“Shhh,” he whispered to me but he didn’t stop and biting the pillow wasn’t enough. I wanted to scream my lungs out.
“Next time we’ll go somewhere else,” he made another promise while covering my whimpering mouth.
This man was in complete control of me, and I swear I just got lost in the moment.
At some point we turned to the side and we were spoon-fucking, or so I call it. He grabbed my thigh with his free hand to keep it over his leg while he thrusted into me back and forth.
In my eighteen years of life I have never felt so absurdly lucky. This was literally a dream. I was being fucked by a hunk in my own bed. Not just fucked, but owned by him. And he kept telling me how much he liked my boycunt while his wife had cake and tea downstairs.
When he came close to his climax, he pressed his mouth against my neck. Thankfully he didn’t bite, but he also didn’t kiss. He just groaned against me while my entire body rocked back and forth due to the sheer strength of his thrusts. I can’t lie, I wish we would’ve made out. I can’t stop wondering what he would taste like. At least I got to keep all of his cream inside me again.
After it was over we laid in bed a bit longer in silence. I still remember his thumb rubbing my stomach, where his hand rested.
“You sure you wanna keep doing this?” He asked.
“Definitely,” I said and I’ve never been more confident about anything else in my life.
Not much happened after that. We just put our clothes back on and walked downstairs, pretending absolutely nothing had happened.
The next encounter we had was a little different but I’ve written enough for today.