After Midnight by Chelsea James Page A

She bucked her hips into my face, and I stuck my tongue out for her to rub herself against. Almost instantly she let out a long soprano moan and started to come. At first she tightened her grip on the belt even harder, but she finally let go. I sank to the bed facedown, panting into her pussy, endorphins and oxygen rushing through my body.
    I had no strength to fight her as she flipped me on my back. I didn’t want anything but her mouth on me—anywhere. She tore off my pants and shirt, let her eyes and hands wander over my sizeable chest and tattoos, and said, “What do you like?” I asked her to kiss me, and as she did she put a thigh against my wet cunt. Between kisses, thrusts, and tugs on the belt around my neck, I managed to tell her I wanted her to lick my clit and hurt me a little. She smiled at me, almost enough to make me regret it, then put her head into my cleavage, sucking at my skin hard enough to leave long trails of bruises.
    Dalia’s hands traveled up my thighs, across my belly. She placed her fingers on the outside of my cunt, then brought them to my mouth for me to suck. I writhed against her, and she made no move to touch me further. The ache in my cunt forced me to whisper, “Please.”
    â€œPlease what?”
    I had no idea what to ask for. My cheeks burned, and I could hardly look her in the eye. I was hard and butch and not accustomed to asking, certainly not so desperately, and it made me feel very helpless and hot. “Please, will you fuck me?”

    All at once, she was right in my face, licking my mouth. I tried to draw measured, deep breaths, but it was no use. I stopped fighting and tried to focus on what she was doing. Dalia grabbed a candle from the windowsill and lit it. Straddling my hips, she lit another cigarette from the flame and sat over me, smoking, watching me. She blew minty smoke over my engorged nipples, and I sighed with pleasure. She let me have a drag, and I savored the smoke before blowing it toward the ceiling. Then she grabbed her beer bottle and touched it experimentally to my left side. The cold made me buck and cry out, but I was pinned under her strong body. She grinned and dragged the cold, wet bottle across my chest, and by the time she poured drops of wax from the candle onto my chest, I was sobbing loud enough for the whole floor to hear. She put out her cigarette then downed the last sips of beer with her hand over my mouth.
    Dalia got off me, moving her head down between my thighs. The beer bottle rolled down my chest and belly, settling to rest against my damp mound, round and open like DJ headphones. I felt her press the cold glass gently against my lips, which was a soothing, exhilarating sensation. I started to move my hips, and Dalia slapped my thigh. Immediately, I froze. Dalia’s mouth was up against my cunt now, licking all the way inside me. It was the most wonderful thing, having her tongue curled and moving into my wet hole. She replaced her tongue with fingers, and I gasped uncontrollably.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œThat—that feels amazing!”
    I felt her smile into my clit. “Oh, that? That’s pretty, well, tame.” My heart sank, and I blushed furiously. I felt so naïve and exposed, wanting to roll over and hide, but Dalia wouldn’t let me go. I felt another finger sink into me and her tongue slide over my clit, licking it softly, bottom to top, just how I like it.
She growled into me, biting and pulling on my labial piercing. I was afraid of all she could do to me that I hadn’t even imagined yet, and that fear opened my hole even wider with desire.
    My mouth opened with a ragged breath that amped itself into near hyperventilation. P. J. Harvey sang on and on in the background, and when Dalia put the biggest part of her hand inside my tight gash, my howls matched that agonizing part in “The Dancer” where it sounds like P. J.’s getting fisted by the devil.
    Dalia