Soft flicks to my clit, then deeper, rougher strokes.
Then—fuck—he pushes his tongue inside, stretching me with heat and pressure.
He’s got a long tongue.
And right now, it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the edge of sanity.
The clamps twist again and I cry out—a hoarse sound muffled behind the gag, eyes squeezed shut, nerves electrified. He’s relentless, tongue dragging filth and fire across me as if he’s trying to worship every inch with punishment and praise.
My thighs twitch against their restraints, muscles seizing as he presses deeper—tongue plunging inside me, curling, writhing, every flick a spark thrown against gasoline.
He moans into me, low and hungry, like he needs this—my reactions, the obscene slickness soaking his mouth, the way I tremble under his grip.
And then his fingers are back—thrusting beside his tongue, curling with precision, the perfect rhythm that has mybelly clenching tight, molten heat unfurling inside me like a fuse lit too fast.
I’m panting through the gag now, spit dripping down my chin, thighs wide and useless, nerves sparking with red-hot bliss as his mouth crushes my clit, tongue flicking wildly, lips sucking deep.
My body arches against the ropes, grinding for more despite the restraint—desperate for the burn to crest.
And then I snap.
My orgasm hits like a sledgehammer to glass—fracturing me from the inside out.
My voice breaks in a silent scream behind the gag.
Legs shaking.
Toes curling.
Every clamp, every rope, every thrust amplifying it until I’m melting into the bed in a puddle of twitching flesh and wild heartbeat.
But he doesn’t stop.
Keeps stroking me through it—long, deep motions, tongue and fingers in perfect sync until I’m sobbing with aftershocks and wetness pools beneath me.
Only when I collapse completely—gag soaked, body limp, skin shimmering in sweat—does he lift his head, mouth glistening and eyes dark with pride and possession.
“Well done, baby,” he praises, stroking a finger down my thigh. “But I’m nowhere near done. I promised you before that I’d have your ass, and I meant it.”
He can take anything he wants from me right now.
I won’t fight him—I’ll beg for it.
Hell, I’ll serve myself up on a silver platter, legs spread, ass in the air, just to hear him growl my name.
Want to fuck my ass? Please—let me bend over so you can eat it.
But then—Boomerang.
His throaty meow bellows through the door like some feral alarm, and Cam’s gaze flicks toward it.
I shake my head immediately.
The little cockblocker can wait.
Dinner can fucking wait.
Mommy and Daddy are busy.
