Page 89 of Santa's Baby

I’ve been here before. Fucked like this before. Only usually I’d have a hood over my head.

“Take it, you filthy fucking slut,” he says, pounding into me. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be a filthy fucking slut. If that’s what you want, you can fucking take it.”

I can feel his cock, hitting my guts.

I can feel little squirts, pumping from my cunt.

I try to clench amongst the madness but there’s nothing there.

Nothing but heady bliss.

I’m powerless.

He pulls out of my ass with a wrench that has me cursing, and I know his slap is hard by the way it jolts me, but I don’t feel it.

The cushion dips as he kneels in front of me on the sofa, wrapping my hair around his fist and pulling my face up.

I have no balance at all. I’m just a meaty whore staring up at a master with a filthy hard-on.

“Open your fucking mouth,” he says, and my eyes are on his as I do it.

I open my mouth for Santa and he jams his dirty dick right to the back of my throat. He pumps my face like he pumped my ass, deep and vicious, while I quack and retch. My eyes stream trails of watery tears as I give myself up to the man I goaded.

He can take my cunt, he can take my ass, he can take my throat. He can takeme.

I only want him to love me in return.

When I see the anger in his stare, my heart leaps, because the rage has come from the depths of him – just as the need for the validation came from the depths of me.

I give myself up completely as I choke and drool. He has full control now and he uses it, leveraging my hair so strongly that my scalp burns. His filthy dick is slick with spit, and he buries his way into my throat so far that my ears ring, my nose crushed against his stomach.

I suck in the breath of my fucking life when he finally pulls out of me, and that’s when he spurts. Long, hot streams right into my face, splattering my tongue, my lips, my cheeks, and jetting one load straight into my fucking eye. I’m blinking stinging cum as he puts his face up close to mine – my breaths still ragged.

“Do you really want any other man’s cock after that?” he asks me. “Tell me now, and you’d better fucking mean it.”

His voice is simmering. The jealousy rife.

“No,” I tell him. “I don’t want any other cock, I swear. Pinky fucking promise.”

He lets go of my hair.

“Good.”

I’m still a slobbering mess over the arm of his sofa as he gets up and walks away.

“Dinner time!” he calls from the kitchen. “Get your sorry ass back in here.”

I wipe the cum from my face with the back of my hand, my vision blurred and burning with jizz eye. Fuck, he got me good. I haul myself up from the sofa, padding my way back through to the kitchen, stark naked and a trembling mess.

I’m so nervous as I approach him.

“Want any help?” I ask as he continues chopping tomatoes, starkers like me.

“No, thank you,” he says, and flashes me a fresh smile that has me gooey. Animosity forgotten. “Just sit your butt down on that stool, and get your phone out of sight.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

He slaps my ass when I pass him, and I poke my tongue out on my way.