The Institute, Daddy Issues(69)

Salt star­ted by strok­ing the cool­ing gel over the outer lips of my pussy but then I moaned and wiggled, press­ing my mound into his hand.

“In­side,” I whispered, look­ing back at him, over my shoulder. “Please, Papa—touch me in­side. That’s where it really hurts.”

He made a low, in­dis­tinct sound in his throat and then I felt his long fin­gers strok­ing gently over my wet in­ner folds.

“Where does it hurt, mishka?” he mur­mured hoarsely. “Here?”

“Mmm…yes, Papa,” I moaned de­li­ri­ously. It felt so good—so right and I never wanted him to stop.

“And here?” he asked, the pad of one fin­ger circ­ling gently around the swollen bud of my clit.

“Yes!” I nearly cried with pleas­ure as he fi­nally touched me ex­actly where I needed to be touched. And he was do­ing it just right too—strok­ing all around the sens­it­ive bundle of nerves without rub­bing too hard or too dir­ectly. It was like he was try­ing to be care­ful, still treat­ing me like I was a del­ic­ate, beau­ti­ful work of art that he might dam­age if he stroked me too hard. In other cir­cum­stances I would have pro­tested that I could take rougher treat­ment but in this case, Salt’s touch was per­fect—ex­actly what I needed.

“So beau­ti­ful, my little miskha,” he mur­mured as he con­tin­ued his gentle, in­tim­ate caress. “So soft and hot and so very wet.”

“Am I?” I moaned softly, look­ing down at my­self. “I…I guess I can’t help it.”

“I do not want you to help it. Is beau­ti­ful how much honey your pussy makes,” he as­sured me. “I love the silky feel of you in my hand…rid­ing my fin­gers.”

As he spoke, I be­came aware that I was, in fact, mov­ing to a rhythm all my own. I was press­ing up against his big hand, rolling my hips, try­ing to get more of the ad­dict­ive sen­sa­tion of pleas­ure. Part of me—the part that was a tough-as-nails cop who took no shit off any­one—couldn’t be­lieve I was do­ing this. Couldn’t be­lieve it was ac­tu­ally me put­ting on his wan­ton, sexual dis­play. And yet, I couldn’t seem to stop—I couldn’t even make my­self want to stop. It felt too good, too right to have Salt touch­ing me this way.

“Oh,” I moaned softly. “Oh Papa, I’m close…so close.”

“That’s a good girl,” Salt mur­mured, his eyes half-lid­ded with lust. He star­ted rub­bing a little harder, a little faster. “That’s a very good girl, mishka.”

“Please,” I begged him. “Oh, God…” I was so damn close but I needed some­thing else…some­thing more.

Salt seemed to un­der­stand my need. For a mo­ment, he stopped rub­bing my clit and then I felt two long, strong fin­gers enter me. As they kissed the end of my chan­nel, his thumb was back, tra­cing slow, ma­gical pat­terns around my aching clit again.

I gasped at the ad­ded sen­sa­tion and bucked against his hand as he fucked into me with his fin­gers. Oh God, I couldn’t stand this much more…

“Mishka,” Salt growled, catch­ing my eyes and hold­ing them with his own. “Come for me now—come while I touch you.” Then he thrust in hard and I felt his thumb press against the throb­bing bud of my clit.

“Oh…Oh!” I gasped, un­able to help my­self—not want­ing to help my­self. I felt the or­gasm rush through me—as sweet and strong as wine that goes straight to your head. My toes curled, my back arched and my nipples turned into hard little points. I clamped my thighs around Salt’s big hand as I moaned and cried my pleas­ure.

Through it all, Salt watched me with half-lid­ded eyes. I could see how turned on he was—how in­cred­ibly aroused watch­ing me come made him. Yet he made no at­tempt to do any­thing but give me pleas­ure, even though he prob­ably had the worst case of blue balls in his­tory.

At last it was over and I fell back, pant­ing, try­ing to catch my breath. My body was still tingling all over and nor­mally by now my mind would have been in over­drive. And in­deed, I did hear an in­ner voice ask­ing me what the hell I thought I was do­ing and how I ex­pec­ted to be able to look my part­ner in the eye in the fu­ture after let­ting him get me off this way.