He couldn’t take much more of this manual torture. He needed the heat of her.
"Stop," he gasped, grabbing her wrist.
She froze, looking up at him with wide, questioning eyes.
"Use your mouth," he whispered.
She pulled back slightly, a flicker of disgust or perhaps just shock crossing her face. It was dirty. It was sothing animals did. But Sol’s hand was in her hair, his fingers weaving through the strands, gently but firmly guiding her forward.
"Taste ," he breathed. "Try a sip." He encouraged.
She finally leaned in, her resistance crumbling under his will. She approached him as if he were a dangerous animal. She didn’t open her mouth imdiately. Instead, she extended her tongue, pink and wet, and licked the very tip.
The sensation jolted through her like a live wire. His knees almost buckled. She licked him like a cat lapping at cream...tentative, curious, rough yet soft.
"More," Sol growled, his hands tightening in her hair. "Everywhere."
Encouraged, she grew bolder. She kissed the tip, her tongue darting out to taste the pearl of fluid gathering there. Then licked down the side, tasting the salt, her tongue swirling over the veins.
She licked along the length of his cock, learning the shape, with her tongue, her inhibitions lting away under the heat of his praise. She explored him with a thorough, innocent curiosity that was maddeningly erotic. She continued to follow his hushed instructions, learning the map of his pleasure as if it were a sacred text.
Sol literally shuddered, his hands finding her hair, weaving his fingers through the thick, tangled strands, gripping her scalp gently to anchor himself.
"More," he urged, his voice straining. "Taste everything."
She nodded and moved lower, at his whispered instruction, tasting and licking his balls, she tentatively took one ball in her mouth first, he encouraged her with eyes, before she took both of his balls in her mouth and sucked them gently,
Sol’s control was fraying. The sensation of her warmth, the wet glide of her tongue, the sight of the hunter’s wife serving him with such absolute focus... it was overloading his senses.
But oblivious to this she continued before returning to his cock, by tracing a wet path with her tongue.
She was washing his cock all over again with her tongue, worshipping him, and she didn’t even realize she was drowning in his control.
Sol couldn’t wait any longer. The sight, the wet sound, the heat of her breath... it utterly snapped his restraint.
"Open your mouth," he commanded, his voice straining.
She opened wide as he grabbed her head with both hands and pulled her onto him. She gasped, her lips stretching to accommodate his width. But obviously he didn’t stop at the lips. He pushed past her teeth, over her tongue, watching her cheeks distend, before sliding deep into the wet heat of her throat until he hit the back, watching her eyes widen as he filled her mouth completely.
Her eyes watered, a tear tracking through the dust on her cheek, but she didn’t pull away. She accepted him, her throat working to swallow him whole.
The sensation was absolutely heavenly as a shock of wet heat that enveloped him completely. She was inexperienced, her movents hesitant, but that only added to the eroticism of the mont. Sol groaned, his hands tightening in her hair, guiding her rhythm. He taught her with his body, thrusting slowly, showing her how to relax her throat, how to use her tongue.
She learned quickly. Her hesitation lted away, replaced by a desperate eagerness to please. She began to bob her head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, drawing him deeper.
Sol looked down, watching the obscene, beautiful sight of her serving him. He saw the way her dark hair spilt over his thighs, the way her eyes rolled back slightly as she worked.
"Deeper," he commanded, his voice straining.
He continued pushing into her, sliding deep into the tight, constricting heat of her throat until he hit the back.
She gagged slightly, her eyes watering instantly, her throat convulsing around him, a natural rejection of the invasion.
But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she moaned around him, a muffled vibration that traveled straight to his core. She took him to the back of her throat, creating a suction that felt like it was pulling his soul out of his body.
Seeing her struggle, he didn’t rush. He just held her there for a long, agonizing mont, forcing her to adjust, to relax her throat muscles around his width. She made a muffled, desperate sound...half whimper, half moan...as she fought to breathe through her nose, her hands clutching at his thighs for support. Saliva pooled in her mouth, unable to be swallowed, and spilled over her lips, slicking his cock and dripping onto his legs.
It was the most visceral, degrading, and erotic sight Sol had ever seen, but he thoroughly enjoyed it nevertheless.
When he felt her throat relax slightly, accepting his presence, he began to move.
It wasn’t the gentle, tentative exploration of before. This was possession. He established a rhythm that was borderline cruel, withdrawing almost all the way out until just the tip remained on her tongue, then snapping his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt again.
Thrust. Drag. Thrust.
She couldn’t keep up. She was forced to bob her head frantically, her cheeks stretching taut as he filled her. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth working him filled the small hut, drowning out the distant drums of the festival.
Sol looked down, watching the way her face contorted, the way her silver eyes rolled back, trying to focus on him through the haze of tears and exertion. She looked wrecked. She looked beautiful.
He controlled the pace again, his grip on her hair firm, guiding her movents. It wasn’t just physical pleasure; it was a psychological feast. With every drag of her lips, with every desperate noise she made against him, Sol felt the old, weak version of himself dying a little more. The boy who begged for scraps was gone, replaced by this man who took what he wanted.
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