Page 57 of Dock

The first time he did it against my clit, I thought maybe it was just peer pressure pleasure.

Wait.

Is that a thing?

Doesn’t sound like a real thing, but we’re gonna pretend it’s a real thing, because that’s what I thought was happening.

That I was just into it because he was into it and that’s what he was expecting; however, this?

This proves otherwise.

That sting?

That tiny bite of burn brushing against bliss?

I fucking love it and want more of it, but maybe in a less Tim McGraw approved phrasing?

All of a sudden, my head is yanked backward again on a growled command, “Yes…who?”

More chills rush across my skin causing my spread open thighs to tremble. “H.”

“Fuck,” he groans at the same time he delivers another tap, “I love the way you call me that.”

Whimpers precede me lifting myself up towards the tip of his dick to repeat the previous slipping down motion once more.

Twice.

Four times.

Six.

Seven.

I cry out like a crazed fiend by the time I hit nine, incapable of holding back the overdue climax I can hardly believe I’m breezing by.

“Damn, I love that shit,” he announces alongside a much heavier handed pop. “I love when you come for me.”

His profession propels an unmistakable increase in the speed of my bobbing.

And that sparks a subtle shift in his spanks and how hard he heaves his hips and the harder he pounds the faster I bounce and more insanely buck and incessantly become obsessed with the delectable way each stroke stretches my drenched muscles prompting me to release piping puffs of air.

Sighs of satisfaction.

Squeaks of surrender.

Submission.

Never in my entire life have I ever been this…noisy.

“So good, Teach,” H praises, fingers diving further into my locks to pull my face forward, forcing my forehead to rest against his. “You feel so fucking good.”

There’s no stopping my fingers from flexing in excitement.

My pussy from swelling in approval.

“You look so goddamn perfect on my dick.” His groans vibrate through me encouraging my nails to claw into his inked flesh. Scrape further proof of my exultation into his skin, wanting the whole world to see. Know. “You were fucking made for me, Teach.” The tightening of my knotting strands shakes my already unsteady legs. “You’re mine.”

Two words.