He thinks he’s A-OK with just the cigar.
But his pussyboi knows best. So I bring him a glass of bourbon. His dinner on a tray. I tidy up around him (he’ll pay for that one…).
And the last time I enter the room, I traipse in wearing just his favorite pair of boipanties from my drawer and his old hockey jersey, big and loose around my smaller frame.
I remove his tray without a word. I start sauntering out, minx-like. I can feel his gaze on my cheeks as they rise and fall, contract and relax.
I make it all the way to the kitchen, put down the tray, and that’s when the ceiling light goes out. It’s pitch black. I can only hear myself breathing.
Then I feel his fist wrap firmly around the strap of my panties. He pulls. Hard. I feel like I’m falling, but I collide against him.
He grabs me by my waist. Sinks his finger deep inside my boipussy, eliciting a scream from me.
The Man growls into my ear, like an animal, and says, in the most menacing tone I’ve ever heard from him, “You think you can just do that and get away with it? Expect me to just follow you in here, drooling? You don’t know what you got yourself into tonight, baby,” he licks from my neck to my ear, making me whimper. “You won’t know what breeding is until tonight.”
That was a week ago. His cock explored areas inside my boipussy that I never even knew existed. He wasn’t expecting me to feel as tight as I did, so I caught him tearing up as he grunted and pounded into me. I licked his tears off his face and fed them to him as he ravaged my cunt. We both still have bite marks all over and faint bruises from colliding against kitchen furniture.
We had never had sex like that. And it was amazing.