Emmaline surrenders completely to the bishop's will

Emmaline had already allowed herself to give in somewhat to her own desires, to her own lust. The way she ground her hips against him still showed a semblance of skill, control, and performance, but the way her hand desperately worked between her own legs was in no way an attempt to show off or please the Bishop. It had come from her own greedy desire to pleasure herself, a hedonistic whim, which her wine addled brain had no way of denying. From there it didn't take long for the performative motions to start to give way, to fade into something truer, something baser.

Emmaline's form collapsed forward, her chest pressing against the Bishop's own as her arms wrapped around him, holding his older body close against herself as her hips started to move more wildly. She tucked her head against his shoulder, the Bishop's firm strength her only stability as she let her motions become chaotic, her hips rocking in an erratic, **** pursuit of release. She needed to cum, so bad, but some part of her knew that wouldn't be enough. As Emmaline looked back up into the Bishop's eyes, she realized she didn't just need her own release, but his as well. She needed him to praise her, to tell her she had done well. She wanted to see the cold hardness of those eyes give way to warmth and love.

Her hands pawed against the Bishop's chest, struggling to pull herself back upright so she could look back down into his eyes. She took his face into her hands, tracing fingers along his strong jawline, feeling the angles, the sharp edges of his features. Her eyes traced over his lips, then back up into his still unyielding eyes. She held his gaze until she couldn't any more, and then, she surged forward, eyes closed, and kissed him.

Emmaline kissed the Bishop's lips again and again, and that was all it took. Her fingers went tense against the Bishop's cheekbone as her body shook with ecstasy, every part of her shot through with electric pleasure. She moaned aloud, throwing herself back into another kiss, wanting to drown in the sensation, and in him.

Emmaline's hot mouth devoured the Bishop's as she came, shudders of bliss rippling through her ripe body as she writhed against him, impaled on his glorious cock. Yes, she told herself, it was glorious, it filled her so tightly and so well, brought her such pleasure. And his lips, so sweet against hers, her tongue filling his mouth as she whimpered into him seeking his praise, wanting to feel him explode inside her, fill her with his hot cream.

And yet though his hands continued to fondle her and his tongue and lips responded to her kisses, his eyes remained cold and implacable, as though judging her, perhaps finding her wanting. Emmaline gave a little helpless sob, wanting more than anything, more than the orgasms that still rippled through her, to bring him joy. She felt his hands stroke down over her back and wriggled against him, pressing her breasts against his chest as she squeezed the muscles of her pussy, trying to milk him, to urge him to completion. His hands found the cheeks of her ass, kneading them, pulling them apart, his fingers toying with her. Something that felt like warm oil trickled over her ass and his fingers, he worked it into her flesh, his fingers teasing the tight rosebud of her ass, rubbing the oil into the pucker.

Emmaline moaned softly, kissing him hungrily, rocking her hips writhing against him, wanting his seed inside her. She gave a gasp of surprise and a low moan when he pressed a finger into her ass, easing it into her and working the oil into her tight hole. Gods if felt incredible to be impaled on his cock and with his finger up her ass. So full, so deliciously full, she thought, nuzzling and kissing him.

When the Bishop lifted her off his cock, Emmaline whined in surprise and loss, knowing he hadn't come, wondering if she had somehow displeased him. His cold eyes regarded her dispassionately as he moved her submissive body until she had her back to him, still straddling his hips, his hard meat resting against her ass. She looked over her shoulder at him, aware that she must look the very image of a wanton harlot, shivering at the touch of his hands on her waist.

***

This chapter was co-authored by Shandy (https://chyoa.com/user/Shandy)-- Shandy is the author of Fox in the Henhouse and The Peril's of Lisa-- please check out his stuff! :)