I, Porn Star(58)

“Found something you want?” Q asks, his voice lending further fire to my heated core.

“Maybe,” I whisper, my own voice weak.

“You have to wait, Lucky. Until my craving is seen to. Do you understand?”

You’re not in control here. He said that to me in the kitchen this morning over the simple washing of a plate. I know it’s a thousand times more so in this room.

“I do.”

“Sit back down. Hands on the chair. Open your legs.”

I obey.

“Open wider.”

My knees part until the sides brush the seat and I’m exposed. Soft air rushes over my core, touching and attempting to cool the wetness forming there. Heat flares up my neck and into my face.

“Your pussy is beautiful, Lucky. So pretty, I almost don’t want to spoil it. But it belongs to me. It’s my property. So I’m going to desecrate it. You know that, don’t you? I’m going to smack, eat and pound it sore. Same with your ass.”

I gulp in air. My thigh muscles quiver, but I’m unable to form words in the face of the powerful imagery he creates, so I remain silent.

He drops to his knees. “But first, I need my kiss. Lean back.”

I slowly relax my body until the top of my back touches the end of the bed. I’ve been in a few positions before in my life, but I’ve never felt this exposed, this vulnerable before.

An exhalation of breath is all I get before firm, masculine lips bracket my bare pussy. My hips jerk and a hoarse gasp spills from my throat. Fire hot sensation races up my spine, arches my back. The natural instinct to shut my legs, contain the flames, is curtailed when merciless hands grab my knees and hold me open.

Q doesn’t concentrate on a specific spot like my clit or my furnace-hot center. He’s making out with my whole pussy, drawing my lips between his and tasting me with the flat of his tongue.#p#分页标题#e#

The sensation is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. Already, my head feels woozy. Deprived of sight, my remaining senses zero in on the sexy, dirty kiss being bestowed on me. He’s eating me like I’m his favorite food. It feels good. So good.

A guttural purr, transmitted with a distinct electronic wave fills the room.

God, how is he doing that?

He kisses me harder. The tip of his tongue flicks my engorged clit.

“Oh!” Breath rushes from me. I tilt my hips forward, seeking more of that singular pleasure.

He ignores my need and goes back to frenching my pussy. Warm, firm tugs pulls my flesh into his mouth, where he rolls my vulva over his tongue. The hood of my clit is pulled deep, strong, steady sucks further inflaming the turgid bundle of nerves. A long moan escapes me, and he raises his head.

I wish I could see his expression. I wish I could drown out the unmistakable hum of the camera.

I wish—

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Taste so good.”

Hands hook under my knees, throw my legs higher and wider. My head rolls back onto the bed and my fingers curl into the seat as he goes back for a deeper, longer taste. Pleasure spreads, thick and fast. My hips begin to writhe, my body caught in a relentless pursuit of its first bona fide, non-masturbation induced climax.

“Oh God!”

Q stops without warning. My head surges off the bed, although I can’t see anything.

“Please.” I’m not sure why I whisper the word. Because I don’t want the camera to catch my plea? Because even though I’m begging for it, I’m not sure I can withstand the explosion I sense heading my way?

“Do you want to come, Lucky?”

I swallow hard and nod.

“Whose body is this?” he asks.

“It’s…yours.”

He delivers another open mouthed kiss between my legs. “Whose pussy?”

I have an inkling of where this is going. I don’t like it. “Yours.”

“Whose cum?”

My thighs shake with the force he has on my legs. “I…I’m…”

“Whose. Cum?”

“It’s yours, Q.”

Maybe I imagine the shudder that runs through him. Maybe in saying those three words, something shakes loose inside me. Maybe I’m out of my mind.

“Mine,” he growls. “So let me ask again. Do you want to come, Lucky?”

“Yes. Please. But with your permission,” I reply. I’m a fast learner.

It earns me another kiss. Then another. The melting resumes, intensifies. My head falls back. My arms ache with the tight hold I have on the seat.

Hoarse sounds and electric hums mingle with my moans. I can’t escape the humiliating thought that what’s happening to me is being recorded. That I wouldn’t be here if the promise of an obscene amount of money didn’t wait at the end of my performance.