erection, she licked his rod. Mark’s body jerked. Air hissed through his teeth when she swirled her tongue around the ridge defining the crown, then teased the underside.
He tangled his fingers in her hair. “Suck me, already.”
His command provided reason enough to thwart him, to trail her tongue down his length to lave his balls. She relished the role reversal, temporary though it was. Normally the sexual aggressor, Mark orchestrated their lovemaking, aroused her until she begged to come, and then teased her more. When he allowed her to orgasm, she would shatter into a million pieces. And each time he rebuilt her—better, stronger, but more bonded to him than ever.
He’d said she made him hard all the time. She was continually wet and swollen. Her pussy either ached with longing or ached from satisfaction of that longing. There wasn’t a night they’d spent together that they hadn’t had sex, and most times more than once. And he was outside-of-the-norm big.
She wrapped her fingers around his shaft. Hot and hard. Just how she liked him.
She’d never had him so much under her control, and she triumphed at every twitch of his body. But his eyes glittered ominously, and with her need growing, she decided she’d tormented him long enough. She grasped his length in both hands and drew him into her mouth until he touched her throat.
He groaned. She sucked with all her might, bobbing her head and moving in a circular fashion. His salty tang tantalized, and she moaned and swirled her tongue around his cockhead.
As she licked and sucked, she squeezed his shaft and caressed his balls. They contracted against his body, his sac puckering, and she knew he was close even without his increased breathing, the involuntary thrust of his hips.
Her jaw ached, and she fought the gag reflex as he drove into her mouth, but she craved it this way—fierce. Power had shifted, and he dominated once more, setting the pace as he neared orgasm.
Until she’d met Mark, she’d never swallowed, but it pleased him, so she did. What she’d done reluctantly she now relished, enjoyed the explosion of taste and texture, the release of his desire. She’d brought him to this.
Today she didn’t have a choice. With a groan, he thrust deep and hard and spewed his cum down her throat.
SHE’D HIT HIM with the spoon! After his breathing normalized and blood flow delivered reason to his brain, Mark stifled a grin. Stephanie rose to her feet, and he embraced her in a one-armed hug and laid a punishing kiss on her lips. He dragged his mouth to her ear. “You’re in so much trouble,” he whispered. But he’d let her stew for a while.
He gave her an awkward, left-handed swat. “Sit down. Let me finish dinner.”
Confidence slipped from her expression, but she put on a good performance of sauntering to the barstool as if everything was proceeding according to her plan.
Mark formed the crab mixture into small cakes, dusted them with the Japanese bread crumbs, and while they baked, put together a spinach-and-pear salad, sliced crusty artisan bread, and set the table. When the oven timer dinged, he served the crab cakes with homemade rémoulade.
“Mm… This is so good. Thank you.” Stephanie bit into a crab cake with almost sexual vocal appreciation. It reminded him of her moans when he licked her clit. His cock twitched, and he snorted. Fortunately they had a domestic discipline arrangement. He needed to maintain the balance, because this woman had a firm grip on his short hairs. Everything she did turned him on, and he scampered around like a lovesick puppy to please her.
She’d assumed his closet was at her disposal, and of course it was. None of his clothing suited him as well as it did her. His shirt skimmed the tops of her thighs when she had stood. Her breasts filled out the starched cotton, her nipples two hard nubs beneath the fabric.
She tore off a piece of bread from her slice and buttered it. He watched her chew as if
He tangled his fingers in her hair. “Suck me, already.”
His command provided reason enough to thwart him, to trail her tongue down his length to lave his balls. She relished the role reversal, temporary though it was. Normally the sexual aggressor, Mark orchestrated their lovemaking, aroused her until she begged to come, and then teased her more. When he allowed her to orgasm, she would shatter into a million pieces. And each time he rebuilt her—better, stronger, but more bonded to him than ever.
He’d said she made him hard all the time. She was continually wet and swollen. Her pussy either ached with longing or ached from satisfaction of that longing. There wasn’t a night they’d spent together that they hadn’t had sex, and most times more than once. And he was outside-of-the-norm big.
She wrapped her fingers around his shaft. Hot and hard. Just how she liked him.
She’d never had him so much under her control, and she triumphed at every twitch of his body. But his eyes glittered ominously, and with her need growing, she decided she’d tormented him long enough. She grasped his length in both hands and drew him into her mouth until he touched her throat.
He groaned. She sucked with all her might, bobbing her head and moving in a circular fashion. His salty tang tantalized, and she moaned and swirled her tongue around his cockhead.
As she licked and sucked, she squeezed his shaft and caressed his balls. They contracted against his body, his sac puckering, and she knew he was close even without his increased breathing, the involuntary thrust of his hips.
Her jaw ached, and she fought the gag reflex as he drove into her mouth, but she craved it this way—fierce. Power had shifted, and he dominated once more, setting the pace as he neared orgasm.
Until she’d met Mark, she’d never swallowed, but it pleased him, so she did. What she’d done reluctantly she now relished, enjoyed the explosion of taste and texture, the release of his desire. She’d brought him to this.
Today she didn’t have a choice. With a groan, he thrust deep and hard and spewed his cum down her throat.
SHE’D HIT HIM with the spoon! After his breathing normalized and blood flow delivered reason to his brain, Mark stifled a grin. Stephanie rose to her feet, and he embraced her in a one-armed hug and laid a punishing kiss on her lips. He dragged his mouth to her ear. “You’re in so much trouble,” he whispered. But he’d let her stew for a while.
He gave her an awkward, left-handed swat. “Sit down. Let me finish dinner.”
Confidence slipped from her expression, but she put on a good performance of sauntering to the barstool as if everything was proceeding according to her plan.
Mark formed the crab mixture into small cakes, dusted them with the Japanese bread crumbs, and while they baked, put together a spinach-and-pear salad, sliced crusty artisan bread, and set the table. When the oven timer dinged, he served the crab cakes with homemade rémoulade.
“Mm… This is so good. Thank you.” Stephanie bit into a crab cake with almost sexual vocal appreciation. It reminded him of her moans when he licked her clit. His cock twitched, and he snorted. Fortunately they had a domestic discipline arrangement. He needed to maintain the balance, because this woman had a firm grip on his short hairs. Everything she did turned him on, and he scampered around like a lovesick puppy to please her.
She’d assumed his closet was at her disposal, and of course it was. None of his clothing suited him as well as it did her. His shirt skimmed the tops of her thighs when she had stood. Her breasts filled out the starched cotton, her nipples two hard nubs beneath the fabric.
She tore off a piece of bread from her slice and buttered it. He watched her chew as if
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