Neha’s desire to make me cum burned intensely, and I could sense her genuine remorse for being selfish—something unworthy of a submissive plaything. Gently cupping my face, she pleaded with wide, imploring eyes, “Sir… please, let me make you cum. Please, Sir.” Her desperation was palpable.
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I spat on her, and a foolish, eager smile blossomed on her lips. “Pleaseee, Sir. Just let me…” I slapped her once more, eliciting a heady roll of her eyes that betrayed her deep pleasure.
I slipped down onto the bed. Neha knew my craving for the relentless bobbing of a mouth on my cock. My reclining was her cue; she swiftly positioned herself and took me fully into her mouth. It was intense—nearly painful—and that’s exactly why I relished it.
As I relaxed, I reflected on the scene unfolding: a devoted, submissive beauty riding my cock while her hapless boyfriend was sealed away, reduced to serving us—my whore and me—here on this lazy weekend. The depravity of it all tightened my erection further; I hadn’t felt this wicked and demanding in quite some time, and it was definitely time for some self-indulgence.
I turned my gaze to Neha, her head rhythmically moving up and down, sheathing me in her spit, worshiping like I wrote the rules of her body. Her wet mouth was hypnotic, a singular sound drowning out everything else. I locked my legs around her head, forcing her to keep my cock deep in her mouth without respite.
“Use your fucking nose, Neha! I decide what enters and what leaves that mouth, not you.” She rolled her eyes backward, gasping, struggling for air through her nose. Still, she pushed herself harder—determined to become a better whore for me to use and abuse. Air deprivation was a small price to pay.
After several minutes, she was drooling relentlessly, saliva dripping down my cock and balls. One stray drop grazed my ass, wetting the bed beneath us.
Sleepiness crept over me, yet Neha hadn’t succeeded in bringing me to climax. I watched her break down further with every passing moment—each failure made her increasingly desperate and needy, her value diminishing in her own eyes. She tapped my thighs softly, signaling for a pause.
“You okay? What’s wrong?” I whispered, kissing her gently. “No,” she whispered back, voice trembling. “You haven’t cum yet—I can’t let that happen.” She snatched up the phone from the bedside table and dialed Rohan, locked away in the next room as our butler figure.
On the call, she said softly, “He’s going to fuck my mouth until he loses himself, and you’ll hear me choke, gag, drool, and moan as he does. It hurts, but it hurts so good—I’m his cock whore. This call is your reminder: this is what he gets, and what you don’t. Hang up or keep listening to him claim your girlfriend as his personal free-use fucktoy. I don’t care—I only care about him cumming deep down my throat.”
Neha’s open degradation of Rohan ignited a dark fire within me, compelling me to take her mouth again with renewed ferocity. I dragged her to the wall and pushed her to her knees, phone pressed close to her lips so the humiliation could reach Rohan. I thrust into her mouth fiercely, adding spit to make the choking, gagging sounds authentically filthy. Watching her struggle only fueled my brutal pace.
My eyes caught a photograph hanging on the wall—Rohan holding Neha, she smiling coyly in his embrace. The stark contrast between the tender image and the raw scene before me made me smirk, a delicious paradox burning in my mind. Even with my eyes closed, I saw the photo clearly and felt her tongue working me, her desperate breaths through her nose.
I tore the frame from the wall and pulled out the photo. Holding it before her face, cock still buried deep in her mouth, I caught her glance from the corner of her eyes before our gazes locked.
Pressing the photo to her face, I intensified my assault on her throat. The image fueled me far more than I expected. Approaching release with a wicked grin, I decided she hadn’t earned the reward of a throated orgasm just yet. Instead, I came on the photo, smearing my cum across her face with it. The sticky mess glued the picture to her skin.
Flipping the photo over, I snapped a picture of her face, covered in my seed, framed by the image of her and Rohan on her forehead. I sent it to him with a caption: “She struggled… but we made me cum.”
I slapped her cheek affectionately, praising her, “A plus for effort, Neha. You’ve improved since last time.” Tossing the phone aside, she licked some cum from the photo and looked up at me with adoration. “Thank you, Sir! I love being your fucktoy. Did you like claiming me for yourself?”
I pulled her to her feet and we tangled our tongues in playful wrestling, her hands cradling my head while her nails scored my back. I hugged her tight, caressed her spine, kissed her cheeks, and licked along her neck before collapsing backward onto the bed, pulling her with me.
Spent and sated, Neha drifted quickly into sleep nestled in my arms. As drowsiness took me, one final thought crossed my mind—“I wonder what’s for breakfast?”—before darkness claimed me.
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