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Chapter 8
by jericho_hale
What Happens During Dinner?
Eating...Mostly.
I kept her fingers encircling my cock, stroking it to keep me hard. Whenever she got too preoccupied with eating, I'd snap my fingers or call her a dumb spic, and she'd get right back to it. I interrupted her eating just once, to ask a couple questions.
"Is your food cold?"
"Yes, Papi."
"Was it worth it?"
"Oh, yes Sir." She got this dreamy look, like she was remembering what it felt like to struggle to breathe on my cock.
Once I finished my meal, it didn't take me long to get bored. My hands wandered.
She gave what almost sounded like a squeak, stiffening up, as my hands slid along her dress, exploring her curves, but she didn't object. I cupped her tits--spilling over my grip, her nipples poking through the fabric as if begging for ****. I obliged, squeezing them between fingers and thumbs, and she gasped, loosing the food on her fork.
"What do you say, chica?"
She didn't meet my eyes. her whole face was red beneath the brown. "Thank you for abusing my tits."
"Tell me what you are." I squeezed harder, yanking her nipples.
Her eyes were glazed over, but she was squeezing my cock, stroking furiously. "I'm nothing but a wetback whore for whites."
"Good bitch. You want a reward?"
Now she did look into my eyes. "Please," she said, with more heat than I'd expected.
"Keep eating." As she took another bite, I slid my hand down to the hem of her sundress and up the inside of her thighs. She jumped when my fingers touched the hot dampness of her panties, her legs starting to close instinctively. I slapped her thigh. "Spread your legs. No Mexicunt is going to tell me where I can touch."
Her legs shot open, spread obscenely wide even on the couch. She swallowed, and said, "Sorry, Papi. This brown bitch should know better."
"I'll make sure you do," I said, rubbing hard against her mound, feeling her folds and the rise of her clit, forcing the fabric to invade her wet pussy. She writhed against my fingers, but kept open. Then I slid my fingers up up up, past her panties, and back down underneath.
She was mostly smooth but for a patch over her clit. She'd gotten so wet that it had matted even that little tuft. Her whole vulva was slick and hot, but it was nothing compared to her pussy proper. As I pressed down against her velvety lips, they parted and two fingertips pushed into her cunt almost on their own.
Not to say she wasn't tight; she clenched around my fingers hard enough to stop me going further without pushing. But she was as wet as I've ever felt a woman, her whole body hot and trembling with need. Her head had lolled back, her eyes closed, and she breathed heavily through her nose as though to stifle cries. One hand started down toward my wrist, trying to help me gain leverage in the awkward position.
"Eat," I said, my voice rough and grating in my ears. Not angry. Hungry. Vicious. "Eat or I'll shove your face in it like the silly spic bitch you are."
I pushed deeper inside her, my fingers curling. It barely took a moment to find a familiar space out toward her stomach, less than halfway deep. I didn't so much pump in and out as I rocked my hand, massaging that tender space. She let loose her first naked cry, her face twisted by tormenting pleasure.
Her nod at my order was stiff, and when she took another bite, before finally opening her eyes, her hands were trembling. She ate more quickly than before, and no surprise; I suspect she wanted to finish before I made her finish.
She almost made it. As she took a last bite made it to her mouth, I ground my palm against her swollen clit, hard enough to hurt, and kneaded her g-spot harder. Her jaw went slack, juice from the meat dripping down her chin, and let out a wail as her whole body went wild. Her wetness soaked straight through her panties, through her sundress, to dampen the couch, as her whole body rose and fell like ocean waves, wild and free.
I watched with hungry eyes, soaking up the feeling of forcing an orgasm from a partner helpless to resist me. Her pleasure. My power.
"Thank you, Papi," she said as her orgasm ebbed enough for even the most basic thought. Her writhing had slowed, so I pressed against her mons, just over cunt, and she groaned, rocking into me. "Thank you," she said again, and again, "Thank you, Papi. Thank you."
I made sure to milk every last little bit of ecstasy from her body, until she sagged, wrung-out, on the couch, her legs splayed open and her dress pulled up to her stomach. She really did look like a whore. I could almost feel the desire rushing through my veins.
"That one was free," I said, withdrawing my hand. The scent of her want was heady, heavy, overwhelming. I sucked one finger clean, savoring her taste, and then brought my hand to her face. "Lick it up." I didn't even need any slurs to make her obey. She lapped up her own cream like she'd done it often. "Any orgasms from now on, you earn by impressing me. Are you ready to impress me?"
"I want to try, Papi," she said, looking both eager and nervous.
In all the excitement, she'd forgotten to jerk my cock, and I'd forgotten to make her. I was still hard, though not throbbing as I had been. I wanted her to fix that.
"Clean this up," I said, gesturing to what was left of the wonderful meal she had made. "Then crawl back in here and convince me to fuck you."
What comes after dinner?
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Raceplay Angel
Raceplay? Magical Assistant? Yes, Please!
A white guy with some intense desires for domination and raceplay is given some encouragement and aid from a mysterious, supernatural source.
Updated on Oct 28, 2022
by jericho_hale
Created on Sep 19, 2022
by jericho_hale
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