Facesitting Tales #04, Scene #02

Eric Jover's phone buzzes. Katie St. Ives spits orders into his ear. He nods, mute, until she hangs up. That night she's back in his life, claiming the passenger seat like she owns the car. Her directions take him down streets he has never seen, all the way to a gray steel door in a warehouse that reeks of leather and ozone. Inside waits a sealed concrete room crowded with steel pipes, chains bolted to every wall, and black rubber covering the floor. Katie smiles, small white teeth framed by crimson lipstick. The riding crop in her hand twitches. Dressed in thigh-high boots, a black corset crushed tight, and open-ass panties, she looks vicious and absurd at once. "Knees." She cracks the crop across her own palm. Eric drops, breath tight. She turns, pulls the thong aside, arches until her ass hovers inches from his nose. "Lick." He leans forward, tongue broad and flat, tracing the seam between her heavy cheeks. Each slow stroke earns a whisper of leather dragging along his shoulder. She kicks off the boots, dangles one polished sole in front of him. He catches the faint smell of lotion. "Suck." Five painted toes slide into his mouth; he seals his lips and licks between them while she rolls her heel over his crotch through his jeans. Already he pushes against the denim. Katie shoves him backward, lands both bare feet on his chest, climbs, centers her weight on his face. Air stops. Only the heat of her cheeks on his mouth, the thick scent of skin and sweat. When she lifts he gasps, and she slams back down laughing. The room rocks with the wet slap each time. She twists sideways, gives him her toes again, presses his cock through the zipper with an arching foot. Pre-cum leaves a dark patch. She plants both feet beside his ribs, sinks once more until his nose cracks against the seam of her pussy and ass. By then he jerks at every breath. Katie reaches behind, wraps slick fingers around his shaft, strokes hard, mean, thumbing the slit. His hips surge. She watches his face go slack, then the first thick spurt hits her wrist. The second lands hot across his own belly. She scrapes the mess up on her fingers, feeds it straight into his open mouth. "Swallow, little driver." He obeys, cheeks hollowing around her cum-coated digits, eyes locked on the crop still dangling inches above his throat.