Chapter 4: The Throat Fuck
Jenna’s words hung in the air, a toxic perfume I breathed in despite the sting. Claire’s thumb circled the head of my cock, a slow, grounding pressure. “Shhh,” she breathed into my ear, her lips brushing the shell. “She’s giving him what he needs. And you’re giving me what I need. There’s no shame here, my sweet boy. Only truth.”
Victor’s rhythm faltered, then stilled. He was buried to the hilt inside Jenna, both of them panting, glistening with sweat. With a wet, sucking sound, he pulled out.
Jenna whimpered, a hollow, bereft noise. She stayed bent over the couch, her ass red and marked, her cunt glistening and visibly swollen. Victor turned her, his movements efficient and sure. A hand in her short red hair, he pulled her upright, then down. She understood, sinking to her knees on the plush rug before him.
His cock, thick and ruddy, jutted out, slick with her arousal. He didn’t guide it. He fisted her hair tighter, yanking her head back to look up at him. Her neck was a long, vulnerable line, her freckled throat working as she swallowed.
“Open,” he said.
Her lips parted. He didn’t feed it to her. He aimed and shoved, a single, powerful thrust that buried half his length in her mouth. Her eyes flew wide, a gagging choke ripping from her. Tears sprang instantly, tracking through the sweat on her cheeks.
“That’s it,” Victor grunted, looking down at her with a cold, clinical approval. “Take it. You said you could take it.”
He began to fuck her face. There was no rhythm, only possession. He pulled back until just the tip rested on her tongue, then slammed forward, his hips hammering, the head of his cock battering the back of her throat. The sounds were obscene, wet, gulping chokes and the slap of his balls against her chin.
My own breath hitched in sympathy, a phantom tightness in my own throat. Claire’s hand sped up slightly on me. “Watch,” she murmured, her voice a hypnotic lullaby against the violence. “See how she surrenders. Every part of herself. It’s a kind of purity, Bill.”
Jenna’s hands flew to Victor’s thighs, her short nails digging into his muscle, not to push him away but to anchor herself. Her nose was flattened against his pubic bone with each deep drive. Drool, thick and silvery, seeped from the stretched corners of her lips, dripping in ropes onto her chest and the rug below. Her body convulsed with the effort not to vomit, but a low, broken moan vibrated around his shaft. She was loving it. The brutality was the safety she craved.