The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(Huntington, West Virginia. Ten months ago.)

He follows the girl through the hallways of City Hall, trying hard to make it seem like he is not following her. Thankfully, there are enough people mulling about, looking busy, worried, overwhelmed, that it is as easily done as said.

He is curious where she is going. Her marriage ceremony—a civil wedding City Hall, not uncommon, but decidedly not the norm in the area—is set to start in less than a half hour. A small wedding, by the way those things are measured, but the reception to follow would be larger, with a luxurious reception hall reserved at a hotel down the street. A good hundred guests expected, most of them young—friends of the couple.

The girl turns a corner in the hallway after a quick look around, and he tries to camouflage himself among the people milling about. He is dressed in his dark suit, and he can pass off as a civil servant fairly easily, at least if he hides his face a little bit.

He approaches the corner, and risks a look. The hallway beyond is empty. He can hear the sound of her high heels on the floor further down, past another corner. He hurries as silently as possible to that corner, and peeks around.

There she is, Neanderthal a door in that deserted hallway. He takes a moment to admire her; her wedding dress is short and tight—too short and too right, uncharitable souls might say, but it does a perfect job emphasizing the girl’s astonishing legs, long and toned and sheathed in sheer white silk stockings. Her face is half-covered with a thin veil, tied to a small hat sitting atop her long blonde hair.

He has no time to contemplate his next step, however, as the bride quickly turns towards a man who is approaching from the other direction. The man is tall, tanned, with a South-American vibe. The bride does not say a word when she sees him, but simply welcomes him in her arms, and he kisses her hard, pulling her against him. If the way they kiss does not make it clear what is going on, the way she lifts her leg and rubs it against his and lets him run his hand underneath her thigh does. Stumbling, still kissing, they open the door and almost tumble their way inside.

He watches the couple disappear into the room, dumbfounded for a moment. The South-American man with the bride was not the groom—who is a short rather tubby young man, with all the self-confidence of a beaten puppy. As far as he can tell, the only thing that the groom has going for him is a wealthy family and a healthy trust fund. Not that love has never flourished in such arid soil, but the scene he has just witnessed suggests that perhaps the bride is not altogether head-over-heels for her new groom.

Which leaves him wondering what to do next. He has been looking forward to this, to this new Vessel for his Ministry, one worthy of his Seed, but the girl is cavorting before her own wedding, blatantly cheating on her husband-to-be. It brings her worth into question, and he does not need such questioning at this point. He is aroused, he is primed, his Seed is looking for release and to spread itself out into the world and cry out for reverence and adoration.

He remains staring at the vaguely yellowing wall before him for a long time, unable to contemplate an alternate plan. He is feeling depressed and restless at the same time, a feeling he does not care for. The anticlimax of the events are hitting him hard, and he is still revved up from his imagining the coupling that has been aborted.

The door where the couple has disappeared opens again, jerking him out of his reverie. He steals a glance around the corner to see the tall South American, a broad satisfied smile on his face, adjust his suit and walk away.

The door is closed. He does not take a moment to think, and when he figures the South American man is far enough, he tiptoes to the door and opens it as quietly as possible. It is not locked. He sneaks in, and locks the door behind him.

“Did you forget something again, Fernando?” The voice is vaguely mocking, and he braces himself for a difficult few seconds before he can overpower her. This is always the most dangerous part of the operation. He really has to find a better way to approach his Vessels.

He turns around and sees that the girl is adjusting her stockings up her long legs. Her back is to him, and she is concentrating on snapping the garter. The sight is mesmerizing—she has a foot up on a chair—and he almost ruins his plans by his staring.

“Fernando? What—” She starts to look up, and he moves as swiftly as he can.

He bridges the space in the small disaffected office—empty but for an old-fashioned desk and a chair and a pile of boxes gathering dust alongside one wall—and puts his hand on the girl’s shoulder. The usual sensation runs up his arm, mysterious and welcome at the same time. The girl’s face grows blank for a few seconds, before regaining some expression.

He looks at her—Corrina, that is her name. Corrina Wolf, soon to be Corrina Larsen. She is looking right back at him with an expression that matches her maiden name. Her eyes dart down from his face down to his chest and further down to his groin before heading back up. There is no indication of what she thinks of him, and despite the hold he knows he has on her, he shivers. This woman is a predator, he knows, a woman who knows how to dominate, who knows what she wants and knows how to get it. Thankfully, he has some help in that department himself.

“Corrina, I am your Lord, your Savior. I am the Light that illuminates your life and reveals the Truth. You are my Servant. You are my Vessel.”

She looks him right in the eyes, and he can swear he sees her desire swell tenfold. “I am, my Lord. I am your servant. Your vessel.”

“Who was that, before?” he asks her.

“Fernando, my Lord.”

He has figured that much already. “No, I mean. Who is he? Have you been seeing him long?”

“I met him a week ago, my Lord. An enjoyable man. Great ass. And a wonderful lover with a nice tool.” His Vessels, once they acknowledge his Divinity, are often without shame, but it is a lack of shame that talks of their openness to him, of their faith in him. Corrina’s shamelessness, in contrast, he feels is more of a shout of pride, a show of domination, a claim of independence.

“Corrina. Strip.” She will do as a Vessel, after a suitable behavioral correction, but he will treat her with the respect she deserves, which was none.

Corrina reaches behind her, unhooks her dress, and shuffles out of it in a move that make her breasts bounce in the shelf bra before it sends the dress to pool down at her feet.

She has a perfect body, hard and tight, like her character. A tattoo of a snake can be seen sneaking out of her panties and up her left side.

He is already hard, of course, but seeing her stripped to her underwear with a pair of thigh-high white stockings and heels—and her bridal veil—increases his arousal. Especially since she naturally strikes a pose that emphasizes her assets, a pair of large breasts that look rather artificial.

“Take off your bra. Did he fuck you?” He needs her to say it.

“Oh yes, my Lord—just a quickie because I’m getting married now.” She reaches behind her again to unclasp her bra, which she pulls off in a smooth motion that imparts just the right wiggle to her breasts. “But it should hold me over until he can fuck me properly.” She stands before him, large spectacular breasts naked for his perusal.

Artificial indeed, but also hypnotic. He finds himself glad he is a God and thus able to subjugate her, because a small part of him worries that she would have easily wrapped him around her finger otherwise.

He makes to reach with a hand and touch the fleshy globes before him, and is surprised to find himself hesitating. Which makes him almost angry, and he grabs a breast with a firm hand and presses and squeezes and generally manhandles the flesh without regard to her comfort. How dare she challenge him?

Corrina moans under his attention, and she pushes her chest forward exaggeratedly.

“I’m sure Fernando likes these big boobs of yours,” he says. “Did he come inside of you?” That worries him, a lot—it would ruin his plans for the day.

“No,” she says, suppressing another moan as his fingers find her large nipple and twist it. “He came in my mouth. He always does. He likes to come in my mouth. Says it’s just proper for a slut like me.”

Fernando’s not wrong, he thinks. But a Vessel is a Vessel is a Vessel. And he is already committed. “Good,” he says. “On this, your wedding day, you were chosen to be a Vessel for my Seed, and it would not do to mix that Seed with the seed of a lowly minion.”

There will be no kissing. Not that he has any particular desire to. She does not arouse feelings of love and respect from him, feelings that might lead him to treat her like a beloved Concubine, but instead he feels the need to tame her, to teach her a lesson.

He pulls up the chair in the middle of the room, and sits on it, after removing his pants. His erect cock is sticking straight out, as was proper of a God. The sight always makes him swell with pride.

“Take those off,” he tells Corrina, gesturing to her white almost translucent panties. There is little time for niceties, and he is in any event not in any mood for them. “Then come sit on your God’s lap and swallow his Sword.”

She flashes a grin—she was eager for it, an eagerness that is much more than just the result of his power over her—Fernando was more correct than he probably would have cared to admit. She slips the panties down her legs with practiced ease, and reveals a perfectly shaved pussy, its lips still red from the pounding she has just been subject to.

Without a word, she runs a hand over those same lips, and shivers. She is leading him on, he knows, and she is doing a phenomenal job of it. With her stockings, heels, and her veil, with her hand between her legs and large inflated breasts bouncing on her chest, she looks like an ad for a cheap fetish store. Except for the fact that she is too good looking to feature in such an ad.

“Come receive tribute from your Lord,” he tells her, torn between disgust and desire.

“With pleasure, my Lord.” She walks towards him slowly, one foot in front of the other, swaying her ass, swinging her breasts, inviting, demure, hungry.

As she is about to straddle him, he raises his hand. “Stop. Turn around. You have displeased your Lord by having a lover defile your face, and you will not get your mouth near me. You will mount me with your back turned, in a proper show of contrition.”

If Corrina is displeased, she does not show it. She turns around, and wiggles her toned posterior right in front of his face, drawing his attention to the pussy lips peeking between her thighs, clearly wet with her juices.

And then she sits on his lap, grasping his cock in her hand to guide it inside her. She does not spend any time adjusting to his size, merely sinks and impales herself upon him, letting out a long moan as she takes him all inside her tight pussy.

He gasps. She is tight, tighter than he expected. Here she is, sitting on his lap, impaled on his shaft, squeezing it hard from inside, milking it, shifting her hips back and forth and left to right, pressed down into him, a moan growling in her throat as she seems to please herself with his shaft. For two full minutes she does not pull herself off from his lap, content to hold him inside her and grind away in a circular motion, a sublime lap dance if not for the cock skewering her.

When he finally moves and puts his hands on her hips, she groans louder and lifts herself up from his cock before slamming down onto it. “Fuck yes!” she moans, before doing it again. And again.

He is holding on for the ride, surprised by her ardor. His Vessels love the feel of him inside them, and they are enthusiastic when he orders them to be, but this one, she is consumed by a hunger that beffudles him.

She takes his hands in hers and lifts them to her breasts, pressing them on the large globes of flesh. “Squeeze my big tits! Squeeze them! Fuck yes! Yes! Fuck me, my Lord! Fuck me! FUCK—”

As he kneads her breasts with his fingers, marveling at the feel of the silicon-enhanced flesh, Corrina’s movements get jerkier, her moans and groans louder, and she slams herself down more and more violently on his lap, only to finally press down and grind her ass down with his shaft as deep within her as it will go—and like that, she comes, freezing up and clenching, a scream caught mid-throat. The way her pussy seizes up almost makes him spill his Seed right then and there.

She collapses onto him, her back to his chest, breathing hard, his cock still inside her. With a moan, she takes one of his hands and brings it to her face, slipping his thumb into her mouth and sucking on it like she might a cock presented to her face by a lover. She sucks on it lovingly, with little sounds of appreciation, and soon her hips start bucking lightly in time with her ministrations. She is getting going again—he has to admit, her enthusiasm for the sexual act is starting to be contagious—he has to fight back a smile.

But he is running out of time. He has to move on to his duties. It will not take too long. He frees his hand—despite Corrina’s whimper of protestation—and puts both of them back on her hips and guides her while he starts to thrust into her to her renewed delight.

“Oh! Yes! Fuck me, my Lord!” she groans, reaching back with her hand over her head to caress his face.

It was time. “Corrina,” he says, thrusting his hips upwards to meet her descending thrusts, “I will now baptize you into your new faith. You will accept my Seed deep into your womb, and carry it to term so that you can bring forth a new generation of worshippers for your Lord. Tell me, do you want my Seed?”

“Fuck! I want your cum, my Lord! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

It is a good thing she accepts him so readily, because he would not have been able to resist much longer. She milks him thoroughly, her pussy a warm sheath like a blow job from angels.

He settles back into his chair, and lets her do much of the work, enjoying the feeling of having his Divine Seed coaxed out of him by a professional pussy. He feels the rush of orgasm arrive slowly, building up inexorably, until his balls are ready to explode and he resists the urge to thrust and rides the wave until it finally breaks and he stiffens as he is engulfed and then he comes, hard, spurting jets after jets of cum into Corrina’s womb, to the vocal delight of the girl who presses down harder on his lap with a strident “Oh yes! Come inside me! Deep inside me!” as she succumbs to her own orgasm.

She lies back against him, into his his chest, her hair in his face, breathing hard. He recovers slowly. They are under a time constraint—when is he not these days?—and he has something else to do.

“Corrina,” he slurs, trying to remain present. “You are now a Vessel of your Lord.”

“Yes I am,” she replies, a twitch in her pussy suggesting that she may be reawakened at the slightest touch. This girl is insatiable, he thinks.

“You and your soon-to-be husband are blessed. He shall be rewarded for offering his bride as a Vessel. Now, normally,” he cannot help the meta-discourse, “your Lord would grant your soon-to-be-husband his innermost fantasy, as an acknowledgment for his generosity and sacrifice...”

He lets the sentence hang. This time, he has something different in mind. He will give her husband-to-be the gift that he does not even know he wants.

“A question for you first, Corrina. Do you love him?”

“Who, my Lord?”

“The man you are about to marry. After all, you are giving yourself away to other men...” Again, he lets the sentence hang.

“In a way, my Lord.” She manages to sound thoughtful, despite her position, despite her short breath, despite the cock still embedded inside her. “He is kind, he is uncomplicated, and he is simply crazy about me. He will make an excellent husband, and eventually a wonderful father.”

“So why are you giving yourself away to other men minutes before your own wedding?” He does not count himself, of course, because he is a God. But the latino man from earlier was far from divine.

“Because he is not a skilled or imaginative lover, my Lord.” One advantage with turning a woman into a Vessel, he thinks, is that she has no misgivings about speaking the truth, whatever it may be. It simplifies conversation enormously. “And I have needs, strong needs. I satisfy them when I can, with who I can. He knows, and he doesn’t like it, but he loves me too much to let me go.”

He nods. Not necessarily as bad as he feared, but something he can work with.

“Listen to me well, Corrina.” He pulls her close against him, pressing his hands into her large breasts, squeezing. “You will love your soon-to-be husband. You will love him more than you’ve ever loved anything or anyone. All this sexual energy you have, all this desire, you will direct it all towards him. He will be the one who turns you on, he will be the one who makes you wet, he will be the one to fuel your fantasies. Do you understand?” He squeezes her breasts again.

Corrina moans against him, rubbing her ass on his lap, whether to try to arouse him or because she is itching to continue fucking is not clear. “I understand, my Lord. I will be my husband’s little slut.”

He grins. “Smart girl. Exactly. You will be a slut, but you will be your husband’s little slut. He will be the alpha and the omega of your sexual fantasies, as is proper. He will be the one to say when you fuck, how you fuck, and even who you fuck. Whatever he says, it will arouse you. And you will do your best to keep him wanting you. In fact, making him want you will make you wet.” He pauses, twisting her nipples, eliciting a deep groan. “What is your husband-to-be’s name?”

“Reginald, my Lord.”

“You will get a tattoo, as a surprise gift for your nuptials. You can put it wherever you want, but it has to be visible when you disrobe. It will say, ‘Reginald’s Slut.’ Whenever you see it, you will be reminded and reinforced in your position as a slut to your husband. And it will turn you on.”

Corrina moans even louder and pulls one of his hands down from her breasts to her crotch and presses his finger against her clitoris, shivering as she starts rubbing herself with his finger.

“I... I understand, my Lord,” she says with a shaky voice.

“Good. You shall not remember meeting me today—your lover what’s-his-name left you after your dalliance, your last dalliance before your married life in which you will pledge yourself fully to your husband, and you spent time preparing yourself for that new life. You shall never speak of any of this to anyone, ever.”

“I understand, my Lord.”

He is still hard, as expected. Which is good, because he wants some of what she gave to that man earlier. “Get down on your knees, Corrina, and worship this Divine Rod. Satisfy me with your mouth.”

Corrina wastes no time to pull herself from his lap, and turns around to face him, her sumptuous body revealed in its full glory. He wonders where she will choose to get the tattoo.

“With pleasure—” she says, before bending down at the waist and slurping the head of his cock into her wet mouth, letting her big breasts dangle between his legs. Her lips feel amazing. She lets the cock go and kneels down at his feet, looking up at him. “—My Lord.”

And then she engulfs him into the tight confines of her mouth, taking most of his cock in, sucking and licking and slurping with all the enthusiasm of a dedicated Worshipper.

(Charleston, West Virginia. Ten months ago.)

Elizabeth Bowden answered the door with something akin to trepidation. Jeez, calm down, she scolded herself. You’re not in high school anymore. She shook her head, laughing to herself.

"Too early?" Greg was there, holding a large bouquet of roses.

"Nope, just perfect."

He looked adorable with his bouquet. She let him in and took the flowers from him, making a show of appreciating their fragrance—they did smell wonderful—and then stepping up to him to kiss him. Whether he was expecting a chaste kiss or not was rendered moot by her forcefully pressing her lips onto his and driving her tongue into his mouth. Before he could recover, Elizabeth was sauntering away from him, practically giggling. She was so horny she was ready to explode.

She headed to the kitchen, put the flowers in a vase, and grabbed the popcorn she had just prepared and a few sodas.

“Living room,” she said to her fiancé who was loitering near the entrance. He was staring at the custom-built wheelchair lift that ran alongside the staircase leading up to the higher floor of the house, a pensive look on his face. “My dad’s not here," she said, guessing his thoughts. "He’s gone for a few days on a field trip, with some of his vet buddies.”

Greg must have caught the slight emphasis she had put on gone and days, because he glanced at her and a little smile twitched on the corner of his mouth.

"Living room," she repeated, grinning.

They sat on the couch. “So what did you have in mind for tonight?" Greg asked.

"I don’t know. I’m sort of in the mood for a movie. But I feel like staying in—”

“Clearly," Greg replied, looking meaningfully at the large bowl of popcorn.

She swatted him on the shoulder. “Jerk," she said with a smile. "Anyways. I thought we’d order a movie, cuddle up a bit, talk, drink some. And then...” Almost uncharacteristically, she hesitated. “Well... I was hoping that you could stay the night?”

Greg’s smile answered her before the conversation caught up with him. “Really?”

“If you don’t mind, that is...”

“I’d love it.”

She breathed the sigh of relief she had not even noticed that she had held. Now that’s acting like a high schooler, she chided herself. He’s my fiancé, for God’s sake! But between her work and taking care of her disabled father, she had precious few opportunities to spend the night outside of her own home. And with her father’s rather old-fashioned ideas about morality and propriety, there had been no chance of Greg spending the night here at home, fiancé or no fiancé. He’s so patient, she told herself, looking at her husband-to-be.

“What?” he asked.

“Just thinking how lucky I am,” she replied, leaning over to kiss him. He was ready for it this time, and sank into the kiss with a passion rivaling her own. Before the kiss was over she was pressing her body against his, and subtly rubbing her chest against his, loving the feeling it conveyed to her nipples, naked underneath the thin tee shirt she was wearing.

"Wow,” said Greg, when he could catch his breath.

"Yeah," said Elizabeth, adjusting her shirt. She reached for the remote control. "So what do you feel like watching?"

Greg shook his head, as if to restore blood circulation. "Huh, I don’t know. Anything really. Something light, maybe? Mindless action flick? Comedy? Something fun."

"Mmm... something light. Something fun.” She pressed a few buttons, bringing up the On Demand menu, and thumbed through a few of the selections. She glanced sideways at Greg, who was busy running his hand on her bare leg, left uncovered by the shorts she wore. His hand felt nice, very nice.

She grinned as she thumbed down the menus and selected what she had toyed with watching in the back of her mind.

Greg looked up when the screen resized and turned black before the movie began. “So what did we choose?”

“Something light. Something fun.” She cuddled up against him, her legs tucked underneath her her, one arm wrapped behind him, the other resting on his stomach.

Greg looked at her strangely when he saw the Digital Playground logo flash during the opening credits. “Huh, Lizzie?”

“Sshhh...”

“Lizzie, do you know what you chose?”

“Told you. Something light. Something fun. Maybe something dirty.” She turned her head towards him, and grinned wickedly. She kissed him, another fierce kiss that sent tingles down to her crotch. She was sopping wet. This was going to be a great night.

They settled to watch the movie and Elizabeth, cuddled up in Greg’s arms, enjoyed the slight discomfort she could feel emanating from her fiancé. Always keep them a little bit off balance, Sweetie, always said her friend Shelley.

When the first sex scene started on the screen, she felt Greg stiffen against her, and she pressed into him even more.

“You okay baby?” she whispered in his ear, enjoying the effect her breath had on him.

“Huh... yeah... it’s just...”

“Don’t tell me it’s your first porno,” she teased him. She pulled her right leg over his thigh, and felt his erection against her flesh.

“No, of course not—I mean...”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “You’re a man, I understand. Heck, I like them too, once in a while. They’re a great way to, you know, get in the mood?”

When he turned to look at her, surprised, she grinned. She took his hand and pushed it under her shirt, up to her naked breast, which erupted in goosebumps at the touch. “We’re going to be husband and wife soon—I think we should start to share, no? And besides, this may be... educational. You can show me exactly what you expect me to do to you when we’re married....”

He stared at her a long moment, his hand squeezing her breast softly, while on the screen a fake blonde with a fake chest and a tendency to scream “Fuck me harder you fuckin’ bastard!” at the top of her lungs was being taken roughly from behind. “Who’s lucky now?” he asked.

Elizabeth grinned. “Oh, you haven’t gotten lucky yet.”

By the time the second sex scene of the movie was underway, she was rubbing Greg’s hard-on through his pants, while he was pawing her breasts and kept trying to divert her attention from the movie.

“Lizzie, you’re driving me crazy!”

“Good! Exactly the effect I was hoping for.”

By the time the fake blonde in the second scene received her sperm shower from her beau, Elizabeth had Greg’s cock out of his pants and was stroking him slowly.

“Tonight,” she whispered as she turned to him, “this bad boy is all mine.”

“No doubt about it,” replied Greg, moaning and reaching down to kiss her.

For a moment, a flash of guilt stabbed through Elizabeth, and she did her best to push it away as her tongue wrestled with Greg’s.

“What?” asked Greg.

“Nothing...”

“I thought you said we were supposed to share. That was a thought you had, and not a nice one.”

“I...” She took a deep breath, looking Greg in the eyes. His cock was still hard in her hand. “I just hope you don’t have... you know... too much hope for tonight.”

He kissed her softly on the lips. “You mean, not to expect to make love to you tonight?”

She drowned in the kiss for a few seconds longer before nodding her head.

“Lizzie, you told me that you wanted to remain a virgin until we were married, and I told you before, that’s fine with me. I mean,” and his smile reached his eyes and made even his pockmarked face beautiful, “I’d love to be inside you, of course—but if it makes you happy to wait, then I’m happy to wait.”

“It’s not...” Another deep breath. “It’s not that it makes me happy to wait. It’s just...” She let go of his cock—anything else would have been wrong at that point. “I haven’t told you why—”

“And you don’t need to. That’s what you want, and that’s good enough for me.”

“But not for me. I need you to know why... why I’m fighting even my own urges, because, frankly, I’d fuck you right here and now if not...” She sought the comfort of his arms. “It’s stupid, really. But I promised my mum, several years ago, just before she died, that I’d wait. She told me she wanted my wedding night to be magical, and not to cheapen it by giving myself away before that. And then... and then she died, and all I have left is that promise...” She willed herself not to cry.

Greg’s hand was in her hair, caressing it softly. On the screen, two girls were locked in a steamy sixty-nine, sloppily licking each other while a man watched them and stroked his impressive cock.

“It’s okay,” said Greg in a soft voice. “I understand. And don’t worry about me—I’m not going anywhere. And if the pressure gets too much, well, I’ve got my own ways to keep me distracted. And we can still do other stuff, right?”

Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes wet, and he leaned down to kiss her, a gentle kiss that before too long she was returning with a passion that channeled the hurt she was trying to swallow back. She loved this man so much, and he understood her and was willing to give her time and space, and that love seemed to overflow her and she kissed him even harder and she pushed herself onto his lap and pressed her crotch against his cock and rubbed back and forth.

Greg’s hands were now both underneath her shirt and were kneading her breasts hard, and she moaned in his mouth as her rubbing intensified. She was so aroused, on edge ever since she thought about the coming night, that she was hardly surprised when a shift in her hips lined up Greg’s cock with her clitoris and even through her panties and her shorts the pressure was enough to trigger an orgasm that had her thrashing on Greg’s lap.

When she had recovered, she stood up between his legs, and pointed down. “Take off your pants, baby.”

As he shuffled on the couch to take them off, she pulled off her shirt, letting her breasts swing freely, her nipples reacting to the air and instantly turning into hard knobs. She shimmied off her shorts down her long legs, and stood before Greg clad only in a pair of lacy panties whose crotch bore a large wet spot witnessing how turned on she was.

She basked in the look of pure lust Greg gave her when her straightened up, his pants tossed away, his cock standing straight and proud and ready to inflict damage, his eyes shifting from her breasts to her legs up to her pussy which gushed further as his gaze threatened to tear a hole through the flimsy fabric covering it. He was hungry for her, which was exactly how she wanted him to be.

She leaned down, bending at the waist, her hand on his thighs, and kissed him. Behind her, forgotten, a brunette was servicing two men at the same time amidst loud slapping sounds of flesh against flesh.

“You’re amazing,” said Greg, when Elizabeth freed his lips.

“And you haven’t seen anything yet.” She leaned further down, still keeping her legs straight, and took the head of his cock in her mouth and sucked hard, twirling her tongue all over the hard flesh. She straightened back up as Greg groaned. “Tell me, how do you feel about women that kneel between men’s legs and give them sloppy head?”

Greg swallowed, reaching down to grasp one of her breasts hanging right before his eyes. “They’re naughty,” he said.

“And how do you feel about naughty women?” Her lips hovered a hair’s breadth away form his.

“I like them. I really like them.”

“Good,” she replied, and sank to her knees and in one smooth motion took his cock into her mouth again—and this time not only the tip but the whole thing went in—and she let the hard shaft slide down her throat until her lips were pressed against his balls.

Greg made a sound that might have been a mix of a gasp and a swear word, and she let his cock slip out of her mouth.

“I plan on showing you exactly how I’ve managed to remain a virgin while still keeping my boyfriends satisfied and coming back for more all these years.”

And she sank down on his cock, taking him to the hilt once more, this time sucking hard as she pulled back, and settled on a slow but steady rhythm of taking him down her throat and sucking loudly as he pulled back, over and over again, to the soundtrack of fucking from behind her. Glancing up, she was glad to see that Greg’s attention was squarely on her and not on the television.

“Lizzie,” he moaned, running his hand on the side of her face, “I’m not going to last very long if you keep that up.” The throbbing in his cock confirmed his fears.

“Well then,” she said, playing with a thread of saliva that connected the tip of his cock to her chin, “you should hurry up and figure out whether you want to come in my mouth or come on my face, don’t you think?”

She had his cock deep in her throat again before Greg had any time to respond.