18+
After her devastating breakup leaves her broke and jobless, Sienna Bardot is determined to do whatever it takes to find her standing and save herself from being a disgrace to her family so when an opportunity arises for her, she takes it, agree...
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Her moans are everywhere, filling the silence. She's sweating, her body hot and red from the whips of my belt. She's shuddering, touching herself with one hand, gripping the sheets tight with the other.
"Tristan..." She's chanting my name, praying to me, asking to be fucked harder by me.
I can't hold it anymore, I want to be slow but she's too tight, too wet, and she's soaking me. I throw her legs over my shoulders and plunge into her even deeper, pounding into her hard and fast enough to drive the air from both our lungs.
Yes, yes, she is gasping for air, spasming around me, squeezing my cock, milking me, making it hard to last. I can never control it when it's her. I look down at the juncture where our bodies meet. Her pussy is red, glistening. I'm fucking her harder now, holding her tighter, claiming her.
Her plump breasts bounce with each of my hard thrusts. Her eyes are closed, her sweet moans and mewls pulling me in. God, she's so beautiful, so...beautiful.
I twine my hand around her throat and squeeze lightly, watching her face turn red as she continues to take me, drinking up everything I give her.
Her breath hitches and strangled sounds breeze out of her mouth. "Tristan..." She opens her eyes. "Harder..." She begs. "Choke me harder."
Oh, dear God.
I lose it.
At her command, I grip her throat tighter and pound into her vengefully.
Her tears flow down her red cheeks, staining my hand but she doesn't stop me, she's in ecstasy. I close my eyes to the feeling. My head spins, my chest rises and my body tenses, shuddering from the bliss. My orgasm builds. I curse out, squeezing her even tighter as I fill her with the hot liquid of my cum.
I woke up from my sleep to find my hand grasping my cock tight and my shorts drenched with thick, sticky semen.
It was the second time this week something this absurd had happened and at this point, I didn't know which was worse; having nightmares of being tortured by the very woman who birthed me or subconsciously masturbating in my sleep to the thoughts of my fake wife whom I'd nearly choked to death again.
My thoughts were divided. I released my cock and pushed myself up to lean against the headboard. I was in my villa in northwest DC. The time on my alarm clock read three am. It was still early, and my eyes were still heavy with sleep, but I needed to get cleaned; I needed to wash this off.
Smoothing my clean hand over my face, I got up. In the bathroom, as I washed my hands with cold water, I stared at myself in the mirror. This wasn't me. I wasn't this disoriented, agitated, needy man staring back at me.
I took in a deep breath and pushed my hair out of my face. This had to stop. I was thirty-five with multiple companies to run and over five thousand lives sitting on my shoulders; I didn't have time for this. I wasn't fourteen; I shouldn't be wetting my pants over a damn girl.
