ll take it all. My cock. My come. My piss. Every filthy drop. And you’ll be grateful for it.”
I nodded, eyes wide, unable to look anywhere but up at him. My heart was racing, and yet the thought of him using me like that made my thighs press tight together. I wanted it. I wanted everything.
“Keep those eyes on me, Princess,” he warned, one big hand stroking his cock, the other cupping the back of my head.“Don’t you dare look away. You asked for this.”
My mouth watered, my tongue trembling as I held myself open for him. My chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, nipples tight from the heat of the shower and his filthy words.
Fuck, I could already feel it—the humiliation, the devotion, the nasty thrill curling between my legs. I wanted to choke on every drop of him.
He pressed the swollen tip against my bottom lip, and I opened wide. The first hot stream rushed over my tongue, scalding, salty, his. My throat worked frantically, gulping it down before it spilled too much.
But it still overflowed. Heat streaked down my chin, splashing my breasts before dripping to the shower floor. The spray of water couldn’t disguise it—the humiliation, the filth, the fact that I was drinking him.
My eyes watered as I swallowed more, my tongue thick with the taste, my belly warming with every gulp. I clung to his thighs, whimpering low in my throat as the endless stream kept coming, pouring straight from his cock into me.
He groaned above me, fingers tight in my hair.“That’s it, Princess. My hot little whore. Drink my piss. Don’t waste a drop.”
Tears blurred my vision. My pussy gushed as he fed me, as if my body craved being reduced to this—his filthy little drinking cup. The heat kept flooding my mouth, burning, humiliating, but intoxicating.
When I couldn’t take another swallow, I let it spill freely, dripping from my lips, running in hot rivulets down my chest. My breasts glistened, smeared with spit, water, and the mess he poured into me. I arched my back and let him shower me with his cock.
And heaven help me—I’d never wanted him more.
Hot water streamed down my back as he hauled me up, his hands firm and commanding. My lips were raw, messy, and he didn’t hesitate—his mouth crashed against mine, tongue forcing its way past my teeth. I could still taste him, still taste the filth he’d given me, and he kissed me like it was the sweetest thing in the world.
“Good girl,” he growled against my lips, nipping them before kissing me again, slower, filthier, like he wanted every trace of himself back on his tongue. My body melted into his, the steam, the spray, the heat all blurring until the only thing I felt was him.
His cock was pressed hard against my belly, thick and hot, nudging as if demanding more. My fingers curled into his wet hair, pulling him deeper into me as his praise rolled through me, raw and possessive.
“Mine,” he rasped, his lips slick and unforgiving against mine.“My filthy, perfect Princess.”
He crowded me back against the slick tiles, water pounding over us, his kiss turning hungrier, wetter, filthier. His tongue pushed deep, tangling with mine, stealing every breath I had. My hands slid over his shoulders, nails raking down his back before I grabbed fistfuls of his wet hair, tugging him closer, begging for more without a word.
His cock ground against my belly with every shift of his hips, thick and heavy, leaving trails of slick heat against my skin. I whimpered into his mouth when his hands moved lower, one gripping my ass, kneading me possessively, the other sliding up to palm my bare breast, teasing my nipple until it stood hard beneath his touch.
“Can’t keep my hands off you,” he muttered between kisses, biting my lip before sucking it hard. My hips bucked against him, desperate, matching the needy press of his cock.
“Touch me,” I begged, the plea breaking against his tongue as he swallowed it whole.
“Oh, I’ll touch you everywhere,” he promised, his hand slipping down between us, pressing into the heat between my thighs, fingers finding me soaked in more than just water.
His fingers slid lower, parting me with sinful skill, stroking through slick folds until I was trembling against the tiles. Every twist, every curl inside me was deliberate—he knew exactly where to press, exactly how to make my knees weak beneath me. I clutched his shoulders for balance, whimpering as the water cascaded over us, masking the filthy sounds of my arousal.
