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I’m rooted to the spot. There’s a loaded gun inside my vagina, and it’s turning me on. Very much so. And I don’t understand it. I don’t understand me.
My legs try to wriggle against the belt around my ankles, but I can’t move. I also can’t see, all my other senses enhanced.
“Please, fuck me. I need your cock,” I urge. I need more.
“Your wish is my command,” he replies, pulling out the gun.
But before he proceeds to do so, he wraps my hair around his palm and jerks my head back. My breath gets trapped in my throat.
He tugs off the fabric around my mouth, and something cold and wet presses against my it. “Open up.”
I hesitantly do as Dion says, and he nudges the gun into my mouth, my lips quivering around it.
“Look at how turned on you got by me fucking you with my gun. My perfect little poutána. How do you taste against the bitter metal, baby?” he taunts.
I moan around the iron, slurping my wetness. I feel so fucking dirty.
When he’s satisfied with my compliance, he takes the weapon out of my mouth and throws it onto the bed.
Not wasting another moment, he positions his hard dick at my entrance, and pushes himself inside in one go.
“Fuuuck,” he whimpers.
The feeling of him filling me up causes electric currents to pulsate through my veins.
The sounds of our bodies connecting echoes throughout my bedroom. I struggle to control my volume—I wouldn’t want Mama or Dimo to hear us.
Dion thrusts in and out of me until I’m a withering mess. He leans over me, putting some of his weight on my back, and pushes my face into the mattress, stunting my breathing again. “Stay with me, baby,” he says. “You’re about to get really loud.”
That said, he increases his speed, his movement becoming frantic. And he’s everywhere. Deep in my guts, in every nerve ending, in all my thoughts.
Keeping one hand on my head, he uses the other to grab my hip, digging his fingers into my skin, and I hiss against the sheet. Fuck. This. Feels. So. Good.
Smack. Smack. Smack. The sound of his crotch connecting with my ass is rhythmic.
His grunts and growls turn into desperate whimpers.
He’s close, and so am I.
“Come for me, little liar,” he encourages.
“Oh, God,” I repeat over and over, until I’m devoured by my orgasm.
I close my eyes, fireworks exploding behind my lids.
My climax is powerful—overwhelming.
Dion releases inside me after a few more plunges.
And I cry. I wail. Tears stream down my cheeks uncontrollably. The intensity of the moment, the connection between us, it’s all too much.
I can’t help but let it all out, my heart laid bare before him.
I love him, I love him, I love him.
I’m in love with Dion. Irrevocably, deeply in love.
It’s a truth that settles over me like a warm embrace, comforting yet terrifying.
