Page 49 of Dirty Hot Valentine
She dominated me in the most beautiful way ever.
I loved both versions. The Cammie I wanted to protect, and the Cammie I was dying to submit to.
“Please come here, sweetheart,” I begged.
“I’m not your sweetheart right now.” She waved the riding crop in her hand menacingly, the perfect tool to complement her outfit.
“Yes, Mistress. I’m sorry.”
She teased the sole of my foot with the crop tip, and then gave it a light hit before she approached me. The crop slid up as she moved, and my cock throbbed with anticipation and excitement.
Her lips pressed on mine. Then she cropped me on the thigh. It didn’t hurt, but I groaned a little. I knew she liked it when I did.
She did it again, the kiss then the crop, many times. Each time a different area. A kiss on the neck and a crop on the foot. A kiss on the stomach and a crop on the side. A foreplay designed to drive me insane in the slowest, most sensual way possible.
“Please, baby—” I groaned for real as her crop on my inner thigh interrupted me. It was a strong hit this time. “Sorry, Mistress. Just please get on the bed. I really need to touch you.”
A playful smirk curved up her mouth as she climbed on top of me. Her tit brushed against my face, almost in my mouth range, when she adjusted herself on my naked body.
Another calculated tease that drove a stream of pre-cum out of my cock. I tugged at the cuffs again, desperate to taste her. When I couldn’t, I stared at her hard nipples. “Please.”
She bent forward and let her breasts slide down my chest with their jutted nipples, scorching me with need. My eyes rolled back. My body lifted on its own, pressing into every part of her as hard as possible.
Her kiss devoured me one more time before the crop landed on my cock. I moaned in her mouth, my body convulsing in pain. She wrapped her fist around my shaft. Instantly, the pain turned into pleasure with her strokes.
Then she leaned into me, setting the crop aside. Both her hands plunged in my hair, pulling my head to her chest.
I buried my face between her tits, smelling and licking, until she ordered me to suckle her.
I did as I was told, eagerly, gladly. With each circle and flick of my tongue over her nipples, her juices moistened my stomach through the cutout panties. And as her desire dripped on my skin, I grew even hungrier for her.
Her eyes smoldered with a kind of fire I was well aware of now. The kind of wicked passion I craved when she enjoyed herself, immersed deeper into domme mode. It meant one thing. Foreplay was over.
She yanked at my hair, pushing my head away from her. Then her hands wrapped tightly, one around my neck, the other around my cock.
The squeezes, though painful, wound me up in hot arousal. My breaths and groans stopped short in my chest, but my cock grew longer. I stared at her, the wildness in her eyes, my face burning, my head pulsing, and I thought I’d never wanted her more.
It was crazy. It was dangerous. It was painful.
But it was so fucking hot.
As my eyes watered, she released my neck but not my erection. I gasped in as much air as I could before her fingers pressed on my throat again.
I was choking, and her juices were flowing. If she gave me a couple of strokes, I’d come in her hands.
Even one stroke would do.
This was how much aroused she’d made me with her dominant moves.
“Do you want to come?” she asked as if she heard my thoughts.
“Yes, Mistress,” I choked. “But only if you’d let me.”
She smiled and shook her head, both her hands off me. “Not just yet.”
I winced, catching my breath. “Please?”
“You want to come before your mistress? How can that be?” she asked with her sexy rasp that fueled my desire painfully.
