I Do [ Again ]

Amy continues to hammer into me, her angle perfect to ensure she will slam herself in, in the best way. Facedown on her bed, it's all I can do to strain to hold the commanded position. As Dean leaves the room, I groan, my body swaying, gently.

Behind me, Amy growls, slamming herself in, driving across my pleasure centre with mischievous intent. My fingers curl and clamp down on a handhold of fabric, then stretch and flex wide, then curl, again. I gasp every time her hips withdraw.

“Fuck!” I hiss, “Gods, yes ... !” I moan involuntarily as her cock slams to the hilt inside me, my spine arching so hard that it cracks, and I sigh, before gasping, again. Her fingers clamped down on my hips, hers are moving like a fierce, angry piston.

For a few minutes, I try to restrain myself, amidst the intense pleasure of this experience. I can feel her slow down, to add more oil, to maintain lubrication, and I moan, helpless underneath her. I look over my shoulder, seeing Amy's smug smirk.

“Fuck ... Amy!” I moan, and her smirk broadens and levels into a saccharine, delighted grin.

“You better not be holding back, slut!” she warns, and I shudder and shake my head weakly as she resumes her ferocious, relentless hammer-on-anvil pounding. I relax and let myself enjoy it, complying with her command to not restrain, at all.

No resistance, no embarrassment, just taking what Amy gives me, and giving her what she wants. I purr softly in pleasure, arching as my cock hardens even more, and starts to pulse. I don't watch as my milk pulses, in dense ropes, into the glass.

Her pace is ruthless and rapturous, driving herself home even as I carefully manoeuvre underneath her. I drag out my last drops of cream, sliding my crown across smooth, rounded glass. The cup is nowhere near full, but it's still a good volume.

A few minutes later, Amy slams herself to the hilt, and holds her hips against mine. I can feel her pulsing inside of me, and thick cream pumping into me. I groan, feeling the pleasant sensation of each pulsation against my inner pleasure centre.

“Fuck, your cock feels so good inside me, Amy!” I whimper softly, and Amy grins as she stares into my eyes, snapping her fingers and pointing down at mine. I obediently move my hand, holding up the cup with my cream filling it near halfway.

“Thank you!” Amy says, snatching the glass and drinking swiftly, as my cheeks colour. I don't know how fortunate I am, but I suspect the truth is extremely fortunate, to have an Owner who actually wants my milk, and wants it for herself.

“Mm! Good fag!” Amy strokes my ass gently, once she finishes, setting the glass on my back. I reach up around myself and take the glass, setting it on her nightstand. When Amy's hips withdraw, I gasp softly, groaning as she slides her shaft out.

“Fuck. Damn,” I huff involuntarily, before Amy pulls me off the bed with her, “Mm?”

“It's time to bathe before we return to the C.O.B., and then I'm taking you to be tattooed,” Amy answers my unasked but obvious question, “It's time my name be physically on you. I know what I want it to look like, and where I want it to be.”

“And no, faggot, you don't get a vote in either one,” she grins as I blush, loving her ferocious, aggressive dominance, on this. I nod submissively, and she draws me to the bathroom, before her cream can run down my legs and onto the floor.

Once we're in the shower, Amy washes me swiftly, possessively, reaffirming that my body is hers. Once I'm cleaned, my hands move to the task of bathing her. Equivalent exchange, in a sense, Amy bathing me and me bathing her, in return.

She likes the feeling of my hands on her, and I won't try to claim I don't enjoy hers on me. She dries me, and then herself, before getting dressed and leading me outside. Only outside, Amy hands me my clothes, once we're beside the driveway.

“In, sweet-whore,” Amy smiles at me affectionately as she motions to her car, and I circle around and get in, sitting down and fastening my safety belt. We could just as easily walk to the administrative building, but the tattoo parlour's up next.

One hand on the wheel, Amy reaches over and rests her hand on the back of my neck, hooked around the right side. Then she half-turns, putting the car in reverse, and backing out onto the calm, peaceful streets of Pacific Discovery Residences.

It's been enough time that the Community Ordinance Board should be back from the midday recess, and should have had time to discuss her proposition. As I understand it, I can safely expect favourable action. Her request was just a formality.

Boris won't be an issue for much longer. One way or another, the C.O.B. will take some kind of action that will force him to leave me alone. Instead of focusing on that, I set quietly, wondering where Amy intends to put the tattoo, and what it'll be.

She has a whole canvas of options, but I don't recall her ever having a personal symbol or emblem. It occurs to me that she may have picked one on the way, or the tattoo may be something entirely different. Then, something else occurs to me.

“Hey Amy?” I ask quietly. Her fingers curl, massaging my neck with a firm touch.

“Yes, faggot?” she answers, her voice delicate and soft, and warm with contentment.

“Are you going to have me branded, too?” I ask.

“Absolutely not,” she answers, without waiting for me to ask a followup, “It would be too painful for you. I could, legally, but I won't. It'd be unethical. Unless you're into that kind of pain, and want it, it'd be unethical to make you endure that.”

“Thanks, Amy,” I lean back into her touch and close my eyes, resting my head on the cushion behind it.

“You're welcome, faggot,” Amy murmurs lovingly, “I'll never intentionally do anything to harm you. I promise. Cross my heart and kick my nuts.” I blink and stare at the sun-visor, still flipped up, then giggle involuntarily, as Amy grins smugly.

“That is not how it goes!” I sputter, after I get control over my giggling.

“It's my own version!” she says, “Okay, maybe not kick, but. Punch. If I ever harm you and don't respond properly, punch me in the nuts, so I remember that it was not okay. I won't punish you if you slug me in the balls if I harm you. I promise.”

“Amy ...” I murmur, but she looks over at me sternly, as we stop at a stop sign, a block from the administrative building, and I nod quietly, “Okay. I promise. I'll ... I'll let you know, if you harm me without realising that you've harmed me.”

“Good boy, faggot,” Amy says, and resumes driving the short distance yet to be crossed.

“I love you, too, Amy,” I murmur, and rest my eyes for the last couple minutes.