Make Me Moan, Daddy Chapter 100

DONICO

I knelt between her spread thighs on the soft rug, hooked my arms under her knees, and pushed them back slowly until she was folded nearly in half again, completely open and exposed.

Her pussy glistened bright red and puffy, swollen from everything I’d done to her, leaking thick streams of my cum in slow, filthy rivulets down toward her ass.

I dragged the head of my cock through the ss once, coating myself again, then slid back inside in one smooth, deep thrust that buried to the root. She cried out sharp and broken, hands clutching the rug on either side of her head, knuckles white, back already arching.

"Fuck! Donico!" She gasped, voice raw and filthy. "You’re so deep!"

"Deep enough to feel tomorrow?" I rasped, pulling back slow and slamming in again. "Every ti you move, you’ll rember who wrecked this cunt."

She moaned loud, legs trembling in my grip. "Yes... God, yes."

I started fucking her missionary—slow and deliberate at first, leaning down to kiss her deep and filthy, swallowing every desperate moan and gasp that spilled from her throat. Our tongues slid together, wet and ssy, tasting sweat and sex.

Then I picked up speed—faster, harder, hips slamming forward with wet, rhythmic force that made her whole body jolt. Her legs wrapped tight around my waist on instinct, heels digging hard into my lower back, pulling deeper like she couldn’t stand even a milliter of space.

"Greedy little thing," I growled against her mouth. "Even after all that, you still want more. You still need this cock stretching you open."

"I do," she whimpered, nails scraping down my arms. "I need it. Don’t stop."

I shifted my grip, pushed her knees wider apart, forcing her open even more. The new angle let the head of my cock drag roughly against her front wall with every long, punishing stroke. She scread raw, back bowing clean off the rug, fingers scrabbling for anything to hold onto.

"Right there?" I taunted, grinding deep on the next thrust. "That the spot that makes you fall apart? Tell ."

"There... fuck... right fucking there, please..." She sobbed.

Sweat dripped steadily from my chest onto her tits, sliding down between them in shiny trails. She reached up suddenly, yanked down hard against her, nails digging fresh, burning lines into my shoulder blades and back.

I pounded into her relentlessly, the rug scraping my knees raw, but I didn’t feel pain—only her. Tight, hot, perfect, clenching around like she never wanted to leave.

"Feel how wet you are?" I muttered against her neck, biting the skin hard enough to mark her. "Hear it? That’s us. That’s leaking out of you every ti I pull back, and you still sucking right back in."

She sobbed my na, hips rolling up to et every thrust, thighs quivering uncontrollably. "I’m close again, Donico, I can’t go any further. I can’t..."

"You can," I snarled, voice dark. "You’re going to co one more ti with buried inside you. I want to feel you break while I fill you up again."

I reached between us, thumb finding her clit—swollen, slick, sensitive—and rubbed fast, tight circles without rcy. Pinching so hard her whole body jerked against mine.

Her entire body locked up.

"Co on," I urged, low and rough. "Let go. Show how much you love being fucked raw."

We ca together this final ti—her pussy clenching hard and sudden around like a fist, dragging my orgasm out of . I groaned her na into her open mouth, cock pulsing deep as I spilled one last thick, heavy load inside her, hips jerking with every spurt.

The pleasure hit so hard my vision blurred at the edges. She milked through it, walls fluttering in long waves, taking everything I had left.

By the end, we were utterly spent—bodies limp, slick with sweat and each other, trembling from head to toe, hearts hamring in sync.

I stayed inside her a little longer, softening slowly, unwilling to pull out yet. When I finally did, a rush of us followed, pooling beneath her on the rug. She whimpered softly at the loss.

I scooped her up carefully into my arms because neither of us could have walked if our lives depended on it. She clung to weakly, head resting heavy on my shoulder, soft breaths warm and shaky against my neck.

"Got you," I murmured, kissing her damp temple. "Not letting go. Ever!"

I carried her upstairs slowly—legs burning, arms aching, heart pounding—but I wouldn’t have set her down for anything. In the bathroom, I set her gently on the wide marble counter. Her legs dangled limply, thighs still trembling faintly. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes, completely trusting.

I turned on the shower, waited for the steam to fill the space, hot and thick, clouding the mirrors. Then I stepped under the spray first, letting the water run over my aching muscles, rinsing the sweat away.

I reached for her, pulled her in carefully, and pressed her back gently against the cool tile. She sighed deep, leaning fully into , letting hold all her weight.

Hot water poured over us both in heavy streams. I grabbed the soap and started washing her slowly—long, soothing circles over her shoulders, down her arms, across her collarbones, then lower, over her breasts. Her nipples were still hard; she shivered when my thumbs brushed them.

"Still sensitive?" I asked quietly, voice soft now.

"Everything is," she whispered. "You ruined , Donico."

I must have been a sadist because that confession made super proud and happy. I loved to ruined her in the best way possible.

"Good." I muttered, biting down hard on the inside of my cheeks.

I moved lower still—soaping her stomach, her hips, then between her legs with the utmost care. She was swollen, raw, tender. My fingers slid gently through her folds, cleaning away the thick ss we’d made, but she still whimpered softly and gripped my shoulders tight.

"Easy," I murmured, rinsing her thoroughly, hands gentle. "I’ve got you."

When she was clean, I knelt slowly under the spray. Spread her thighs wider and licked her once more—slow, soft strokes of my tongue over her clit, dipping carefully inside to taste the last traces of us both.

She trembled hard, hands fisting in my wet hair, hips rocking weakly against my mouth until she ca one last ti—small, shuddering, quiet, more aftershock than climax.

I stood, washed myself quickly under the water, then shut it off. Wrapped her in the biggest, softest towel I could find, dried her slowly—hair, skin, every inch—kissing random spots as I went: her shoulder, her wrist, the inside of her knee.

Then I carried her to bed.

The sheets were cool and crisp against her overheated skin. She sighed in relief as I laid her down. I climbed in behind her, pulled her flush against my chest, one arm heavy and possessive around her waist, palm splayed over her stomach.

She curled into imdiately, burrowing close, leg sliding between mine, hand resting over my heart. Asleep in minutes—deep, trusting, completely spent.

I stayed awake longer, stroking her damp hair gently, listening to her soft, even breathing against my skin.

I was fucked in every possible sense of the word.

And I didn’t want it any other way.