My Sugar Daddy With a Twist. Part 6.

Part 6

"That’s it," he murmured against my lips, "ride my fingers, baby. Show me how bad you want it." 

I rocked against his hand, my long cast hitting against the pommel horse with each desperate movement. The sound of my arousal was obscene in the dark, the slick slide of his fingers in and out of me echoing in the almost empty gym. His thumb pressed down on my clitoris, rubbing in tight circles as his fingers fucked me harder, faster. 

"You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? If not Vivian I will need to take this to the next level” He said caressing my cast.

The threat sent me spiraling. My orgasm crashed over me, my back arching as I bit down on my lip to stifle a scream. My vagina pulsed around his fingers, my thighs trembling as wave after wave of pleasure wracked my body. Kent didn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder until I was against him, my chest heaving.

"You’re beautiful when you come," he groaned, his voice rough with need. Before I could catch my breath, he was lifting me, his hands under my ass as he sat me on the edge of the pommel horse. The cool leather against my bare skin made me gasp. 

"Spread your cast and leg," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. I obeyed, the cast making the movement awkward, but the vulnerability only heightened the arousal coiling in my stomach.

The sound of his zipper was loud in the silence, followed by the rustle of fabric. Then his penis was there, hot and heavy against my thigh. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, guiding my hand to him. 

"Feel how hard you make me, by just pretending to be injured" he growled. I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, stroking him from root to tip.

In one rough thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching me around his thick penis. I cried out, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out.  Twitching inside me, before pulling back and slamming home again. The pommel horse creaked beneath us, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the gym.

"You like that, don’t you?" he growled, his breath hot against my neck. "Like being fucked like a little slut in the dark?" His words sent another wave of arousal through me, my pussy clenching around him. "Yes!" I cried, my head falling back. "Please don’t stop!"

My words dissolved into a broken moan as pleasure crashed over me, I was milking his penis as I came. His voice was a guttural growl, his body shuddering against mine as he emptied himself inside me. For a long moment, we stayed like that, him buried deep, my cast pressing against his thigh. The only sound in the dark gym. Then, slowly, Kent pulled back, his cock slipping from me with a wet sound. I whimpered at the loss,  already aching for more.

The recreational cast came off, but the lessons didn’t end. It started with the pencil skirts, charcoal gray, navy, black, each one tailored to hug my hips and thighs, the hem grazing just above my knees. Kent’s gift, delivered to my doorstep with a note:

“Wear them. Walk in them. Be seen in them. Until your next challenge”

The first day, I paired one with a crisp white blouse and my black four-inch heels. The click of my shoes against the pavement was familiar, but the way I moved felt… different. Deliberate. Aware of anticipation but anticipation of what?

Kent watched from a café table as I navigated the uneven sidewalk, his sharp eyes tracking every step. He smiled. He didn’t look away. He studied me like I was a rare art piece, a sculpture, a masterpiece and he was the curator, examining every angle, every curve.

“You’re learning,” he said when I reached him, his voice low and approving.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My legs trembled, the muscles still adjusting to the strain of walking in heels after days of relying on crutches. But I didn’t sit. I stood, my chin high, my shoulders back, and let him look.

At the café we were in line. It was crowded, the air thick with the scent of coffee and pastries. Kent stood behind me, against me, his presence a constant, searing heat, as I waited my turn.

“Notice how they look at you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his penis against me. “How they want to look at you.”

I did notice. The man in front of me glanced over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on my long legs, on the way the pencil skirt hugged my hips. The barista behind the counter smiled a little too brightly as she took my order, her gaze flicking from my eyes to my breasts in full display in this tight fitting white blouse.

“Write it in your journal,” Kent instructed later, handing me a sleek leather-bound notebook. “How it feels to be watched. To be depended on. To depend on others.”

I wrote that night, the words flowing easily, almost too easily. My free hand slid up my thigh, my skirt bunching around my hips as I spread my long legs. The pen scratched against the paper, my breaths coming faster as my fingers found the damp lace of my panties. 

"I pretend I don’t notice, but I do. I always do. And when you whisper in my ear, when you tell me how badly you wanted me in my cheerleaders uniform and long pink cast, I…" A whimper escaped my lips as I circled my clitoris, the words blurring as pleasure tight in my belly. 

"I get wet. So wet it’s embarrassing. I can feel it seeping through my panties, I can smell how much I want it, want you, want them."

I arched into my touch, my back bowing off the bed as I imagined the hard cast and your long penis, your  hands guiding mine. I scribbled, my handwriting growing messy, desperate. 

"Makes me admit how much I love being trapped…injured. How I fantasize about your hands on me, your mouth…"  A broken moan tore from my throat as I slipped two fingers inside, clenching around them. "I’m close."

The pen clattered to the floor as I gave in, my other hand pinching my nipple through the fabric of my blouse. My orgasm crashed over me in waves, my body shuddering as I came, my release soaking my fingers, my thighs. I collapsed back against the pillows, my chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat.

“What’s next Kent?”

Part 7 to come
Ashley

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