“Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, suck me, baby, suck my tit,” she gasped. She didn’t notice his hand under her skirt again. All she felt was the nuzzling of his mouth, the fabric scratching against her skin, the pleasure flowing from her core all over again. When he plunged four of his fingers inside her cunt, that was it. Her foot slammed down and she wailed, “Oh, shit, ohhhhh shit, MILO!”
She gushed on his hand a second time, and third if she counted the orgasm he gave her with the foot massage. A fucking third time. When was the last time Jim had brought her to three orgasms? In their twenties? It was his face she thought about as she came and came and came. Not a thought of love, but of contempt. In that moment she hated Jim. Hated his pumping and his tired few minutes of foreplay. In this young man’s hands she’d come three times so hard she was faint with it. Milo owned her. Maybe the other boys would be good too, she didn’t know, but if they managed even half of what Milo could, she was going to be broken for Jim forever.
Emilia sank. She didn’t mean to. The pleasure was just too much. Milo jerked his hand out and steadied her, helping her down onto her ass as she leaned back against the door. Once her eyes fluttered and her breathing started back up again, his cock was there, right in her face, and he was jerking it with wild abandon, his need blazing in his eyes. She opened her mouth, to suck him down, to lick him to do something, but he was aiming lower, and coming, coming, coming. So very fucking much come. It hit her bared breast, her blouse, her nipple through the fabric of the bra. Then he was aiming higher, coming all over her face, shot after shot after shot in a never-ending flow of him. Some of it dripped along her lips and she licked them instinctively, staring up at him, tasting his salty bitterness and craving more. She raised a wavering hand to jerk at his spent cock. He caught it, and instead lifted her almost effortlessly to her feet.
The minutes after he came were something of a mess of images in Emilia’s mind. She remembered Milo depositing her on the couch, gentle after their furious lovemaking — or fingering, anyways. She remembered a flash of him leaving for a moment and mewling for him to come back while desperately wishing he wouldn’t. Shame. She remembered looking at a picture of Jim and feeling the hot flush of shame and something baser. Something more primal.
But then Milo was back with her, taking care of her, wiping her down and kissing her softly again. She leaned her forehead against his and cried, and instead of comforting her, he knelt down again, and slid the bra off her breasts. Without a word, he started sucking at her nipple again as she cried and cried and cried.
In minutes, Milo was rock hard again, panting over her as he fucked her breasts with hard strokes that ended with him nearly hitting her chin. She looked aside again at that picture of Jim and Landon, and hated herself not for feeling guilty, but for feeling so goddamn horny that she would have done anything to have Milo’s cock filling her cunt deep.