Suck. My. Cock.

If you trusted him with your secrets from afar, can you trust him with you body when you are finally up close? Just a little something while I work on more complete stories....

“I want you to Suck. My. Cock.”

I’m not really awake. His commanding voice penetrates my somnolence, but not enough to spur a reaction.

“Rosie. Wake up and Suck. My. Cock.” His voice is low, his tone even. I can sense his body behind me, tense with arousal. I need to wake up, I know.

His hand gripping my hair helps me. He’s lifting my head. “Right now,” he says with an air of menace. I feel sick with sleep. He’s pulling my hair painfully, forcing me further from my pillow. “Get under the covers.”

I crawl under the covers, eyes still closed, until I bump into his hip. He’s warm and smells of man and sex. My head drops on to his thigh. Before my next breath, I’m asleep again.

I’m startled awake the next instant by his hand on my neck. His voice is threatening growl. “Do I have to roll you over and fuck your throat? I can find a way to wake you up.”

Fear tingles in my chest. I’m finally awake. My mouth finds his cock, succulently half hard. It curls against the roof of my mouth, a perfect mouthful, and then, throbbing, grows.

I don’t know what he would or would not do to me. I’m thrilled by my fear, but not enough to test him.

----
Last night was heat and tenderness. We met with passion long postponed: fell in love with each other’s bodies as we had before with souls. We’d fucked hard and fast and then looked into each other’s eyes and started over again, slowly. Late into the night we’d dozed and woken, caressing and kissing and whispering love words.

Now, his cock hardening between my lips, I have no idea how much time has passed. The hotel room’s perfect darkness persists even after he’s thrown the covers off our bodies. Is it morning? Could it possibly still be night? It doesn’t matter. Sleep was never part of our plan.

He’s thrusting his hips and holding my head in place. I choke and gag and struggle to find his rhythm. I want to give an amazing blow job. I want to please. But there’s no room for that in the way he’s using me. I feel sparks of  panic as I fight for breath.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps at me. “I’ve got you.” He lifts my head for a moment and I gasp a lungful of air. Then he shoves me down again, hard, and holds me there. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, comforting me as my air runs out. And lifts me again.