27 Minutes Part 3 of 3 Lhotel
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27 Minutes (Part 3 Of 3): L'hotel free porn video
The luggage only just made it through the door ahead of us before it was forgotten. I wriggled out of my sandals and flung them in the doorless wardrobe as Adam hopped on one foot removing his second shoe, then we crushed together and spiralled into the room, kissing and groping as we went.
Stopping just short of the bed, he grabbed my butt again and hiked the skirt up to my waist as our tongues duelled wetly. The sexual tension of the day had made us both on the brink of boiling point and there was no need for foreplay. If anything, the entire day had been foreplay and this was our main event: raw, passionate, frenzied lovemaking.
The comparative coolness of the room breezed over my exposed pussy lips, making me shiver. Grabbing his taut bottom through his shorts, I squeezed and pulled him to me. The bulge was already prominent and I could hardly wait to impale myself on it, but a deal was a deal.
Breaking the kiss I stepped back, panting, and pushed him backwards. Half a pace later he reached the bed edge and dropped to a sitting position, just looking at me. The air crackled between us with the supercharged promise of torrid sex.
Without taking my eyes from his, I stepped over to the shopping bag, crouched and retrieved my new shoes. Then as flirtatiously as I could muster I set them on the floor directly in front of him and slid into them one at a time. I could tell he approved of the transformation, the subtle change in my centre of gravity that accentuated the curves he hankered after, but didn’t give him any time to dwell. Reaching out, I placed my hand on his chest to feel his heart beating quickly, then shoved him backwards.
He flopped onto the sheets and within seconds I clambered on top of him, crawling forward quickly, hungrily, keeping eye contact the entire time. As my knees neared his chest I raised my upper body to straddle him, and shuffled forward, still looking down until my chest obscured our line of sight.
Hovering inches above his face I held position, teasing him with the smell, listening to his irregular breathing as he excitedly anticipated my sex. If there was anything Adam truly adored in this world, it was eating me out. And he was damn good at it.
“You want this pussy?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Louder.”
“Yes!”
“Remember who you’re speaking to.”
“Yes, Mistress Belle!”
“Good. Are you sure you want it?”
“Absolutely. I want to drown in your juices, Mistress Belle.”
He couldn’t see me smiling at the role reversal. The magic red soles had brought Her out. I always loved it when She came out to play.
So did Adam.
Knowing full well that dirty talk fired him up, I layered it on thick. “I’ve been knickerless all day and I’m rampantly horny after you made me expose myself to pretty much the entirety of Paris. Can you handle it if I smear every drop from my dripping pussy over your face and tongue? Will you completely surrender yourself to my hot, wet, naked cunt?”
I knew the answer already and didn’t wait for one. Without warning I plunged and his tongue quickly and expertly found home.
Riding his face was far and away the most eye-popping experience of our relationship. It wasn’t simply his technique in which he probed his long tongue deep into my folds, slipped it back out coated in my juice and slathered it all the way up my slit to circle my waiting clitoris, before returning for more. While that was terrific and his inventive pussy eating always left me spent yet praying for repeats, it was the sheer selflessness with which he went about it that drove me to the highest highs. It was as if he couldn’t get enough and wasn’t satisfied until I’d drenched his face, often more than once. Like I was a Goddess and my nectar was the elixir of youth that he craved.
Unless lucky enough to be on the receiving end, it’s difficult to appreciate the power of being revered that way. To be wanted and adored for what I could give him while simultaneously achieving the most incredible orgasms was a significant trip, and regularly produced staggering quantities of come. The fact She was in the room could only make things better.
I ground my pussy against his nose and lips, completely smothering him at times, each touch causing me to jump as if his tongue was a taser. For his part, like a pussy-eating version of the Terminator, he never stopped, never gave up, never missed a stroke. Within minutes I was a quivering wreck on his face, escalating cries of passion echoing off the badly decorated walls. He reached up and grabbed my thighs to draw me to him, to pull me harder against his insistent tongue, to ensure his teeth grazed and nibbled the edges of my burning pearl, to give my body exactly what it needed.
Past caring about my earlier misdemeanours onboard public transport, I let go of my feelings, indulging in the freedom to finally express myself without moderation. As my orgasm inevitably bubbled to the surface and I began to boil over, all I could do was shut my eyes tightly, lean back and support myself on his thighs. My impromptu triangle allowed him to drive his tongue deep into my wetness and as I dug my fingertips into his legs, I found myself grinding against his face and screaming as I came.
Clamped against his nose and chin, I flooded him with my sticky nectar. The walls of my pussy convulsed and I rode each contraction hard, pressing myself so fully against him that his air supply was often momentarily cut off. The vibrations of him humming in pleasure against my sex, the supremacy I held and the wet suction of him struggling for air added to the deep pulses that were broadcast from the epicentre; sexual sonar waves at the perfect frequency to which my body could respond.
And respond it did, each part of me feeding back its own signal to acknowledge reception of the orgasmic beacon. Disparate components became one, connected by an invisible force that throbbed and spun to the rhythmical drumming that was pounding from my very essence. My heart beat rapidly and I was suddenly very hot. My internal jukebox chose those two factors to cue up ‘Paris is Burning’ by LadyHawke. The lyrics went round and round my head as my hips bucked against Adam’s face, movements intensifying then gradually lessening as the convulsions slowly began to wane and my other senses switched back on one by one.
The sensitivity of my midsection peaked and I shot my pelvis up as if electrocuted. He tried to pull me back to him for more, but I was locked in position above him, the only thing joining our lips being hair-like, translucent strings of my come.
I stayed that way for as long as my arms would allow, mind racing, body fused, eventually drifting downward and back a little to straddle his chest and leave an imprint of my sticky sex on his T-shirt.
Looking down past my heaving chest at his face smeared with my juices, along with his expression of pure joy, made me melt all over again. I dragged my hands up along his thighs as I righted myself and used the motion to lightly brush his rigid cock. Straining against his shorts, proud and ready, it wanted to enter me. And it would get its chance, just not quite yet as I needed to recuperate.
Reversing from him the way I had approached on all fours, I crawled away, maintaining eye contact. Over his stomach, past his groin and willing erection, sliding between his legs and over the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor, I came to rest looking up at his shorts. Snaking my hand along his leg beneath the material and back again I watched his manhood tenting, then reached across for his zip.
With deliberate slowness I crept the zipper down and glided my hand inside to feel the tumescence within. A wet patch was evident in his boxers and I hooked my hands into the gap, fighting to release my prize. It sprang free and pointed straight up from his fly, hot and delicious.
Without wasting a second I ran my fingers over its veined length, marvelling at the contours of the mushroom head and the way the whole muscle jumped to my touch. The smooth, flanged and tapered tip of his circumcised rod symbolised power, yet the tool was next to useless without a willing participant to share its influence.
I was more than willing, drooling at the thought of feeling it split my still aching insides. Wanting to ride him until I went numb from exertion.
Circling my fingers into a loose fist I jacked his shaft a few times, gratified by the extra intakes of breath my actions drew. His staff was jerking and I could tell he wasn’t going to last long at all when he made it into the soft confines of my channel so I decided to be brief.
Gliding back up onto the bed, we wriggled to the centre and I crouched between his spread legs, bringing my tongue to his cock head. Licking all around its bulbous circumference elicited a sigh from his lips and his manhood twitched in appreciation. Then I parted my lips and went down on him, rapidly swallowing what I could of his meat. As I bottomed out an inch or so from the base and began the upstroke he groaned lightly.
“Mistress Belle, you’re so hot.”
I clamped my lips around his thick shaft, drew upward and wetly popped the end from my mouth. It glistened in the evening fingers of sunlight that found their way through the wooden shutters, giving it an ethereal quality.
“I know. Your hard cock brings out the best in me.”
Once more I descended then rose, pre-come forming at the tip of his wet glans which I lapped up. Sweet, unlike the thick goo that would soon be forging its way up the tubes to coat my hungry snatch. Eagerly down again I went and thought his cry of anguish might signal that I’d gone too far and he was going to erupt in my throat. I quickly backed off and just sat on my haunches, watching him lying there battling to keep his orgasm down. Luckily I’d made him come the day before so his longevity was extended.
Even so, he barely managed to keep himself from exploding and eventually calmed a little, but his eyes were wild as I stared down at him. They implored me to finish him off, to give him the release he had waited for all day. My loose plan had been to let myself recover a little before taking him inside me, but it was becoming evident that wasn’t going to happen. I was still glowing and, by rights, I should have been sated. Yet the raucous part of me -- the side that She had brought into the equation -- wanted more. It was almost as if She had totally separate needs to my own. I wanted to feel loved and cherished for who I was; She wanted to be abused and fucked raw like an animal. Both sides of my psyche needed fulfilment to make me whole.
I regarded the state of Adam’s arousal. Mistress Belle, the filthy slut, craved it and needed it to last as long as possible to achieve another climax, yet it was clear there was little chance of that. So I had to improvise on Her behalf.
Rolling the hair tie from my wrist, I doubled it, placed it at the head of his knob and rolled it down. It caught in the dip below his flared head and I had to delicately tease it out to continue its journey. Although not particularly strong, at the base of his shaft I hoped it would act as a makeshift cock ring, delaying his eruption for as long as possible.
Repositioning myself so my thighs were outside his, the sleek black sides of my Louboutins pressed against him. I shucked forward until our groins met, provocatively sliding my still wet lips along his length and shuddering at the touch. Feeling his tool bob up into position as I reached its end, I angled my hips downward in readiness. As much as I loved relinquishing control, She loved taking charge more.
With the bulb nestling at the entrance to my pussy and Mistress Belle screaming in my head to fuck, fuck, fuck, I simply stared deep into his eyes and waited, the shared anticipation heightening our love, the desire welling up between us, warming us and binding our souls as a tornado of emotion ripped its way through me, dragging my heart with it. The storm reached a crescendo as I fought to deny our bodies the ultimate act for just a few seconds longer, the tempest raging and threatening to tear me limb from limb.
Abruptly, as if the eye of the squall had moved directly above my head, everything ceased. Calm overcame me and I felt the last vestiges of my resolve crumbling as I watched his pupils dilate in readiness.
He wanted me.
I wanted him.
I pushed back.
His entire shaft sank completely and wetly, and my already trembling insides felt full and stretched. We both gasped in unison as the entire six inches split me and disappeared. Savouring the closeness, we sat still and I rippled my walls around his girth, charting each vein and involuntary spasm, trying to become one with him. My eyes rolled skyward when he started to respond, so I sat up straight and began a rhythm on top of him, my skirt bunched around my hips and the cool button of his shorts branding the hot, sensitive folds at the top of my slit.
I bounced up and down, his wonderful erection almost totally exiting my body on each upstroke and our pubic areas grinding together as they met on the return. There was simply no substitute for a hard, warm cock buried in me and I moaned into the room as I drew him inside over and over, our bodies slapping together as the pace increased. Patrons in adjoining rooms would have no choice but to listen to our rampant fucking. There was no pretence and no need for any further self-discipline; I needed this man inside me as much as he needed to be there, and nothing was going to stop us.
Reaching up I grabbed and pinched my nipples through the halterneck, shortly afterwards feeling his hot hands around mine, cupping my weighty tits and squeezing. His actions were becoming erratic and I knew there was not much time left before I would be treated to his release so I slammed up and down on his shaft, the clicking of wetness being forced from my body adding to the moans and sounds of flesh on flesh in the room.
“Fuck me, Adam,” I commanded between gasps. “You’ve brought me so much pleasure today it’s my honour to take your come deep inside me.” I bounced roughly a few more times, hearing the telltale signs of him beginning to lose control, sensing the end ever closer, trying to bring myself as near as I could to another orgasm in the process, racing against his clock.
Looking down at his face, I saw it contort as he neared the brink. Domination never felt so good. I was wet and open, taking everything he could give, my distended petals splayed as he pounded mercilessly up into my engorged chute. I gritted my teeth and snarled, “Fuck me. Fuck me. FUCK ME! Ohhhhh fuck me with your beautiful, big cock.” His rhythm changed and face screwed up. “Yessssss. Fill me, that’s it. Shoot inside me. Flood my slutty wet cunt with the boiling come you’ve wanted to give me all day.”
I felt his cock pulsing inside my channel as it spewed forth his sticky load. I adored the feeling of his thick jets splashing against the entrance to my womb and dribbling down my inner walls as we continued to slam against one another, groaning and encouraging each other with dirty words.
We sparred and ground throughout the entirety of his orgasm, fingers entwined against my chest as he roughly squeezed me. It was depraved but I loved the sensation of being filled and used as his fuck toy. Loved giving myself to him completely, clothed or not. Loved the sensation of our come mingling inside me and drizzling out to pool around the base of his gorgeous prick where it squished into his boxers as we gyrated in the aftermath.
Above all I loved the freedom he gave me. The freedom to express myself and explore my sexuality in ways I could never have done without him. It might cost me a load of indignant stares or a heap of embarrassment along the way, but time and again I pieced together more of the jigsaw that made up who I really was. I knew full well it may take the rest of my life to complete the puzzle and find the true me, but it was a journey I was willing to take.
As our movements gradually slowed and we disentangled and rolled apart to lie hand-in-hand in that so-called three-star Parisian hotel, I wore something other than just my sweaty, creased clothes, fuck-me heels and an oozing pussy full of my lover’s spunk. On my face was the elation of someone at ease with their quirky body and at peace with their sometimes sordid fetishes. Someone who was prepared to tread the path into the unknown if it meant learning more about the way her mind worked. Someone who used those experiences to give herself the sexual highs she craved, however warped. Someone who had a lifetime to discover more about herself and had a kindred spirit with which to share it.
Our eyes met across the bed, pulses still racing, and words were the furthest thing from our minds.
Stopping just short of the bed, he grabbed my butt again and hiked the skirt up to my waist as our tongues duelled wetly. The sexual tension of the day had made us both on the brink of boiling point and there was no need for foreplay. If anything, the entire day had been foreplay and this was our main event: raw, passionate, frenzied lovemaking.
The comparative coolness of the room breezed over my exposed pussy lips, making me shiver. Grabbing his taut bottom through his shorts, I squeezed and pulled him to me. The bulge was already prominent and I could hardly wait to impale myself on it, but a deal was a deal.
Breaking the kiss I stepped back, panting, and pushed him backwards. Half a pace later he reached the bed edge and dropped to a sitting position, just looking at me. The air crackled between us with the supercharged promise of torrid sex.
Without taking my eyes from his, I stepped over to the shopping bag, crouched and retrieved my new shoes. Then as flirtatiously as I could muster I set them on the floor directly in front of him and slid into them one at a time. I could tell he approved of the transformation, the subtle change in my centre of gravity that accentuated the curves he hankered after, but didn’t give him any time to dwell. Reaching out, I placed my hand on his chest to feel his heart beating quickly, then shoved him backwards.
He flopped onto the sheets and within seconds I clambered on top of him, crawling forward quickly, hungrily, keeping eye contact the entire time. As my knees neared his chest I raised my upper body to straddle him, and shuffled forward, still looking down until my chest obscured our line of sight.
Hovering inches above his face I held position, teasing him with the smell, listening to his irregular breathing as he excitedly anticipated my sex. If there was anything Adam truly adored in this world, it was eating me out. And he was damn good at it.
“You want this pussy?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Louder.”
“Yes!”
“Remember who you’re speaking to.”
“Yes, Mistress Belle!”
“Good. Are you sure you want it?”
“Absolutely. I want to drown in your juices, Mistress Belle.”
He couldn’t see me smiling at the role reversal. The magic red soles had brought Her out. I always loved it when She came out to play.
So did Adam.
Knowing full well that dirty talk fired him up, I layered it on thick. “I’ve been knickerless all day and I’m rampantly horny after you made me expose myself to pretty much the entirety of Paris. Can you handle it if I smear every drop from my dripping pussy over your face and tongue? Will you completely surrender yourself to my hot, wet, naked cunt?”
I knew the answer already and didn’t wait for one. Without warning I plunged and his tongue quickly and expertly found home.
Riding his face was far and away the most eye-popping experience of our relationship. It wasn’t simply his technique in which he probed his long tongue deep into my folds, slipped it back out coated in my juice and slathered it all the way up my slit to circle my waiting clitoris, before returning for more. While that was terrific and his inventive pussy eating always left me spent yet praying for repeats, it was the sheer selflessness with which he went about it that drove me to the highest highs. It was as if he couldn’t get enough and wasn’t satisfied until I’d drenched his face, often more than once. Like I was a Goddess and my nectar was the elixir of youth that he craved.
Unless lucky enough to be on the receiving end, it’s difficult to appreciate the power of being revered that way. To be wanted and adored for what I could give him while simultaneously achieving the most incredible orgasms was a significant trip, and regularly produced staggering quantities of come. The fact She was in the room could only make things better.
I ground my pussy against his nose and lips, completely smothering him at times, each touch causing me to jump as if his tongue was a taser. For his part, like a pussy-eating version of the Terminator, he never stopped, never gave up, never missed a stroke. Within minutes I was a quivering wreck on his face, escalating cries of passion echoing off the badly decorated walls. He reached up and grabbed my thighs to draw me to him, to pull me harder against his insistent tongue, to ensure his teeth grazed and nibbled the edges of my burning pearl, to give my body exactly what it needed.
Past caring about my earlier misdemeanours onboard public transport, I let go of my feelings, indulging in the freedom to finally express myself without moderation. As my orgasm inevitably bubbled to the surface and I began to boil over, all I could do was shut my eyes tightly, lean back and support myself on his thighs. My impromptu triangle allowed him to drive his tongue deep into my wetness and as I dug my fingertips into his legs, I found myself grinding against his face and screaming as I came.
Clamped against his nose and chin, I flooded him with my sticky nectar. The walls of my pussy convulsed and I rode each contraction hard, pressing myself so fully against him that his air supply was often momentarily cut off. The vibrations of him humming in pleasure against my sex, the supremacy I held and the wet suction of him struggling for air added to the deep pulses that were broadcast from the epicentre; sexual sonar waves at the perfect frequency to which my body could respond.
And respond it did, each part of me feeding back its own signal to acknowledge reception of the orgasmic beacon. Disparate components became one, connected by an invisible force that throbbed and spun to the rhythmical drumming that was pounding from my very essence. My heart beat rapidly and I was suddenly very hot. My internal jukebox chose those two factors to cue up ‘Paris is Burning’ by LadyHawke. The lyrics went round and round my head as my hips bucked against Adam’s face, movements intensifying then gradually lessening as the convulsions slowly began to wane and my other senses switched back on one by one.
The sensitivity of my midsection peaked and I shot my pelvis up as if electrocuted. He tried to pull me back to him for more, but I was locked in position above him, the only thing joining our lips being hair-like, translucent strings of my come.
I stayed that way for as long as my arms would allow, mind racing, body fused, eventually drifting downward and back a little to straddle his chest and leave an imprint of my sticky sex on his T-shirt.
Looking down past my heaving chest at his face smeared with my juices, along with his expression of pure joy, made me melt all over again. I dragged my hands up along his thighs as I righted myself and used the motion to lightly brush his rigid cock. Straining against his shorts, proud and ready, it wanted to enter me. And it would get its chance, just not quite yet as I needed to recuperate.
Reversing from him the way I had approached on all fours, I crawled away, maintaining eye contact. Over his stomach, past his groin and willing erection, sliding between his legs and over the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor, I came to rest looking up at his shorts. Snaking my hand along his leg beneath the material and back again I watched his manhood tenting, then reached across for his zip.
With deliberate slowness I crept the zipper down and glided my hand inside to feel the tumescence within. A wet patch was evident in his boxers and I hooked my hands into the gap, fighting to release my prize. It sprang free and pointed straight up from his fly, hot and delicious.
Without wasting a second I ran my fingers over its veined length, marvelling at the contours of the mushroom head and the way the whole muscle jumped to my touch. The smooth, flanged and tapered tip of his circumcised rod symbolised power, yet the tool was next to useless without a willing participant to share its influence.
I was more than willing, drooling at the thought of feeling it split my still aching insides. Wanting to ride him until I went numb from exertion.
Circling my fingers into a loose fist I jacked his shaft a few times, gratified by the extra intakes of breath my actions drew. His staff was jerking and I could tell he wasn’t going to last long at all when he made it into the soft confines of my channel so I decided to be brief.
Gliding back up onto the bed, we wriggled to the centre and I crouched between his spread legs, bringing my tongue to his cock head. Licking all around its bulbous circumference elicited a sigh from his lips and his manhood twitched in appreciation. Then I parted my lips and went down on him, rapidly swallowing what I could of his meat. As I bottomed out an inch or so from the base and began the upstroke he groaned lightly.
“Mistress Belle, you’re so hot.”
I clamped my lips around his thick shaft, drew upward and wetly popped the end from my mouth. It glistened in the evening fingers of sunlight that found their way through the wooden shutters, giving it an ethereal quality.
“I know. Your hard cock brings out the best in me.”
Once more I descended then rose, pre-come forming at the tip of his wet glans which I lapped up. Sweet, unlike the thick goo that would soon be forging its way up the tubes to coat my hungry snatch. Eagerly down again I went and thought his cry of anguish might signal that I’d gone too far and he was going to erupt in my throat. I quickly backed off and just sat on my haunches, watching him lying there battling to keep his orgasm down. Luckily I’d made him come the day before so his longevity was extended.
Even so, he barely managed to keep himself from exploding and eventually calmed a little, but his eyes were wild as I stared down at him. They implored me to finish him off, to give him the release he had waited for all day. My loose plan had been to let myself recover a little before taking him inside me, but it was becoming evident that wasn’t going to happen. I was still glowing and, by rights, I should have been sated. Yet the raucous part of me -- the side that She had brought into the equation -- wanted more. It was almost as if She had totally separate needs to my own. I wanted to feel loved and cherished for who I was; She wanted to be abused and fucked raw like an animal. Both sides of my psyche needed fulfilment to make me whole.
I regarded the state of Adam’s arousal. Mistress Belle, the filthy slut, craved it and needed it to last as long as possible to achieve another climax, yet it was clear there was little chance of that. So I had to improvise on Her behalf.
Rolling the hair tie from my wrist, I doubled it, placed it at the head of his knob and rolled it down. It caught in the dip below his flared head and I had to delicately tease it out to continue its journey. Although not particularly strong, at the base of his shaft I hoped it would act as a makeshift cock ring, delaying his eruption for as long as possible.
Repositioning myself so my thighs were outside his, the sleek black sides of my Louboutins pressed against him. I shucked forward until our groins met, provocatively sliding my still wet lips along his length and shuddering at the touch. Feeling his tool bob up into position as I reached its end, I angled my hips downward in readiness. As much as I loved relinquishing control, She loved taking charge more.
With the bulb nestling at the entrance to my pussy and Mistress Belle screaming in my head to fuck, fuck, fuck, I simply stared deep into his eyes and waited, the shared anticipation heightening our love, the desire welling up between us, warming us and binding our souls as a tornado of emotion ripped its way through me, dragging my heart with it. The storm reached a crescendo as I fought to deny our bodies the ultimate act for just a few seconds longer, the tempest raging and threatening to tear me limb from limb.
Abruptly, as if the eye of the squall had moved directly above my head, everything ceased. Calm overcame me and I felt the last vestiges of my resolve crumbling as I watched his pupils dilate in readiness.
He wanted me.
I wanted him.
I pushed back.
His entire shaft sank completely and wetly, and my already trembling insides felt full and stretched. We both gasped in unison as the entire six inches split me and disappeared. Savouring the closeness, we sat still and I rippled my walls around his girth, charting each vein and involuntary spasm, trying to become one with him. My eyes rolled skyward when he started to respond, so I sat up straight and began a rhythm on top of him, my skirt bunched around my hips and the cool button of his shorts branding the hot, sensitive folds at the top of my slit.
I bounced up and down, his wonderful erection almost totally exiting my body on each upstroke and our pubic areas grinding together as they met on the return. There was simply no substitute for a hard, warm cock buried in me and I moaned into the room as I drew him inside over and over, our bodies slapping together as the pace increased. Patrons in adjoining rooms would have no choice but to listen to our rampant fucking. There was no pretence and no need for any further self-discipline; I needed this man inside me as much as he needed to be there, and nothing was going to stop us.
Reaching up I grabbed and pinched my nipples through the halterneck, shortly afterwards feeling his hot hands around mine, cupping my weighty tits and squeezing. His actions were becoming erratic and I knew there was not much time left before I would be treated to his release so I slammed up and down on his shaft, the clicking of wetness being forced from my body adding to the moans and sounds of flesh on flesh in the room.
“Fuck me, Adam,” I commanded between gasps. “You’ve brought me so much pleasure today it’s my honour to take your come deep inside me.” I bounced roughly a few more times, hearing the telltale signs of him beginning to lose control, sensing the end ever closer, trying to bring myself as near as I could to another orgasm in the process, racing against his clock.
Looking down at his face, I saw it contort as he neared the brink. Domination never felt so good. I was wet and open, taking everything he could give, my distended petals splayed as he pounded mercilessly up into my engorged chute. I gritted my teeth and snarled, “Fuck me. Fuck me. FUCK ME! Ohhhhh fuck me with your beautiful, big cock.” His rhythm changed and face screwed up. “Yessssss. Fill me, that’s it. Shoot inside me. Flood my slutty wet cunt with the boiling come you’ve wanted to give me all day.”
I felt his cock pulsing inside my channel as it spewed forth his sticky load. I adored the feeling of his thick jets splashing against the entrance to my womb and dribbling down my inner walls as we continued to slam against one another, groaning and encouraging each other with dirty words.
We sparred and ground throughout the entirety of his orgasm, fingers entwined against my chest as he roughly squeezed me. It was depraved but I loved the sensation of being filled and used as his fuck toy. Loved giving myself to him completely, clothed or not. Loved the sensation of our come mingling inside me and drizzling out to pool around the base of his gorgeous prick where it squished into his boxers as we gyrated in the aftermath.
Above all I loved the freedom he gave me. The freedom to express myself and explore my sexuality in ways I could never have done without him. It might cost me a load of indignant stares or a heap of embarrassment along the way, but time and again I pieced together more of the jigsaw that made up who I really was. I knew full well it may take the rest of my life to complete the puzzle and find the true me, but it was a journey I was willing to take.
As our movements gradually slowed and we disentangled and rolled apart to lie hand-in-hand in that so-called three-star Parisian hotel, I wore something other than just my sweaty, creased clothes, fuck-me heels and an oozing pussy full of my lover’s spunk. On my face was the elation of someone at ease with their quirky body and at peace with their sometimes sordid fetishes. Someone who was prepared to tread the path into the unknown if it meant learning more about the way her mind worked. Someone who used those experiences to give herself the sexual highs she craved, however warped. Someone who had a lifetime to discover more about herself and had a kindred spirit with which to share it.
Our eyes met across the bed, pulses still racing, and words were the furthest thing from our minds.
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