Mia's French Connection

 

Pablo’s tongue is between Mia’s legs, each movement calculated and almost cruelly slow. He quickens the tempo slightly in response to her moans of pleasure and frustration but just when she is on the brink of orgasm it becomes maddeningly slow again. Mia begs him to increase the speed and pressure: “Oh my God, you fucking arsehole, FASTER, HARDER!” but his response now is to go even slower, letting her know who’s boss. “I fucking hate you,” she hisses, pulling at his hair. “I HATE YOU.”

He reacts by standing up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and slitting his eyes at her.

“I will lie on the bed and you will sit on top of me. In reverse,” he says, tearing open a condom packet.  

“Fuck you, you bastard,” says Mia, but within a couple of seconds she has complied. She likes the way he grabs her arms and forces them behind her back so she can’t use her hands. She grinds herself on top of him and when he thrusts his pelvis so his thick cock is knocking against her cervix she comes noisily and immediately, his grip on her arms even tighter as she writhes and bucks. His fingers are digging into her skin and she wonders if she will have bruises tomorrow. The thought excites her.

“Now you will lie on your stomach on the bed and I will fuck you doggy-style,” says Pablo, after she has regained her breath. They fuck for another forty minutes and in another five positions before he finally comes in a series of satisfied grunts.

“That was enjoyable,” he says, with a short nod of approval, expertly peeling the condom from his still-swollen dick.