Mick's Mission

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Lilith Darville

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Pushing my arms above my head, he went back to work. Slowly, patiently, he took me beyond self-control—the master musician playing his instrument. Alternating between breasts and mouth, he played me until he was ready for the next movement.

“Now, I want to lick you. I want to taste your sweet juices. I want to feel your hard clit as your lips open and you give yourself to me,” he whispered as he tongued his way down my stomach to the well of wet between my legs.

He poised, waiting until my thrashing body stilled, arched in anticipation. It took every ounce of self-control I had, but I forced my body to be still. He played my body like a maestro. A major chord rang through me as he fastened his mouth around my sex, tongue playing, moving me to crescendo, and then slowing just before I could climax as he continued the exquisite torture. I went past the ability to give any more when involuntary spasms ripped through me. And still, he sought more. The intensity of rippling orgasms became too much to bear, and I pushed away from him.

Allowing no respite, he grabbed my thighs and thrust three fingers inside me, manipulating that special spot that pushed me over the precipice of sanity. Exploding in an orgasmic encore, I writhed, screaming with the agony of such pleasure, vaginal walls rhythmically clutching at the source of such joy. The fingers slipped out. He kissed my lips, eyes, and ears, murmuring his vision of my perfection and cherishing me. He hovered above me, his eyes searching mine, seeking confirmation of my complete surrender.

As I arched up to him, the tip of his cock played with the mouth of my open, aching cunt. When I didn’t hate him for making me wait, I was in awe of his consummate ability to control himself. When I tried to coax him in, he moved out of reach, teasing until I slumped toward him panting in disappointment and despair. That’s how much I wanted, no, needed his cock to soothe the burning ache deep, deep inside.

The plunge filled me with sensation only previously imagined. Moving together, he took me to heights unexplored, over and over and over again. Conscious thought eluded me as his cock thrust to a rhythmic beat of Connor’s making.

The next thing I recalled was lying, gasping for air, soaked with our sweat and combined fluids. Statue still, he held himself above me, watching, filling me with his still rigid cock. As my heart began to beat again, one thought consumed me . . . I had to taste him, hold him, make him mine.

As if of the same mind, we moved in concert, his hands clasping my head as I took his swollen cock in one swallow. Thought no longer existed, only raw animal instinct as my mouth clamped over that lovely appendage. And still, his breathing remained regular and even. But I’m a determined little cuss, and it was time Connor learned who he was dealing with. This time, control would be mine.


Narration provided by Amarette Kilaridge and Kane Lewis.