Ricky had never been one for drama, but it felt dramatic when he dried her after the shower and bound her hands together. It felt dramatic when she was sent to the playroom to wait. She was shivering with excitement in the half hour it took for him to stride into the room, already unzipping his pants.
“Open your mouth.”
But even his demands of her were all sweetness and cajoling. Promise and tenderness. But he could have said anything, in any way, and it wouldn’t have mattered. She was drooling for him. Wetness pooled inside her mouth. Between her legs. That’s what half an hour had done. She was sopping, already so deep, she was thankful to him for it.
There was no hesitation as she opened her mouth and kept it open as Ricky trailed one of his hands down the side of her face. Then the other. She lifted her gaze to his, and he smiled before cupping her chin.
“Come here,” he said, the Ricky version of I missed you.
She went mouth first.
Romi wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the size of him. Maybe she didn’t ever want to. The satisfying stretch as the fat head of his cock slid slick across her tongue. The taste of sweet skin and fresh salt. The smell of his soap, clean and bright and the slight, heady musk of him underneath. Stronger as he eased his way inside her throat until her nose was nestled against the soft little tuft of hair at the base of his big dick. She would never tire of this: being tied up, turned on, full.
She swallowed around him, and he groaned. The sort of groan that made her whimper in return and rub her thighs together, seeking friction she knew she wouldn’t get.
“Romi—fuck, your mouth.”
It was her turn to smile. As much as she could anyway, with him stretching her jaw open. This act, fucking him with her mouth or the other way around—it was the closest that she would ever get to satisfy her greed for him, her desire to have all of him, consume him, eat him whole.
Romi sucked harder and bobbed her head until he made more noises for her. The sound of his need had her hands shaking, fluttering against the cuffs. She ached to dig her fingers into his hairy thighs and knead the long hard muscles there. She ached to touch herself. It had just been so long.
As if he heard her, he gently patted her head. Redirected her attention. Here, the hand stroking over her brow said. Focus here. It was less a command and more like permission. To relax into her task. The service. To work harder, to make it better for him, for both of them....
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Read all about the wonderful author: Gabrielle Johnson
Nice one
Omg wow. I need that in my life
That was hot !! 🔥
Wow! Mindblowing