Page 10 of Twisted Play

Experimentally, I took him deeper into my mouth.

“Yes, like that,” he breathed. “Such a good girl for me.Look at you, taking me in your mouth like you were fucking made to suck my cock.”

I pumped my fist in time with my head, sucking hard, his cock filling me, not quite able to take him into my throat. When I tried, I gagged around him, pulling back at the last minute. Shame and arousal battled in my chest—I wanted to be perfect for him, to earn every scrap of praise.

“Relax your throat, baby girl,” he instructed, his voice rough with need.

I shook my head. I couldn’t. It was too much.

His lips curled up in a cruel smile. “I told you to do something. Now do it.”

My pussy clenched around nothing at the instructions. Why was it so fucking hot for him to tell me what to do? When I didn’t move fast enough, he shifted in his chair, sitting straighter, tangling his fingers in my hair again.

“Open,” he commanded. The hoarse demand bypassed my brain entirely, shooting straight to my core. My mouth fell open before I could stop myself.

He forced my mouth down over his cock. “Relax your fucking throat,” he snapped as he filled me. I gagged and struggled, tears leaking out of my eyes, and he only pushed further in. My vision wavered as I fought for breath, darkness teasing at the edges of my sight. Just when panic set in, he pulled me off with a hard yank.

I gasped for air, looking at him with betrayal. I’d been doing my best!

“We’ll get you there,” he promised darkly, bringing my face back down to his cock and fucking roughly up into it, not quite so deep as before but still so hard that I couldn’t react, couldn’t move, just had to take it as he fucked my face.

“You’re taking me so well.”

To my shock, the praise unlocked the tension in me,allowing me to open my mouth further and relax like he demanded. Despite my resolution to hold them back, a tear slid down my face, then another, a physical reaction to his roughness rather than an emotional one.

“So beautiful when you struggle for me,” he said, “with tears running down your face like you hate this. But you don’t, do you?”

I didn’t. I did. I didn’t fucking know anything except that I wanted to please this hard man who’d stripped away my defenses, leaving me raw and exposed.

“So fucking pretty on your knees.” He pulled my mouth off him with a tug so hard, I moaned with pleasure.

Wait, what?

“Mouth open, tongue out,” he commanded. “And don’t fucking move again until I tell you to.”

Obediently, I did as he asked, as unable to stop my reaction as I was to stop breathing.

He fisted himself, pumping once, twice, and then he came all over my tongue, hot spurts of cum shooting into my mouth as he groaned.

“Don’t move,” he growled.

I waited, trembling, the salty taste on my tongue, the evidence of my debasement visible for him to see, shaking, aghast at myself, at him, utterly humiliated, and more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

And he’d barely even touched me.

Coach watched, a smile teasing at his lips. He stroked my cheek with one finger before sitting back in his chair, sprawling like a lazy predator as my shoulders heaved.

I was going to cry.

No! I wouldn’t give him that victory. Unable to swallow, sure I was drooling all over my one interview outfit, sweaty and messy, I waited for his command.

“Swallow, baby girl,” he said, finally. The muscles of my throat worked as I obeyed. Tears burned behind my eyes, and I clenched my fingers on my thighs, my nails digging into my cheap skirt as I struggled to understand the maelstrom of emotions in my gut.

What had I done?

“Come here,” Coach said finally. His eyes slid to his phone on his desk, and he smiled ruefully. When I moved to stand, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “Clean me up.” Before I could look for tissues, he added, “With your tongue.”

My eyes flew to his, but instead of protesting, I took his half-hard cock in my hands again and lapped at him, removing the evidence of what we’d done, lick by lick.