Best Bondage Erotica 2 Read Online Free

stuff around on the bed. Suddenly there’s a sharp thwack sound in the air, simultaneous with a stinging smack on my ass.
    “ Shit ,” I screech. It was too unexpected and it really hurts.
    “Clean your hairbrush already,” he says. “It’s disgusting.”
    I make a mental note to clean the “icky brush” or maybe to just buy a brand-new one. I’m waiting with a keen sense of anticipation, but there are no more smacks across my ass. The sting of that sole stroke of the brush is radiating across my cheek. If he wanted to hit me some more, I would be okay with it. If he wanted to spank me with that brush repeatedly, until my flesh was burning, until I was bawling like a little kid, I would be all right with that, too. I don’t tell him that, I don’t say anything at all, but in my secret heart I know it’s true. He could push me much harder than he usually does and I would follow his lead without complaining. I might cry or whimper. I might beg him to show a little mercy, but I wouldn’t complain. I would writhe in absolute ecstasy instead, I’m sure of it.
    “Shit!” I cry out again, only this time it’s because the lube he just squirted up my ass is icy cold. “Oh god,” I’m moaning as I succumb to the anticipation of it, to the head of the silicone dildo that’s suddenly sliding into my ass. “Yes,” I stutter. Christ, it feels good. And now this is my whole world, the focus of all my lust: the insertion of the slick dick into my ass, pushing me open easily, finding its way up my depths and filling me with cold and that insane pressure of fullness.
    Usually he slides the dick in up to its fake balls and just lets it sit there in my ass, taking his time with me, going about his business. But now we are paying by the hour and I’m a long way from home. Today, we’re pressed for time. He uses that silicone dick for what it was made to do. He fucks my ass with it. But the motion is too sudden. He’s a little too thorough with that fake dick, a little too rough. I cry out, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t stop.

    I won’t admit it to him, or to anyone else on earth, but I love this very thing, when I can’t differentiate between pleasurable ass-fucking and ass-fucking that is way too rough. I’m crying now, I’m begging for him to stop, but my ass is arching up higher, helping the dildo get in deep.
    I’m crying but the words that are coming out of my mouth are, “Fuck me, Enrique, fuck me.”
    In a mere moment, the dildo is out and he’s between my legs on the bed, mounting me, my ass in his steady grip as he aims his cock at my slicked-up hole and pushes it in.
    But now this is really too much. I can’t handle this. His cock feels huge and my hole isn’t ready for this size of intrusion. “Ricky, no,” I’m begging. “No, it hurts.”
    But his slick cock is taking over my hole, forcing it to fit his generous proportions. I know I can take it, I can open for him. I can take him balls deep. “Shit,” I’m crying. “Shit, it hurts.”
    And then just as suddenly as it was intrusive, his furious, relentless cock-rhythm has opened me completely. It becomes a smooth ride, a heavenly connection of slick force and speed. I wish there were more of him to fill me. I want to take him in me as deep as anything can get.
    “How you doing, Mami?” he calls down from the darkness.
    “Good,” I cry distractedly into the blanket. “I’m good.”
    “You ready for Papi to come?”
    “Yeah,” I say, “I’m ready for Papi to come.”
    “Where do you want it? Where should Papi come?”
    “Up my ass, you can come up my ass.” But I can’t tell if he’s wearing a rubber or not. This could be the real deal; if he’s riding me bareback and he comes up my ass—how well do I really know him? How well do we really know anyone, I wonder? Fleeting visions of my husband surface in my head. He’s supposedly hard at work in some lush office on Wall Street—who’s he fucking now and is he wearing