You ride him ragged

You crawl towards him and lean towards his glistening cock, still coated in a heady mix of his sperm, your juices, and lubrication from the condom.

You stretch out your tongue, and lick across the bulging mushroom head of his cock. It cock twitches against your tongue, and something deep in your core clenches again in response — a pulse that radiates from somewhere behind your navel, deep in your ovaries where his seed has settled.

The warmth inside you is unmistakable now, a liquid weight pooled inside you, and the thought of it — his sperm swimming toward your unprotected egg — sends a fresh gush of wetness between your thighs. Your mouth waters as you lick his cock.

You press your lips to its head and suck, tasting the salt-bitter cocktail of your own juices and his cum, and instead of revulsion, a moan vibrates in your throat.

You slobber over him with a desperation that would have horrified you an hour ago, but now feels like your life's mission as you chase another high like that.

Your tongue drags flat and wide up the underside of his shaft, gathering every last trace of the milky fluid clinging to his skin. You mouth at the ridge where his foreskin has pulled back, lapping at the sensitive groove, your saliva mixing with what remains of his load until his cock glistens clean under the dim amber light. Your hands grip his thighs, fingers digging into the rumpled fabric of his trousers as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, bobbing with a sloppy, rhythmic urgency. Drool spills from the corners of your mouth, stringing down to his balls, and you pull off only to lick lower, tongue tracing the seam of his sac, taking each one into your mouth with a gentle, worshipful suction.

He hardens further against your tongue in a gradual way. First a thickening, the shaft filling out against your lips. Then a definite rigidity, the head swelling fat and hot as you circle it. You feel him grow in your mouth, and the sensation triggers something primal, your hips rocking against nothing, your empty cunt clenching around the absence where his cock should be.

You pull back to look at him — fully erect now, thick and veined, jutting from his open trousers — and your breath comes in shallow, hungry gasps.

"Good," he says, and the single word sends a shiver through you. His fingers tighten in your hair. "Now show me how badly you want it."

You rise on unsteady legs. Your knees ache from the velvet floor, but the discomfort dissolves under the fire that the pills have sent coursing through your blood. You reach for his hand, tugging gently, and he allows himself to be guided — rising with unhurried grace, adjusting his jacket with one hand while the other remains tangled in your hair.

You lead him to the narrow bench against the far wall, its leather surface cool and smooth, and when he sits, you climb up after him, one knee on either side of his thighs, your slick pussy hovering inches above the blunt head of his cock.

His hands settle on your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your hipbones. He doesn't push. He waits.

You position him with your hand, fingers wrapping around his shaft — thick, hot, pulsing against your palm — and angle the head against your entrance. The contact alone makes you whimper. Then you rise up on your knees, lifting your hips inches higher, and pause.

You can almost feel the heat of his cock radiating upwards as he throbs in your hand. You wait...

...and then you drop, losing control and landing - with all your diminutive weight - hard on his cock with your sodden pussy.

The sound that tears from your throat almost isn't human. It is a raw, shrieking wail that bounces off the curtained walls.

Your body slams down onto his cock impaling yourself to the hilt in a single brutal stroke. The sudden impact punches the air from your lungs. Your eyes roll back. For a moment you can only sit there, impaled, your inner walls spasming around the thick intrusion, your thighs trembling violently against his, as a heady wave of pleasure crashes over you.

"Fuck," you gasp. "Oh god, oh god —"

He chuckles. The sound is low, amused, and his thumbs trace slow circles on your hips. "Look at you," he murmurs. "Couldn't even wait. Just dropped yourself on it like a little bitch in heat."

You start to move. Not slowly, not gently — you fuck yourself on his cock with a frantic, bouncing rhythm that makes the bench creak beneath you. Your hands grip his shoulders for leverage, nails biting into his suit jacket, and you slam down with each stroke, taking him as deep as anatomy allows. The wet slap of your ass against his thighs fills the small space, obscene and rhythmic, punctuated by your breathless, stuttering moans.

"That's it," he says, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Ride it. Show me what a desperate cum slut you are."

The words hit something inside you — a switch, a trigger — and your pace increases. You bounce harder, faster, your tits shaking with each impact, your pussy making filthy squelching sounds around his girth. The warmth of his previous load shifts inside you with every thrust, and the thought of it — his cum inside you, his cock churning it, mixing it — makes your head spin.

"Just my breeder," he continues, one hand sliding up to grip your throat, not squeezing, just holding. "That's all you are now. A hole for my seed. A slave to my cock."

A high, keening whine escapes you. Your hips stutter, then drive down even harder. Your clit grinds against his pubic bone on every stroke, sending sparks through your nervous system. You're close — so close — but you know from the drug's cruel logic that you can't finish without him filling you again.

"Please," you hear yourself say, the word ragged and broken. "Please, cum in me. I need it. I need your cum, breed me," as you bounce madly, wildly, with your head dropped back as you thrust like a rag doll.

He laughs again, and he places a tight grip on your throat, just tight enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm. "You'll get it when I decide you've earned it," he says. "Until then, keep riding, slut."

And you do. You ride him with everything you have, sweat dripping down your spine, your thighs burning, your cunt clenching around him on every stroke, chasing the orgasm that only his seed can unlock. His dirty words echo in your skull — cum slut, breeder, slave — each one landing like a brand, marking you, claiming you, making you ride harder, faster, more desperately.

His hand releases your throat and drops to your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. His hips shift beneath you — and you feel it, the subtle change in his rhythm, the way his cock thickens inside you, the tension building in his thighs.

Then he explodes once more, hot seed pulsing and pumping deep into you - and at precisely the same time your body erupts in another mega orgasm. It is so powerful, so overwhelming, you feel your eyes roll back in their sockets, your whole body goes limp, and the pleasure is only increased by his strong, muscled arms reaching around you to catch your defeated little frame.