he Alpha Men's Secret Club 2(10)
He grabbed her buttocks to steady her against his body. Then he began to thrust into her. Short, sharp bursts of energy followed by longer and more measured pumps. She never had his naked flesh inside her before, and the sensation was both stunning and thrilling.
He fucked her and fucked her. His fucking ferocity had always been incredible. His cock pounded and stroked her, and there was a particular spot he was angling for. Her G-spot. That little curvature of flesh at the back of her vagina wall, just below her cervix. When her cries and moans indicated he had hit the spot, he anchored her more firmly than ever and cored into her more aggressively than before.
He punctuated each thrust with a grunt, and she responded with little cries of her own:
“Oh!”
“Oh!”
“Oh!”
Her body was a receptacle for pleasure, but her mind ran with all sorts of wild thoughts:
I love you.
I need you.
I need you inside me and with me forever.
Had they reached a new level in their relationship?
She was fast approaching her climax. Her G-spot was rubbed and stroked to rawness, and her nerve endings ran riot, firing her synapses and triggering all her pleasure points right up to her brain.
She threw back her head and cried out. White-hot light flooded her eyes. Her body contorted and shuddered and she had the most violent orgasm she had ever experienced to date.
Rust!
Rust!
Rust!
He held her as her muscles contracted. She trashed and flailed against her bonds and his body, joined to hers. Her climax went on and on, prolonged in its intensity and sublime in its execution. Her pants came out harsh in her ears, and there was a roaring in them which drowned out her screams.
Her heartbeat finally slowed. Her entire body felt beaten and stomped upon.
She opened her eyes to look at him. He was smiling at her again.
“You are so beautiful when you cum for me,” he said.
He withdrew his still hard cock from her sodden vagina. She realized he had not climaxed yet. Her wrists and ankles felt sore from being hung. He moved behind her, and she suddenly knew where he was going to reap his pleasure.
He grasped her buttocks. She could see his cock poised against her anus in the mirror, ready to enter. It was a very erotic sight.
“Breathe in,” he warned her.
She sucked in her breath as his penis cleaved into her anus.
“Ohhhhh!” she cried. It always hurt when he first entered her back passage. But this time, she could see what was happening very clearly in the mirror. She could see the thickness of his cock entering the tight and very tiny hole of her anus, stretching her.
He rammed himself into her, and her entire rectum expanded. Then he began his violent thrusts again. He held her in a vise grip around her waist as he fucked her ass without compunction and mercy. His penis was slick with lubrication from her pussy juices.
He fucked her and fucked her until the sweat beaded on his forehead. The friction of his bare penile flesh against the walls of her rectum was raw and hot. In the mirror, she could see the root of his cock.
Then he came with a cry. A gush of hot sperm exploded into her rectum and shot into her depths – much farther than it could ever go into her pussy and beyond.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried. His flesh was hot and sticky against her back.
His semen seemed to go on and on – that burning flood of it. It gave her a satisfaction like no other – to be able to feel his life-giving sap inside her, even though it was in the wrong passage. And to be able to satisfy him in this manner; the way no other woman could.
It felt . . . immense.
He jerked once, twice more into her, and then he pulled out his dripping cock. The tip of it was still weeping with his whitish semen which spilled to the floor.
“Come on,” he said gently, “let’s cut you down.”
He unclasped her wrists and ankles from their bonds. She swayed as she landed on the balls of her feet. Just as she was about to collapse, he caught her. He scooped her up in his strong arms. She felt breathless, and not just from the sex.
“I’ve got you,” he said, laughing.
Was it her imagination, or had things changed between them? It was gradual, but he was a lot nicer to her these days. A lot more proprietary. A lot more caring and polite. He was still very dominant in bed towards her, but their conversations outside sex had taken on an affectionate quality.
Or so she (wanted to) believe.
He carried her out of the room of mirrors and into the hallway beyond. She was almost too tired to lift her head, but she took in the glorious lounge as he strode into it – the tasteful masculine furniture and decorations, all done in a décor of black against gold. The brass lamps, the golden lighting, the sheer curtains. Such clean lines. So unfeminine, with not a single female accoutrement anywhere.