Page 57 of A Gold Medal in Love

Imani’s pelvis bucks into the air as if she can spear herself onto my cock. Meanwhile, her lips and tongue are working me over in admirable fashion.

“I don’t know… Bad girls don’t deserve rewards. You’re already getting to taste me. Isn’t that favor enough?” I mock.

Those brown hands bite into my thighs so hard I know I’ll have some bruises of my own later, causing a wave of euphoria to crest over my body. It’s not often I let a submissive have so much of me, but I confess that I do love being marked as much as I love doing the marking. There’s something so territorial and primal about wearing the evidence of your lover—and for someone who spends a lot of time in locker rooms, I get to show them the fuck off. Maybe one day I can tell everyone who belongs to me.

The thought makes me growl, and I can’t help but reach down and rip Imani’s leotard top open, displaying those pretty, pert breasts with their dark areolas and enticing nipples. I’m doing her a favor, because this is probably making Imani’s job of making me fall over the edge easier, but I need to touch her. I roughly pinch both points in my fingers, ensuring I elicit a shriek of pain that is muffled by her mouth on my lower lips. Then I rail my hands back and smack both tits as hard as I can, making her back arch in the most beautiful movement. The tableau of Imani in pleasure is the most inspiring portrait I can conjure in my mind, and I’m cognizant that I get the intense honor of painting her as I wish.

Finally, I come down her throat, and she swallows me eagerly. I feel the viscous cream of me flow over her cheeks as I scream into the room, letting her know how she’s pleased me.

“What a bad, naughty thing you are,” I tell her, ripping her leotard bottom open so that I can see the mound of her vulva and have access to her. “Shall I grant you what I promised, Cupcake?”

Imani’s only answer is to caress my thighs sensually and lick into me slowly, as though she can seduce me with her obedience.

I am, of course, absolutely gone for her. The only thing that ever stops me is my cursed neurodivergent sense of justice or a safeword from her. I’m the dominant, but I want to worship at her altar for… well, shit, the rest of my goddamn life.

Turning the toy on to the lowest setting, I place the rabbit-style vibe at her entrance. I swirl the tip in, collecting her abundant moisture, then I swiftly insert it and start fucking her. Laughing, I continue, but administer another solid hit to her breast. “I’ll stop if you stop, Cupcake. That’s the deal. So you better figure your shit out and sing for your supper.”

Imani listens immediately, but her movements have become jerky and artless.

I fuck in and out of her until she’s near orgasm, and then I abruptly stop right before she can reach her peak, causing her to scream into my pussy. Pulling out of her and standing, I look down into her glassy eyes. “Do you think bad girls deserve to come? Answer me.”

Imani manages a wide-eyed nod.

Shit, I think she’s gone non-verbal.

“Do you remember how to safe out with actions instead of words?” I double-check.

She reaches up to my ankle and taps forcefully three times, then follows it with three snaps that ring out in the room.

“That’s a good girl.” I consider her. I have plans for her, but I think making her a part of them is always a fun time. “Do you want to be skin to skin, both of us naked?”

Imani smiles and nods vigorously.

“Strip and get in humble position, head toward my bunk,” I instruct her, as I turn away to throw my hat and bra onto the floor in front of my closet—no one has time to fucking fold shit right now, especially when I could spend my time gazing upon Imani’s exceptionally wrecked body.

When I turn back, she’s followed my directions. Imani is indeed in humble, which is to say she’s on her knees, ass in the air, leaning down onto crossed hands, head lowered. A significant amount of the marks I bestowed on her earlier are visible from this angle.

I sit directly in front of her on the bed, and take a beat to gaze upon her, this woman I’m so in love with that when she hurts herself it feels like I need to tear knives out of my own abdomen.

Instead of giving her more directions, I again use her bun as a leash, pulling her head up to assess her via her eyes. What I see there leaves me so breathless that I also go momentarily nonverbal, until I find my logic again. The thing about subspace is that it looks very convincingly like love. If I’m not careful, I’ll get caught up in that look.

I move on from her eyes, seeing that her face is covered in tears, mascara, and my cum. At this, I grin. “My my, how the bad girl has fallen. And so conveniently at my feet. Look at what a fucking mess you are, Cupcake.” I lean forward to lick the fresh tears off her face, delighting in the taste of both of us that’s smeared all over that gorgeous complexion. “Do you think you should have more?” I ponder.

Again, more nods, this time exceedingly hopeful.

I bite lightly into her neck—not enough to leave a mark, just enough to make her flinch, trailing nibbles up to her ear. “You’re a sight to see right now, Cupcake. Maybe I should reward you just for looking like the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten with my eyes.”

Imani whimpers and melts into me, my hold on her bun the only thing keeping her aloft.

So I let her go, and she squeaks in surprise as she has to brace herself on the floor so she doesn’t hit her head. Scooting back so I’m at the wall, I crook a finger toward her. “Come here.”

Imani’s face pops up from the floor, eyes sparkling, as she clambers onto my lap.

I give her a long, lingering kiss for her efforts. “Go get the lube out of my bag. You’re going to ride my hand, and we’re going to see how much of me you can take. It’ll be your favorite—a challenge,” I goad her.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

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