Page 142 of Architecti
Paddle.
Paddle.
Paddle.
My cheeks are raw and burning, her hands caress the sting away.The pounding slows to a rhythmic thrust.
“Mine,” she says.
Thrust, thrust.
“Mine.”
In.out.
“Harder,” I whisper.
She kicks up her hips.Pumping into me so hard we shift the table forwards.
“Harder,” I beg.I want it to hurt; an orgasm wrapped in the delicious burn of pain, everything heightened, everything more.
But two wet drips plop on my back, and I realise this hasn’t broken me.
It’s broken her.
And that makes me crack.My eyes glaze, my own little pools of salty wetness forming under my cheeks.
“Harder,” I sob.
“Mine.”She thrusts and slaps and thrusts.
My body winds tighter and tighter.Cool drips raining on my back.
I’m yours,I think.
“Mine,” she whimpers.
A raw throb settles between my ribs.For her, for me, and for everything we can’t have.For everything I want laid before me and I’m unable to take.
“Say it,” she pleads.
And this is all I can give her.
“I’m yours,” I breathe as she picks up speed and rams into me over and over.Driving my body right to the brink.
“Come for me, baby girl,” she says and spanks me again, driving the cock deep and pressing the vibrating ring against my clit in a relentless flow of pleasure.
I spill over, moaning her name and cursing my soul.
43
Midnight
Eleven Days To Go
Iuntie Lucy as fast as I can and carry her to the sofa.I give her a blanket.
“Get the contract.It’s on my bedside table.”
