“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’ve masturbated in front of your other boyfriends,” he replied.
I shook my head. “I swear to God I haven’t.”
“Hmm.”
I chewed my lower lip.
“Spread your legs,” he demanded. I obeyed. “You wear those shirts buttoned all the way up, but I know you, Bailey,” he said, running his fingers lightly over my crotch. “And I think you’re holding out on me.”
I shook my head. “I’m a good girl,” I pouted.
“Oh, you wanna play that game?” he asked, pushing my panties aside and rubbing my silky folds.
“But I am,” I insisted, panting lightly.
He was up in a flash, pushing my face into his bed. “God, I love your ass,” he breathed, stripping my panties and fingering me from behind.
I squirmed and gasped into his comforter.
“This is my favorite kind of fishing,” he said.
My face burned bright red, lying there hooked on his finger like a trout. No no, not a trout. Some other pretty fish. I wanted to be a pretty fish. Like a rainbow fish.
“You gonna be a good girl and suck my cock?” he asked.
“Yes!”
He pulled me to my knees and sat on the bed in front of me. I licked my lips and waited for him to tell me what to do.
“It’s all you, Bailey,” he said, pulling my hair up in a loose ponytail and holding it in his hand.
I bent over, taking him in my mouth again. I was better at it when I used my hand, too, but I realized I’d have to do the best I could.
“One. Two. Three . . .” he counted.
I found a rhythm and stroked him, unable to keep the spit from dribbling down his shaft. It was a mess, my mouth grew tired, and I tried to ask for a mini break.
“What’s that?” he said, leaning over. He held my face on his cock.
“Bray!” I cried.
“A break? You need a break?”
I nodded quickly, and he stroked my cheek.
“No, honey,” he said, holding my hair firmly. “No break. Keep sucking.”
I squealed as he gently pushed my face down on his dick. I choked and screamed, feeling him swell in my mouth. He controlled the remainder of the blow job—moving my head as he wished, stroking my cheek as I moaned and begged for release.
“Shhh,” he whispered, and then he threw his head back, twisting his hand in my hair harder as he came in my mouth. He groaned, holding me still, making sure I took every last drop. He pulled out, watching my face carefully.
“What are you gonna do with all that semen in your mouth?” he asked, grinning maliciously.
I tried to stand up but lost my balance and fell to the side. He laughed.
“Were you trying to make it to the bathroom to spit it out?”
I nodded.
“No, honey,” Reece said. “I need you to swallow it.”
My eyes grew wide.
“Go on.”
I scowled. He bent over and picked me up like a baby, laying me carefully on the bed. I twisted my body, trying to free my wrists that were still tied behind my back. He shook his head.
“Swallow.”
I grunted. He placed a pillow under my hips to ease the pressure on my wrists.
“Swallow,” he repeated.
I squealed.
He spread my legs and dipped his face between them, licking my swollen *.
“Somebody’s wet,” he noted.
I tried to buck him off me, and he pushed my knees into the bed, holding me spread wide.
“Bailey, Bailey, Bailey,” he said, staring at me between my legs. “You have the prettiest little *. And she looks like she needs to get off. Badly.” He paused and looked up at me. “So swallow my come so I can make her feel good.”
I thrust my hips forward. I was completely powerless against my sexual needs. My brain said not to give into his brutishness (even though I secretly liked it), but my body rebelled against every thought.
“Awww, you want my mouth on your *?” he asked, watching my hips move desperately.
I whimpered.
He bent down and kissed me gently, teasing me open with his tongue. He kept it there, right at my opening, torturing me. And then he spoke against my flesh.
“Swallow my come, and I’ll make you come.”
For the record, I don’t care what any woman says. No one likes swallowing come. And if she says she does, she’s just trying to be cool. It’s disgusting and vomit-inducing. The only reason we do it is because it drives men wild. Or in this case, the only way to get eaten out. I swallowed, trying hard to ignore the burn as it slid down my throat, leaving a nice bleachy aftertaste.
“Ugh!” I cried. “Yuck! Fluck!”
“‘Yuck’ and ‘fluck,’ huh?” Reece asked.
“You’re an oral sex bully!” I gasped.
“Oh, Bailey, hush up,” Reece replied, before plunging his tongue in me.
I moaned as he held me down—thighs spread wide and aching—concentrating on his lips nipping my clit. Then drawing it into his mouth. Sucking gently. Tweaking it with his tongue. Tickling me with his fingers. Playing games with my body where he withheld the amount of pressure against my clit he knew I needed in order to come.
I begged. I promised all sorts of things. I even cried.
“Stop torturing me,” I sniffed.
He brought me to the brink of an orgasm. He knew I was there. He could feel my body contract around his finger. And he took his hand and mouth away.
“Reece!” I screamed.
He kissed my inner thighs, giving my body a few minutes to calm down—giving the orgasm time to recede—before kissing me again. He swirled his tongue, and I was consumed all over, feeling the excitement build even faster this time. I willed my muscles to keep from contracting. Perhaps I could trick him before he realized I was about to explode. But my body betrayed me, and he felt the tightening on his finger once more, pulling out and backing away before I reached my climax.
“Motherfucker!” I shouted, my face wet with tears and sweat.
“Now Bailey,” Reece chided. “Is that any way to talk to the man who’s making you feel so good?”
“But you’re not,” I whimpered. “You’re being mean to me.”