Cought Red-Handed III
1244 Words
His hand stayed tangled in my hair, guiding my rhythm like I was nothing more than his personal fucktoy.
I hollowed my cheeks, taking him deep, my throat burning but my p***y still aching, soaked from how he used me.
"Just like that," he growled. "f*****g perfect."
I looked up at him, tears streaking my cheeks, spit stringing from my lips. His c**k twitched in my mouth, every vein pulsing against my tongue, and I knew he was close.
"f*****g hell," he hissed, his abs tightening, hips jerking forward as I swallowed him deeper. "Where the f**k did you learn to suck c**k like this?"
He thrust again—hard. I gagged, but didn’t pull away.
Didn’t want to.
He held my head in place, groaning like he was unraveling right there, right in my throat.
"You want my c*m?" he snarled. "Want me to fill that filthy mouth?"
I moaned around him, eyes fluttering, and that was all it took.
He growled—low, feral—and exploded down my throat.
Hot, thick spurts. Endless.
He didn’t pull out. Didn’t let me breathe.
He made me take every drop, swallowing it all while he groaned my name like I was the only thing that had ever made him come that hard.
When he finally let go of my hair, I collapsed back on my heels, panting, lips swollen, spit and c*m still dripping from the corner of my mouth.
He looked down at me like I was something beautiful and broken.
"Open your mouth," he said.
I obeyed, showing him my empty tongue.
"Good f*****g girl."
He bent down and grabbed my jaw, his thumb wiping the mess from my lips before sliding into my mouth.
I sucked it clean.
"You’re not done," he said. "Get up."
I tried. My legs were shaking. My body wrecked.
But he wasn’t asking.
He was telling.
He spun me around, bent me over the desk again. My knees hit the wood, and I barely had time to gasp before I felt him slap my ass—hard, sharp, and hot.
"You think sucking me off gets you out of trouble?" he muttered, lining himself up again.
He slid two fingers between my thighs.
Still soaked.
Still dripping.
"f**k," he groaned. "You're ready to take it again already."
Then he pushed back in—no warning, no mercy.
And my body welcomed him like it never wanted him to leave.
He slammed into me again, stretching me wide like my p***y had been waiting for him—needing him.
I gasped, nails clawing at the desk, my body jolting forward with every ruthless thrust.
"Did I say you could rest?" he growled behind me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
"N-no, sir," I choked out, brain barely keeping up with the way he was breaking me open all over again.
"Then don’t f*****g stop," he snarled, yanking my head back until my spine arched and my t**s pressed against the desk.
He was deeper this time—like he was f*****g me into the wood, like the only goal was to leave his shape carved into me forever.
Every thrust knocked the breath from my lungs.
Every slap of skin echoed like thunder in the empty classroom.
"You feel that?" he hissed. "That’s what happens to cheaters. Used. f****d. Ruined."
"Yes, sir," I gasped, tears spilling now—not from pain, but from how good it felt to be owned like this.
My orgasm was building again, sharp and sudden. My thighs trembled. My body clamped down on him, hungry for more.
But then—he pulled out.
I cried out, hips thrusting back, chasing him.
"You don’t come again," he snapped. "Not unless I say."
"Please—"
He slapped my ass hard. Then again.
"Beg properly."
I bit my lip, dizzy and soaked and desperate.
"Please, sir. Please let me come. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll take whatever you give me—just please, I need it."
"Need what?"
"Need your c**k," I whimpered. "Need to be used. I want it—I want you to f**k me, own me—"
He shoved back inside in one brutal thrust.
I screamed.
And he f*****g laughed.
"Say it again," he grunted, pounding into me harder now, using me like a thing.
"I’m yours!" I sobbed. "Just—just use me, sir, please, I don’t care, just don’t stop—"
His fingers wrapped around my throat again, pulling me up against his chest, still buried deep inside me.
"That’s more like it," he whispered against my ear, voice low and wicked. "A little slut who knows her place."
Then he f****d me like he was trying to break me.
And I let him.
His fingers stayed around my throat, not choking—just enough to remind me who was in control. My body jolted with every thrust, the desk groaning beneath us, my thighs shaking from being used again and again.
“Keep those legs open,” he growled against my ear. “You close them, I stop.”
I obeyed, even though my muscles were trembling, even though everything inside me was already burning. My p***y clenched around him, tight, fluttering, like I was trying to hold him in. He groaned when he felt it.
“You’re close again, aren’t you?”
I nodded, couldn’t form words. My mouth was open, lips parted in some silent moan while he kept f*****g me like I was built for it.
“Not yet,” he muttered, and pulled out again.
I nearly sobbed.
He grabbed me, spun me off the desk, dragging me toward the chair he used during lectures. He dropped into it and pulled me into his lap, still fully dressed, c**k out, hard, angry, soaked with me. His hands guided me like I was his little fuckdoll, my thighs falling to either side of him as he forced me down on his c**k.
I cried out when he bottomed out. My head fell back, mouth open.
He didn’t let me ride.
He did it for me—bouncing me on his c**k, fast and brutal, like he had no intention of stopping until I broke.
“You want to come?” he asked, voice low, rough, lips brushing my neck.
“Yes—god, yes—please—”
“Then f*****g earn it.”
His hand found my clit. Harsh circles. No rhythm. Just pressure. Just chaos. My eyes rolled back, the heat crashing through me like a wave I couldn’t outrun.
“Say what you are,” he demanded, still f*****g up into me, harder now.
I moaned, couldn’t answer.
He grabbed my face, squeezed my cheeks. “Say. It.”
“I’m your little slut,” I gasped.
“Louder.”
“I’m your slut! Your filthy, c**k-hungry slut—please, let me come”
His thumb pressed harder, c**k slamming up into me as my body started to convulse. I screamed his name, hands clawing at his shirt, tears on my face, thighs soaked, legs locking around him as my orgasm ripped through me like I was being shattered from the inside.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept going.
Fucking me through it, past it, into the kind of overstimulation that made me shake and whimper, begging without even knowing what I was saying.
And still, he didn’t stop.
- Writer
