Wrecked (The Blackened Window) (17 page)

His low, bass-filled chuckle sounded so menacing and enticing, and my panties flooded. I continued kissing him, pressing my tits into his chest, wanting to climb on top of him and grind myself till we both came. His hands dropped down to my ass and started kneading my flesh, grabbing a handful of ass cheek and pulling up. He pulled harder on my skin and it started stretching my pussy lips from behind, just making me more aware of how naked and needy it felt, how drenched my panties were and how hot and ready my lips were. He pulled the skirt of my dress up and the relative coolness of the night air drifted across my thighs and ass. His hands were back on my ass, rubbing, squeezing. He reached down low on my ass cheek, where it met my leg, near the middle, almost, but not quite to my pussy, and pinched me, hard.

“Oh!” I yelped in surprise, but he kept kissing me, his other hand clamped behind my head to hold me in place, and the sound was lost in his mouth. The sting of the pinch faded and increased the sweetness of everything else after. I felt my body flushing with lust. I relaxed back into his arms, almost sagging into him.

He pinched me again, in the same spot, but reaching across to the other side this time. He held the pinch longer, maybe a full five seconds, till I just started squirming and whining into his mouth. He kept kissing me, but rubbed at the spot he’d pinched, and it was
so
close to my pussy. It was almost too much. I just wanted him to touch me there and I couldn’t stop myself from pushing my hips back and my ass up in the air a little, opening myself for his fingers as much as I could, inviting him,
begging
him to finger-fuck me. I felt his lips smiling against mine.

“Good girl.”

Oh my God! Fuck me!

He slipped his fingers under the edge of my panties and I slipped into holding my breath then panting. The world shrank down to his fingers so close to me, at the edge of my core, the coolness of the air against my sticky skin. I felt his hand bulge into a fist around the crotch of my panties and pull. He tugged until they were mid-thigh and left them there, exposing me. My moisture dampened my inner thighs. One of his hands slipped to the back of my neck and he paused, pulling his face back and looking at me intently, as he ran the fingers of his other hand through my wetness without getting between my lips or giving me any satisfaction.

I was panting and felt a pout cross my face. His lips twitched in a little smirk. He pulled himself closer to me and continued teasing my wet pussy, never actually touching deep enough for what I wanted. A full grin blossomed on his face as I started squirming against him, trying to get more contact, something, anything,
something
into me.

“Please,” I whimpered as I leaned forward. His hand paused. Moving my lips to his neck, I added, “I want to feel you. Please, Xander?”

He didn’t respond, only held his position—maybe waiting for me to make some kind of move. I rubbed my hands into his thighs and I reached between us, but our positions made it difficult to get a good grasp on him. Nonetheless, I started stroking him through his pants, as much, as I could to give him some sort of pleasure because I wanted to make him feel good, but I also wanted him to fucking reciprocate. I wanted him so much that my stomach knotted on itself. I couldn’t stand waiting. Taking matters into my own hands—or so I thought—I started unbuckling his belt and he shifted to make it easier for me, but his fingers actually moved away from pussy, back to squeezing my ass and a hand moved around to my breasts, gently stroking them.

I opened his pants and he helped me get his cock out. It was magnificent. It was solid, thick. In this position, I couldn’t guess at length, but it was certainly long enough to make me happy whenever I could get it in my pussy. It was big enough to make me nervous that I wouldn’t be able to get it all the way in my mouth. We started kissing again, stroking each other. His fingers had moved back to my lips, but never dipped in and my hand was a tight circle stroking him. I was distantly aware that my knees were starting to ache, kneeling in this wooden boat, but I didn’t care.

Then he did something different to me and my breathing hitched. He slipped his fingers between my lips, but not into me, and spread them, spread me. He rubbed his fingers forward and back along the length of my lips, keeping my lips spread wide, but never penetrating me, never directly touching my clit. My slickness let him slide across my skin easily, but there was no satisfaction in it for me, just worse teasing and the intense feeling of being open, exposed. His fingers were so close to my clit that they occasionally brushed against it, making me shudder.

Goddamn, this is torture!

At the same time, a drop of pre-cum oozed against my thumb and I spread it around his crown, rubbing especially roughly around the ridge. He tensed, but I didn’t pause. The velvet texture of his skin felt delicious. I brushed him roughly again and the liquid that had been there was stickier as it dried. He hissed between his lips and slipped both his hands between my legs. He pinched my lips and rubbed them, alternating between sides. I faltered in handling his cock.

“Say it again.”

His voice was gruff and I thought he was close to cracking. But for a moment, I wasn’t sure what he meant. But I already knew he liked to make me beg. I considered teasing him and not saying it but, as if sensing my consideration of mischief, he pinched both lips at once, hard and I was lost to him.

“Please, please, I need to feel you!” It came out in a rush. I couldn’t register all the sensations at once, but he released the pinching and slammed two fingers into me. I only realized that it was one finger from each hand when he pulled them apart, stretching me open and tight. I gasped at the intensity of it—the exposure, the emptiness, the potentiality of it.

I registered that I was kneeling in an old boat, with my dress flipped up, panties around my knees and my naked ass aimed at anyone who could be looking from across the lake and now he had spread my pussy wide open. And it didn’t matter that it was dark and someone else probably couldn’t see me, a rush of shame spread through me. As quickly as the shame flooded through me, I released it. The fire of wanting was simply too much to try to stop it. I didn’t care about the risks or repercussions. I started circling my hips, trying to get any type of friction so I could have some release. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I couldn’t believe myself, how dirty and sexy and wonderful I felt.

But he was strict, not letting my gyrations get me anything he wasn’t ready to give me. I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him back and, as he lay back, his fingers slipped from me, smearing my wetness across the back of my thighs. I was momentarily torn between the ache to have that penetration back and the want to have him in my mouth. He leaned back against the side of the boat, with an unreadable expression on his face, at once peaceful and expectant, but something more as well. As I dropped my mouth down on him, that expression burned into my brain.

I hesitated a little and licked around his head. I tasted the sweat from my own hand before it dissipated in my saliva. I opened my mouth wide and tried to take all of him. It was a tight fit and I couldn’t get his whole length into me before I felt his head nudge against my throat. I felt a small wave of disappointment that I couldn’t take all of him, but there was a secret glee in knowing that as well. I let my mouth get wet, saliva drooling out of my mouth and down his length. I licked and sucked up and down, while I ran my hands up his thighs to his abdomen.

This position was one of supplication, complete worship, and I knew it. I worshiped at the altar of his cock until I felt his muscles start to tense. His hand was in my hair, slowing me and turning my head, so that he could explore all of my mouth with his cock. The head slid against the inside of my cheek on one side then the other. He pulled his dick all the way out of my mouth and just rubbed the head on my lips. I looked up at him with a question, but when I opened my mouth to ask, he slipped it back in and shook his head at me. He slowly guided my mouth on him, just how he wanted it. His hand tightened in my hair and he started to thrust his hips up to meet my face. When he got to the back of my throat, he stayed there for a moment then released. He did this a few more times, until he held me there, with his cock pushing against the back of my mouth.

“Relax the muscles of your throat.”

He said it calmly, but pushed his hips against me a little harder. I relaxed as much as I could and felt the head of his cock nudge a little farther into me.

“Mmmmm, good girl. Keep yourself relaxed.”

And he started sliding my mouth up and down his cock, but every time now, he pushed to that new depth. I arched my neck to elongate my throat for him. His hips started rocking against my face, thighs tightening. My hands were still on his chest and he grabbed them both at the wrists with his free hand, pulling counter-traction on my arms to pull me into him as his hips rose to meet my face.

He got to that new depth and held me there, and he was too deep for me to breathe through my nose. A little inkling of panic started in the back of my mind, but he relaxed back and I relaxed in turn. But he was at his edge, rocking his hips against me, hand tight in my hair, driving my face up and down his cock. I couldn’t control my saliva or catch my breath. I drooled down all over his cock, and he fucked my mouth hard enough that there was a little stretching type of pain every time he hit the back of my throat. It was categorically unlike any blow job I had ever given.

I felt his muscles ripple under my arms with each thrust, as he got more and more insistent. Small whooshes of breath pulsed out of him with each stroke. In his frenzy, he pushed harder, with new intensity, and slid even farther into me, against the spot that triggered my gag reflex, but I pushed it away. My lips were at his base now, my nose nestled in his pubic hair. And he held me there. I was taut, neck stretched, lips stretched, naked ass and pussy in the air. And I loved it. I started to just bob my head a little under his hand, not pulling up, trusting him to pull out enough to let me breathe in just a few more seconds, but wanting to push him like he pushed me.

My head bobbing was his undoing. He released my hands and grabbed my hair, grinding my face down on his dick, then pulled me back. I took a gasping breath and he slammed his cock into my mouth again, holding me tight against him, groaning, and I worked my tongue, mimicking swallowing though I couldn’t truly swallow anything, and continued bobbing my head against him. This time he pulled my face up slowly and I could tell he was on the edge. All his muscles tensed and his breathing was ragged.

I sucked hard, hollowing my cheeks, as I slipped up and down and on the third such stroke, he exploded in my mouth with a loud groan of pleasure, punctuated by, “Oh fuuuuuck!”

I swallowed then gently licked at him, because honestly, he was a sloppy mess. Once he was clean and his post-orgasm tremors had subsided, I stopped licking and sat back on my heels. When he sat up, he pulled me up against him and just held me there for a moment. I could feel his heart hammering in his chest and a sense of accomplishment washed over me.

I did this to him
. I smiled against his skin, feeling sexy and powerful.

While I felt accomplished, I still had a powerful need to come. As if reading my mind, he brushed his hand through my hair, which was a complete mess now.

“Now, what are we going to do about you? I bet you’re all kinds of miserable right now, cause that pussy is soaking wet, isn’t it?”

His vaguely didactic, condescending tone had two effects on me—I initially thought
who the fuck does this guy think he is?
But a second thought niggled at the back of my mind…I liked it. But I was embarrassed to confirm for him how much I needed the get off. When I took too long to answer, his hand wound up into my hair, and he pulled my head back. He kissed my mouth and just when I started to respond to his mouth on mine, he stopped.

“Let’s try again, little girl. You need to come, don’t you?” With his hand in my hair, he nodded my head for me and I felt so small. My pussy started heating up again. He stopped pulling my hair and just stroked it, smoothing it down, almost as if I were a pet.

I became aware of how much I wanted him touching me. It was all I could focus on, more than wanting to come. I could live with the wanting between my legs if I had to, but I just didn’t want to break contact with him. I looked up into his face and we had this wonderful moment, where I felt like the world was right and it made sense, and the constant anarchy of stress in my brain settled, then stilled. I took a deep breath and sank into it, sank into him. He saw it and absorbed me.

Then his hands were on me, moving, just where I wanted them to be.

One hand rested on my ass and the other pulled the strap of my dress down and teased my nipple out. He started kissing me again. He laid me back, running his hands over my body, crawling down over me in the hull of the boat. He was tucked back in his pants and looked perfect, stunning in the moonlight as he loomed over me.

“Touch yourself.”

Pardon?

He sensed my question. “I want to see you make yourself come for me.”

My thoughts raced. I was ashamed and turned on at the thought of him watching me as I got myself off. I was turned on that I was considering something like that, because he told me to—something I never would have even admitted to doing before him, let alone performing in front of another person.

My thoughts spiraled like this and the thought came that I must look like every Lifetime movie of the week date rape victim—cute young girl, in a white sundress, disheveled hair, panties around her knees, dress bunched up around her middle so her snatch and tits were visible to the world. I became so self-conscious—of my nudity, of what a slut I had been, of my behavior and my dirty desires, of the fact that I was in this random boat at random lake. He saw it a beat before I spoke, his expression changing to concern.

“I don’t think I can, Xander. Yellow.” And I started pulling my dress over myself, awash in shame and self-loathing. He was immediately at my side, helping me dress, whispering to me, as tears welled up in my eyes and I started shaking.