Page 12 of Mr. Strategic

He eased his cock out and then flipped my skirt up so he could drag his thick member down the length of my slit, only covered with my lacy underwear.

Michael loved the look of my conservative professional clothes paired with the naughty thrill of really slutty panties only he could see.

He grunted approvingly when he saw them, then yanked the fabric to the side so he could position his cock at my entrance.

My feet were dangling in the air, but I stretched on my tiptoes as much as I could, just barely reaching the ground, and caught my breath.

Even now, I had to consciously relax my body or he’d be unbearably big in my tight channel.

But I was very used to this too, and I breathed out carefully as he pressed his cock inside me.

1-2-3

And then again

1-2-3

Just a little further, as I worked on opening up, spreading my thighs as wide as I could.

Unfortunately, my treacherous body was always slick and wet, always ready for him. Ever since I’d met him. It was like he was the freaking Pied Piper and I was the little mouse following him worshipfully.

Stupid

He began to grind my hips down over his cock, stuffing me so full my cunt strained around him.

“This is real,” Michael said, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “Nothing else. Don’t bring that other shit home. Not to this house.”

Back and forth he ground my body in that hypnotic motion.

Now was about the time I’d fake an orgasm.

Every time.

I didn’t half-ass it either.

I gave it the whole production, from moans to tensing my cunt in fake little pulses.

But suddenly, I didn’t feel like doing it. Didn’t feel like fucking doing it at all. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to make myself fake it.

Michael groaned as I rotated my hips over his dick, sinking as deep as I could, then using the muscles in my calves to drag my pussy up his cock so I could sink down again.

“Fuck. You feel so good.”

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, pulling my long thick hair out of its prim braid so it fell all down my back and he could tighten his fingers in it. He yanked me closer so he could kiss his way down my throat and across my collarbone.

“You can come now,” he grunted.

But I wasn’t going to.

He could try to talk me out of getting a divorce, but he wasn’t getting this.

Instead, my hands tightened on the arms of the chair, and I raised myself on my toes harder now, stretching until the muscles in my calves burned, then sinking down until my ass hit his thighs again.

Muscles screaming at me, I rotated my hips and did it again, in the way I knew he liked.

I felt powerful for the first time in a long while.

He tightened his hold on me, arms wrapped around my back now, his teeth sinking into the skin of my breasts, biting up the column of my throat.