My Sugar Daddy With a Twist. Part 9.

Part 9

I put the vaginal cream on my fingers before circling my clitoris with slow, deliberate strokes. A shuddering breath escaped me. "Ohhh, yes..." My free hand gripped the edge of the cast, fingers digging into the unyielding surface as if I could anchor myself to the pleasure. I clench around my fingers, my thighs slick with arousal. I pulled my fingers out with a wet pop, bringing them to my mouth. The salty, musky taste made my head spin. I sucked them clean. 

Kent visited me the next day. His presence filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy, electric, impossible to ignore. He’s everywhere, his movements deliberate, his touch lingering. He chooses my clothes, holding up dresses that are shorter, tighter, designed to slip over my cast with ease and lets be honest show off my assets. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety purr as he helps me into a black slip dress. The fabric clings to my breast with no bra, the hem riding up to expose the black of the cast against my skin.

“And this,” he says, producing a single high-heel pump, glossy red leather with a slender, four-inch heel. “For your good foot.”

I protest, weakly, but he silences me with a kiss and a look, his eyes dark, unreadable, and I obey. He kneels before me, his fingers brushing against my ankle as he slides the pump onto my bare foot. His touch lingers, his thumb stroking the arch of my one foot, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through me. He is so close to my broken leg, his thigh pressing against my cast, his hand resting possessively on my exposed toes.

And then, there are the messages.

Late at night, when he’s asleep and the apartment is silent, I scroll through his phone, a clear violation I know… But I both crave and dread it. His messages are cryptic, conversations with names I don’t recognize, references to “the plan,” to “phase two. Break Vivian’s leg” His files are filled with old photos, women, all in casts, braces, wheelchair, all with the same sensual and sexy look and hungry eyes. 

All except one, my mother in 1987.

Something about him feels rehearsed, planned. As if every word, every touch, every gesture is part of a script he’s been perfecting for years. When he’s there, it’s easy to forget. His gaze, dark, possessive, hungry, makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters in the world.

But when he’s gone, the cold reality creeps in. I’m locked in his world. And the ache, the ache for more is unbearable. 

What’s next? No sex for two weeks. No release. No relief he orders.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this,” That was 2 weeks later… His breath warms against my skin as he trails his fingers up the back of my good calf, over my knee, beneath the dress. His palm cups the back of my thigh, his thumb dangerously close to the edge of my panties. “To touch you properly.”

I whimper. 

“Shh.” His other hand slides up my cast, his fingers tracing the edge where the black cast meets my skin, just below the hem of the dress. “I’ve thought about this. About you. About how to make you feel good even with this damn thing in the way.”

His mouth presses to the inside of my knee, the one that isn’t trapped, and I gasp, my grip on the crutches faltering. He steadies me with a hand on my hip, his lips moving higher, his tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. The dress rides up further, and I’m exposed to him, my lace panties the only thing between his mouth and where I ache.

“Patience, Vivian.”

His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties and drag them down my good leg, letting them pool around my ankle before he tugs them free entirely. The cool air hits my wetness, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of how exposed I am with one leg bare, the other in a cast, my dress around my waist.

His hands grip my ass, pulling me forward until my good leg is forced to step wider, the heel wobbling precariously. His breath is hot against my pussy, and I can feel his smile against my skin.

“So fucking wet for me already, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“I bet you’ve been thinking about my penis, haven’t you? About how it’s going to feel when I finally penetrate you.”

“Yes” The words spill out of me, shameless. I’ve fantasized about it and I’m not proud of it. About him lifting my long heavy cast onto his shoulder so he could drive into me, about him pinning me down and making me his, making me crawl to him naked, wearing only the cast.

“Tell me what you want, ” he orders, stroking himself slowly, his grip tight. “Tell me how you want it.”

I lick my lips. “I want you to lift my broken leg, this fucking leg you broke and put it on your shoulder. I want you to make me forget you broke me.”

A growl rumbles in his chest. In one swift motion, he bends, hooking his arm under my cast and lifting it effortlessly, draping it over his shoulder. The shift in balance makes me gasp, but his other arm bands around my waist, holding me steady. The position opens me up completely, my pussy bared to him, my good leg trembling in the heel as I cling to his shoulders.

“Like this?” he murmurs, the head of his large penis brushing against my wetness.

“You want me to fuck you just like this?”

“Yes”

He doesn’t make me beg again. With one deep thrust, he buries himself inside me, filling me so completely I see stars. The stretch burns, but it’s good, the kind of pain that makes My Sugar Daddy With a Twist. Part 9.you arch into it, that makes you need more.

My nails dig into his skin, my body straining to take all of him. He’s so deep in this position, the angle hitting places I’ve barely touched myself. His hips snapping forward in short, sharp thrusts. “So tight. So perfect.” His hand slides between us, his fingers finding my clitoris again, rubbing in time with his movements. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours, only yours, Oh god… but why did you do it????”

His pace picks up, his penis goes in and out the noise obscene and perfect. The cast digs into his shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to care, his grip on my waist bruising as he holds me in place, fucking me like he’s trying to brand me from the inside out.

“You’re mine, and I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.” 

“I’m going to make you forget that I’m…Responsible for your broken leg”

Conclusion to come
Ashley

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