Page 46 of The B!tch is Bad

“Oh!” I cried, strangled. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

But he soon stopped, fumbling around on the floor for something. There was more?

Whipping my head to one side, I saw crimson rope slithering through his tapered fingers. Oh. Nice. Bondage.

“Here’s a good clove hitch,” he said, sliding the rope under my back and bringing both sides around either side of my neck. Soon he slinked and knotted. None of the rope hurt. It slid effortlessly under my breasts, around my back again, then back above my boobs, causing them to stand out erotically. I liked that. I felt his admiration, his hot breath as he worked, and the firm bulge in his jeans made me proud.

He cinched and knotted my torso, fingers flying.

“How often have you done this?” I whispered, unsure if I wanted an answer.

He paused before answering. “Never with anyone as gorgeous as you, little one. You’re my free-spirited peaches and cream girl from Gotham. You’re my kitten forever.”

I had to be satisfied with that, and now he was onto my crotch. With a tan rope that he slipped between the red, he yanked down, anchoring the new rope around my waist. I gasped in shock when he passed it directly over my labia, then up my butt crack. Humping the air caused the slippery rope to stimulate me, and watching my own tits jutting out enhanced the exhibitionistic air. I’d never enjoyed being an exhibitionist before, strutting down the runway, but now I felt proud as a lion stirred with passion.

He murmured, “It will be well to play with her before you introduce your member…” He seemed to recite some old text. “You will excite her by kissing her cheeks, sucking her lips and nibbling at her breasts. Neglect no part of her body…”

He kneeled between my knees, his chest hairy like mist through the grapevines, soft and velvety over his bulging pecs. Tugging at the rope between my thighs, he took serious delight in making me squirm and gasp. True to his word, he bent over and sucked a nipple between his teeth, nibbling so expertly the spikes of lust speared my inner pussy. My head thrashed like a wheat sheaf, violently back and forth against the bare mattress, encouraging him to squeeze a boob in his palm and suck with vigor.

“No, Creed!” I finally cried. “No! This isn’t fair! I want a chance to tie you up!”

All he’d do was mutter things like, “Under her neck my right hand has served her for a cushion…And to draw her to me, I’ve sent my left hand which bore her up as a bed.”

But he couldn’t do that. He’d bound me with such precision, when he slipped his palm under my neck I didn’t budge an iota. Instead his fingers walked down my belly, and what did he do? Flicked his damned middle finger back and forth across my bulging, slippery clit! Bastard!

And I said so! “Bastard!” I cried, not loud enough to scare the dogs behind the closed door. “Y’all fucking bastard! Y’all fucking motherfucking ballhead!”

“You see her eyes getting dim, and you hear her yearning for coition,” he intoned. His crotch was so full of stiff cock and balls, the outline of the enormous dickhead stood out sharp beneath the denim. “Heave deep sighs, then let your and her yearning be joined into one. The pleasure which the woman feels will be extreme—”

My entire body tensed against my restraints. “Fuck y’all, Creed! Fuck me now!”

But he didn’t. When he finally stood to unsnap the buttons on his fly, his cock sprang free. My hips shimmied and shook with yearning to join as one with him, but what in tarnation did that prick do but plant his knees on either side of my bound breasts and present his tool to my sobbing mouth.

The pleasure I felt was extreme.

“Oh apple of my eye,” he said, dipping his balls into my wide mouth, “No other member is like mine. Here! See it, measure it!”

I didn’t need to! No Arabic poet he quoted could have been more well-hung, and I gobbled his gigantic, full balls with urgency. He tea bagged me with such precision, and I was such an ardent licker and gulper that he couldn’t keep it up. Pulling back, he wrapped his hand around his rod, plumping the head with his thumb. My entire vista was Creed’s big dick in my face, and as much as I reached my tongue out to lick, all I could get was a few salty droplets of precum.

He panted with lust. “That you from afar may see it as a column, if it erects itself it lifts my robe and shames me.”

“No shame!” I cried.

“Now take it kindly, and put it in your tent.”

“Go for it!”

“Take it to form a handle for your vase.”

“Give it to me, Daddy!”

He grunted at that. “Notice well, how vigorous it is, and long in its erection.”

“Come, Daddy, come! Give it to your little girl!”

That was what finally got to him. He thrust his cock into my mouth, uttering such a resonant groan his thighs astride my shoulders shuddered with tension. “Take this to stir the center of your kettle,” he muttered. I lapped and sucked as he ground and gyrated. “My kitten.”

As he flooded my mouth with his hot jizz, I couldn’t be sure if he said, “I love you.”