Mardi Gras by Lacey Alexander (reading the story of the TXT) 📕

“Then suck my cock, slave,” he demanded, rising on his knees and holding his shaft down to insert it in her mouth. She opened wide, accepting it with ease.

To have him between her lips, sinking deep, near her throat, without having any control over it, was breathtaking. She felt so owned, so wholly possessed—but in this moment she wanted to be owned by him, wanted to be whatever he wanted to make of her. Her pussy fluttered with delight as he slid his hard, lovely cock in and out of her mouth, slow at first, but then slightly harder, deeper, until he was groaning with each stroke between her lips. Her mouth felt so stretched, to a degree that—under normal circumstances—would have made her back off slightly, take a break. But like this, now, she couldn’t choose to take a break—and it was arousing to have the option stolen from her, to be gently forced to suck his cock until he decided he’d had enough.

When finally he withdrew the massive shaft, her mouth felt instantly empty, abandoned—but joyfully well-used.

What now? she wondered, thinking, More, I want more of this. I want to be his slave, but not daring to speak.

That angry fire still lit his eyes as he shifted back, still straddling her—until his erection came to lay between her breasts. He reached down and pressed the soft mounds up into his hard cock, beginning to slide back and forth, fucking them. She 96

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moaned at the raw heated delight of having that ultra-hardness enclosed by her sensitive, tender flesh, glad she’d left him so wet that he could glide with slick ease between her breasts. Above, he groaned deeply, watching the connection of their bodies, and she was thrilled to see that even amid his anger, she could still bring him pleasure.

His thrusts turned rough, intense, making her feel it all the more, and love it all the better. Yes, yes, she thought, still not brave enough to utter a word. Fuck my breasts, Ty.

Fuck me every way possible.

Finally, he released her breasts and moved still farther down her naked body, pushing her legs apart and kneeling in between. Her heart threatened to pound right through her chest as she lay bound and watching him study her pussy. Planting his palms on her thighs, he spread them farther, opened her wider. Oh God, she wanted him inside. Please, Ty. Please.

Without warning, he drove two fingers into her cunt, making her sob at the hot, pleasant intrusion. “Your pussy’s wet, slave,” he said, although his voice seemed slightly calmer now than before.

“Because I’m excited. I want you inside me,” she said between heated breaths.

“You’re supposed to be scared,” he said, his tone taking on a rough edge again.

“You’re supposed to worry I might hurt you.” She only shook her head, moaning lightly as he continued thrusting his fingers into her hungry little passageway. “Whatever you do, I deserve. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I never thought about…well, so many things. I never thought about how you’d feel if you found out. I was selfish. Whatever you want from me tonight is okay. I owe it to you. Do anything you want to me, Ty. Anything.” His face looked almost agonized with lust as he stared into her eyes, then dropped his gaze back to her cunt. She bit her lip, knowing it must be glistening for him, knowing his fingers must be drenched.

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“God,” he murmured finally, and in quick succession, he withdrew his fingers, lifted her thighs, and rammed his cock deep inside her.

She cried out at the blow—hard and filling and all-consuming, and somehow, even then, she wanted more of him. His shaft was enormous inside her, yet she still managed to yearn for more. She wanted to hurt for him, to somehow atone for what she’d done.

She truly wanted to be his sex slave in every way.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Mia,” he bit off, his voice gritty, gone back to pure, unadulterated heat now, and she thought, this is how it should be. This—it turned out—

was her perfect fantasy coming to life. Ty calling her by name, promising her an incredible fuck that would leave them both well-pleasured and spent.

He pummeled her with his huge cock, driving, driving, deep inside her, so that she felt his thrusts everywhere—pulsing through her arms and legs, her breasts, even her head. The leather at her waist and neck created a hot friction with each rough jolt of his pounding shaft, and his leggings rubbed at the backs of her thighs. They both cried out at each mind-numbing thrust.

Her breasts bounced and he closed his hands greedily around them, kneading, massaging. She pulled involuntarily at the leather binding her wrists, frustrated at not being able to touch him. He released her breasts, yet closed his forefingers and thumbs around her nipples, pinching them tight and pulling, drawing them upward—making her grit her teeth at more pleasure-pain—until he let them go and she released a screech.

She writhed in his grasp then, overcome with pleasure and pain and frustration and heat, taking each stroke of his cock deep within her being, feeling wild and crazed inside, his new grip on her breasts turning needy and rough. She suddenly knew that he wanted her to struggle, and so she did, thrashing about as he filled her, absorbing more kinds of friction and hot delight than she could easily comprehend, and she sensed it making them both even more reckless and untamed. His heated cries turned 98

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to harsh growls, hers to groans drawn up from deep in her gut. “Oh, fuck me,” she begged through clenched teeth. “Fuck me. Fuck me.” It was all so good. The binding, the battle, his hands, his cock. His face, above her.

Even soaked in his anger, she loved it because…well, maybe she was angry, too! Angry that she’d wanted him for so long without having him until