“She should know that you belong to me, little kitten,” he says softly. “That means she has no right to fuck with you. Because when she fucks with you, she fucks with me.”
Dean kisses me.
He’s still gripping the collar. The compression on my throat makes my head spin.
He releases me.
“Strip,” he says, as he selects the next song he wants to play.
Smells Like Sex — Sizzy Rocket
Spotify → geni.us/bully-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/bully-apple
I remove my clothes with trembling fingers. The closer it gets to Christmas, the colder the Bell Tower becomes, the chill let in through the gaps in the walls. But I know the minute I’m touching Dean, his blazing heat will warm me to the bone.
I’m shivering with anticipation more than with cold.
I can hardly stand the hours leading up to when I see Dean each night.
Our encounters in the Bell Tower have become more real than actual life. Everything else feels like a floating dream, compared to the intense sensation I experience here. I’m asleep in real life. I’m only truly awake with him.
“Kneel,” Dean orders once I’m naked.
I sink to my knees on the rough wooden boards, looking up at him.
Dean has likewise stripped off his clothes. He towers over me like a god. I want to be on my knees before him. I want to worship him.
His cock is already heavy and swollen, anticipating the touch of my lips.
“Suck my cock like you did last time,” he orders. “Softly.”
I know what he wants—he wants to see if we can replicate what we did last time.
I’m equally curious.
I run my fingers lightly down his shaft and flick my tongue gently around the head of his cock. As it begins to reach its full thickness and length, the pale skin stretching tight over the head, I take it in my mouth. I keep the pressure light, soft, and steady. I start to bring him to the edge, but slowly . . . holding him back as long as I can.
Dean breathes deep and slow, using his substantial powers of concentration.
I’ve never met anyone as disciplined as Dean. He has an intense level of willpower—I believe that’s the key to him taking control of this usually involuntary process.
His legs begin to shake, and he throws his head back and groans. His cock twitches and spasms in my mouth. Only a little clear fluid comes out on my tongue—he’s held back his actual load. I smile around his cock, knowing that means he’s going to be able to cum again.
Sure enough, his cock only grows harder, and I keep sucking it slowly, hardly able to hold back my grin.
I fucking love this.
I love making him cum over and over.
I increase the pace just a little, having learned last time that I can increase the intensity of each subsequent orgasm as long as I ramp it up gradually.
Dean thrusts his hands in my hair and fucks my face, even and slow.
I love when he lets me work, but I also love when he takes control like that, pushing his cock in deep until it hits the back of my throat, and then pushing it even a little further. It’s rough and dominant. It makes all the muscles stand out on his chest and arms. I grip the back of his thighs, gagging helplessly.
He cums again, holding his cock in the back of my throat while it pulses. He gives out a deep, guttural moan, a primal sound that makes my pussy soaking wet.
Dean releases me.
“Come here,” he orders.
I follow him over to the stack of cushions.
“Get on all fours,” he says.
I obey, waiting while he moves around behind me, gathering up some unseen objects.
Every time I come up here, Dean has some new plan in store for me. I can never guess what he’ll do to me. That endless inventiveness, and endless pushing of boundaries, is what keeps me in a fever pitch of anticipation.
Dean kneels on the cushions next to me, running his hand possessively down my spine and groping my ass. I wait, mentally begging him to take his hand down lower and rub me where I really want.
He knows. He knows exactly what I’m silently pleading for.
He slips his hand between my thighs, cupping my pussy. I groan softly. He parts my pussy lips and slides his fingers back and forth across my clit.
“Ohhh,” I moan.
“You like that, little kitten?”
“Yesss,” I sigh.
“What about this?”
He slips his finger inside me. I’m already so swollen and sensitive inside that his finger feels as big as a cock. I groan even louder.
He soaks his fingers in my wetness, and then he rubs his thumb a little higher, over the bud of my ass.
I stiffen up, instantly uncomfortable.
“Shh,” Dean says, his other hand on the small of my back, holding me in place.
He rubs circles around my asshole, then applies gentle pressure.
My whole body is rigid. I can feel my face flaming.
Dean has never touched my ass before. I know how much he hates anything dirty. I showered right before I came, but I’m paranoid that I might still be unclean somehow.
“Stay still,” he growls.
He begins to push his thumb into my ass.
The pressure is intense. I try to squirm away, but he’s holding me still with that heavy hand on my back.
I’m embarrassed, almost panicking.
The sensation is like nothing I’ve felt before. It feels totally wrong, and yet at the same time . . . it also feels good. Which only humiliates me all the more.
I close my eyes, unable to even look at the floor in front of me.
Dean’s finger is all the way in my ass now. It’s so intense that I can hardly stand it. It seemed to take ten minutes to push it in, and ten minutes to pull it out again.
Finally, my ass can relax again, but I keep my eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed to look at him.
I hear Dean moving behind me. I hope that was the end of it.
Instead, I feel something else pressed up against my anus. Something bigger, and colder.
“Dean!” I squeal in protest.
“Quiet,” he growls.
He pushes the plug against my ass. It’s too big to go in, despite the fact that he’s lubricated it.
“Relax,” he orders.
Immediately, without conscious thought, I obey him. My ass relaxes enough for him to begin to push the plug inside.
If I thought his finger was intense, it was nothing compared to this. The plug feels the size of a fist. I’m impaled.
“It’s too big!” I squeal.
Dean gives a low laugh. “It’s tiny,” he says.
Dean never lies, and yet I can’t believe that. Every nerve in that highly sensitive area is screaming from this unprecedented friction.
Dean reaches down with his other hand to rub my clit while he pushes the plug inside.
The pleasure of his touch helps so much. As I’ve already learned, sexual pleasure can override an immense amount of discomfort.
The sexual sensation seems to confuse my brain, convincing it that not only are Dean’s fingers on my clit pleasurable, but also the plug itself. It seems to re-write the neuron response.
The plug stretches and stretches me, until all of a sudden it sets in place as if it were made for me.
I sigh with relief.
“How does that feel?” Dean asks.
I consider. The plug gives me an acute sense of fullness and pressure. But there isn’t any pain—it fits perfectly.