Page 103 of Sinful Lord

His hands curl into fists as he locks me between his forearms. My back arches. The pressure builds.

When I feel his thick head press against my hole, I grab onto his arms. He keeps pushing. The air rips from my lungs.

And then, he’s in.

It feels so good, and hurts so bad I want to cry. But instead, I just claw at his inky forearms and let small breaths squeak from my clogged throat.

“Fuck,” Tytus groans. “You’re fucking perfect. You were made for me.”

He pushes deeper and I cry out. The pain is so blinding I can’t tell it from the pleasure.

“You’re too big,” I whine, squirming under his grip.

“No, you’re ready,” he insists. “Just open up, angel.”

“Will… will it stop hurting?”

“No. But you can take it.”

He treats me to a small thrust and I see what he means. It’s like he’s passed the stiff threshold and reached my more flexible insides.

The pain doesn’t go away, but it takes a back seat to the pleasure.

And god, what fucking pleasure.

It’s a searing hot ecstasy that flashes through my body in building waves. The pressure in my core spreads. My throat opens back up.

“That’s my good girl,” Tytus praises as my hips start to softly sway around his cock. “Do you think you can take more? Do you want more?”

“Yes. Please,” I rasp. “I want you inside of me. All of you. Please.”

“As you wish.”

It doesn’t feel like I can fit any more of him, but somehow, Tytus manages it. When his hard abs hit my pelvis, a warm wave of satisfaction joins the pressure building in my core.

“Fuck me,” I hear myself rasp. “Please.”

“So polite,” Tytus growls.

It’s all he says before his gentle streak come to an end. He pulls that giant cock of his hallway out of my pussy before ramming it back down. The force nearly knocks me out. I’m instantly light headed.

But I only want more.

“Please,” I mutter again. “Ruin me.”

It’s only when Tytus doesn’t follow through that I realize what I’m saying.

These words, they aren’t mine. They belong to the woman from the sex tape. I’m just repeating them because that’s my only experience with this sort of thing; with Tytus.

But the man throbbing inside of me is having none of it.

“No. I’m not going to ruin you,” Tytus growls, leaning down so that I can feel his hot breath against my ear. “I’m going to make you.”

He nibbles down on my earlobe and I grab onto his back. His next thrust isn’t so violent, and it slides through my outstretched hole much easier.

The pain is still there, but it becomes less of a sting and more of a simmering undercurrent to the ecstasy.

“Make me yours,” I whisper, nails digging into his inky back.