2.04 A Morning Together

2.04 A Morning Together

Zoey’s cock spread Rosalie’s mouth open, and she tasted Zoey’s natural musk, a hint of vanilla on her stroking tongue, the inn’s soap from their showers last night. Her jaw strained to accommodate her size. Rosalie wiggled her head down to get Zoey further in. It took only a few inches before she was hitting the back of her throat. Considering Zoey’s length, it was almost comical how little Rosalie forced down before Zoey was bumping against her tight upper-opening, tickling her gag-reflex, which she stalwartly fought against.

Zoey’s hands curled into Rosalie’s hair, digging her long fingers in, and Rosalie savored the feeling. Almost more than the lustful satisfaction, it was these easy shows of intimacy—the sighs, and the burying of Zoey’s hands into her hair—that had Rosalie’s heart fluttering.

I have a girl’s cock in my mouth. Though it had happened once before, the realization thrilled through her, igniting Rosalie’s nerves. Zoey’s cock. It’s her pulsing cock that’s stuffed into my mouth.

The haze of lust descended on Rosalie, now, not just Zoey.

Still gripping the base of Zoey’s shaft, Rosalie opened her throat and let Zoey’s cock slide in. Having such a large object enter a hole distinctly not designed for it was, of course, uncomfortable. But Rosalie savored the stretch. Or more accurately, savored the groan that escaped Zoey’s mouth as her cock slid into Rosalie’s tight throat.

“Good girl,” Zoey muttered, hands providing a forceful pressure to bring her head further down. “Good girl.”

Between Rosalie’s thighs, her core pulsed with need. If only we had a condom. But they didn’t, and even lost in a melting haze of lust, Rosalie’s better sense prevented herself from risking pregnancy. She didn’t know if a girl could get another girl pregnant, but why would she chance it?

Rosalie’s throat spread open, inch by inch, and Zoey’s width slid down her lubricated pleasure-hole. That’s what it is. Zoey’s pleasure-hole. Less than a day earlier, Zoey had extracted whining confessions from Rosalie—that her body was built for pleasure, that the wet, warm holes Rosalie owned existed entirely from the pleasure of Zoey. And it’s true. What greater purpose could they serve than this? Than making Zoey whine in ecstasy? There was no greater noise in existence than her breathless exhalations.

And no greater sensation than having her head shoved down, throat spasming as she choked on the sudden intrusion of girlmeat.

“Sorry,” Zoey gasped. “But deeper. Go deeper.” Her hands, wrapped in Rosalie’s hair, forced her down, not considerate in the slightest of the difficulty of having such girthy girlcock invade a hole not meant for anything but air and food.

As she shouldn’t be. Rosalie’s throat was built for Zoey’s pleasure. It was hers to be used as she chose. Regardless of difficulty, unnaturalness.

Her throat convulsed around a pulsing shaft, and she coughed, diaphragm spasming, trying to reject the unnatural object stuffed down it, spreading throat flesh apart in an almost painful way. Her eyes watered with the effort.

Zoey didn’t care. Her hips bucked, sending her unwieldy girlcock deeper.

Thank the gods. Rosalie wrapped her hands around Zoey’s waist and helped. Could she swallow it all the way, even when she wasn’t aided by the aphrodisiac? Clearly, Zoey’s skill was working. A forearm sized object had no right fitting down Rosalie’s throat, but there it was anyway, stuffing her tight hole, inch by inch.

And she would get it all the way down. She would. She didn’t care if she passed out while trying. She didn’t care if she choked on Zoey’s cock. She would love it. Rosalie was a filthy, cock-hungry whore, and this was what she made for. She wiggled her head forward, trying to get it further. Another inch crammed down her throat. How is there still more? But she was almost at the base. She almost had her tight hole enveloping Zoey’s needy cock in entirety.

She looked forward to when her throat had opened up, and she had gotten it accustomed to Zoey’s size. Then, Zoey could thrust and pound, use her throat like the upper-pussy it was. Imagine that. Zoey hips jerking in and out, using Rosalie like the toy she was. To feel such massive length sliding up and down, in and out, as Rosalie choked on it. As Zoey whined in pleasure.

One of Rosalie’s hands had gone between her legs, rubbing desperately to relieve some of the tension, and she hadn’t even noticed. This is only about testing Zoey’s skill. I shouldn’t be ... relieving myself. But her hand rubbed away, unheeding of Rosalie’s shame.

Rosalie’s shame. Did that exist, really? She’d rather it didn’t. Who cared who she was? That she was the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the world? What Rosalie really wanted was to be a cocktoy. Zoey’s cocktoy. That was her destination in life.

Her nose buried into Zoey’s soft, dark pubic hair, and if Rosalie could have sighed in satisfaction, she would have. But her throat was rather full.

And, like Rosalie had hoped, with Rosalie’s throat having widened and properly adjusted to Zoey’s girth, Zoey started thrusting.

It was indescribable. The feeling of having girlcock stuffing her throat, sliding up and down, her pleasure-hole widening and tightening with every insertion and extraction. Rosalie’s fingers rubbed desperately between her legs. I’m going to come before her, and she’s not even doing anything to me. Was there anything more shameful? Not only was Rosalie letting herself be used—as was her body’s purpose—but she’d be orgasming when her partner wasn’t wasn’t even pleasuring her.

A pulsing, hot need radiated from her lower body, and her body started to shake.

Rosalie wiped her mouth, then frowned disdainfully down at the sticky strands bridging between her fingers. “You would think with how often I use my mouth, you would, too.”

Zoey’s panting, exhausted expression cleared, shockingly fast, into something predatory. “You want me to? Use my mouth?”

Rosalie scoffed.

“I wanted to wait until the tongue ring,” Zoey said. She leaned forward, off the pillows, and grabbed Rosalie by the waist, spinning and tossing her down so her own head was on the pillows. “But since you asked ...”

“I most certainly did not.” Her lower half squirmed in excitement.

“You really are a needy slut.” Zoey’s head was between her legs, her bright green eyes staring up at Rosalie, and Rosalie couldn’t think straight—less even than before. “You need to ask. Tell me you want my tongue.”

“The only thing I’ve wanted from your mouth,” Rosalie panted, “was for it to stop making so much unnecessary noise.”

Zoey sneered up at her. She ran a wet lick up the crease where her leg met her pelvis, then again, on the other side. Rosalie’s thoughts went white.

“Say it.” Her tongue worked above Rosalie’s pussy, on the stubbly hair from last night’s shaving. She has to have noticed. “I want it. Do you?”

Her response stuttered out of her. How could Zoey turn her into such a melting mess, with such ease? Rosalie was a d’Celestin, wasn’t she? “If—If you want to.”

“Not good enough. Try again.” She pressed her lips to Rosalie’s core, and Rosalie wiggled her lower half against Zoey’s mouth, finding what pleasure she could. Just say it. You already know what you are. Her earlier statements had been from being lost in heat, and it had drawn back from her previous orgasm. But the next was building, and her mentality, her reservations, decayed, just as it had prior.

“I—I—”

“You’re what? My what?”

“I’m your needy slut. Please, Zoey, I want to feel your tongue inside me. Please.”

Zoey obliged, tongue sinking into Rosalie’s heat. Rosalie’s hands curled into dark, glossy hair as she whined in pleasure.

The feeling—like most of what Zoey could provide—was indescribable. Zoey’s skilled, powerful tongue explored her insides, stirring around in circles and slow, curling strokes to gently coax out Rosalie’s twitching reactions. How is she so good at this? It’s not fair. How was I ever supposed to resist?

And her other skill had to be coming to use, here. Pressure Point—identify sensitive areas. Even accounting for skill, the way Zoey’s tongue sought out Rosalie’s tender spots was with much too accuracy to be natural. Almost before she could believe it, Rosalie’s second orgasm was spasming through her body, her clenching lower hole shivering with pleasure. Her thighs closed around Zoey’s head, as did her hands pushing down, getting her exploring tongue just a bit deeper. Which she took advantage of, curling against territory yet explored.

“F-Fuck me,” Rosalie cried, hips jerking back and forth, raising Zoey’s head with each lewd thrust, and bouncing the bed, creaking wooden beams. “Faster. Faster! Oh my gods!”

Ever the professional, Zoey worked her up, up, up, and then down, gently, only stopping when Rosalie’s pitiful cries turned pained, and she pushed her head away. Zoey’s eyes were hazy as she refused to release eye contact. Rosalie hadn’t thought they could be prettier, but draped in lust, they somehow were.

Rosalie laid limp against the pillows, the last remnants of her orgasm shaking her. She wondered how every time Zoey extracted bliss from her, it was a more mind-blowing high than the previous.

“How was it?” Zoey asked, shimmying up and kissing her neck, then cheek, then forehead.

“It was ... adequate ...” Rosalie breathed.