I'd only gone over there to make cookies.

That is the only thought in my head as his cock pistons in and out of my mouth, saliva running down my chin and onto my tits, exposed and glistening where my top was yanked down. My throat clenches and fights the intrusion, my eyes watering from the effort to keep from gagging. My head thunks against the lip of the kitchen counter with every thrust, a half-swallowed moan escaping each time, my hands pinned to the counter surface with our fingers interlocked.

We'd only ever been friends before. I'd never even thought of him like that, and now I was on my knees, sandwiched between him and the kitchen counter. Taking my best friend's cock in my throat. I'd messed up the timings, let the cookies burn a little around the edges. And now I'm paying for it.

When Alex stops thrusting, my nose pressed firmly against the dark curls at his base, I look up at him. He is buried deep in my throat, and I can feel him twitch as my eyes met his. My mascara is a mess, eyeliner streaking my flushed cheeks. More tears already welling in my eyes. Big eyes outlined in black, like a doe. “Good girl,” he says slowly, feeling my throat struggling around his length. “Trying so hard to be good for me, hmm?”

I'd protested at first. Of course I had. I'd gone to my knees with a litany of no, no, no, pouring out of my mouth. It didn't make any difference.

He taps two fingers sharply against my cheek, snapping me into focus, smiling when I jump at the sting. "Answer me."

“Mmphhm,” I say, intelligently. I have no argument left in me. Any disagreement, any fight, has been taken out by the dull needy throbbing between my legs. I squeeze my shaking thighs together for some relief. Alex grins. Slowly he eases out until just the head rests against my lower lip, heavy and soft, leaking precum. I flick my tongue against the tip, tasting salt and something bitter and addictive.

“Oh, you whore,” he says approvingly. “You like how it tastes?”

He enjoys watching me struggle to answer his questions with the head of his cock pressing into my mouth. “Uh huh.”

He pushes in again without warning and my jaw aches at the sudden intrusion, fighting my gag reflex all over again. “Good. You’ll get something tasty at least, even if you did burn the cookies.”

I try to form a coherent thought but I can't. It is like every word has been fucked out of my empty little head. I am stuck in a fog of neediness, of desperation to be what he needs. Instead I try to focus on making him feel good, tightening my lips to make a seal, running my tongue along the vein that I can feel underneath his cock. This feels so right.

It's so wrong.

Was he thinking about this the whole time? Every time I hugged him, inadvertently teased him? Was this what he wanted all along?

He pulls out again suddenly, all the way, and this time he doesn't let it rest on my tongue. He holds it just out of reach of my lips, watches me watching it, the need in my wide blue eyes, the way my tongue dips out to wet my lips. He considers me, my shallow breathing and needy squirming. Then he smiles and lets the full weight of his cock thwack wetly against my face, the head resting on my forehead. “You look so pretty with my cock on your face,” he says. “Like you're meant to be down there. On your knees for me. It suits you.”

My mouth is no longer occupied but I can find no words as he slides his spit-slicked cock up and down across my face, smearing any semblance of makeup left. He's right. I'm meant to be here. And I'm so wet, embarrassingly so.

“I knew you'd be a whore if I managed to get you on your own,” he continues, idly using my face to jerk himself off. It's so casual, so degrading. I swallow, bite my lip. My throat hurts from use. That turns me on too, feeling the ache. “My little cock slut.”

“Mhm,” I manage to hum in agreement. My lips curve into a blissed out smile; he smears sticky precum over them, rubs it in with his thumb. I'm so turned on that I'm shaking and I don't trust my ability to manage proper words right now. My gaze follows his cock, transfixed. I want him to cum on my face so badly, to finish making a mess of me entirely. To ruin me.

His hands release mine suddenly, coming to the sides of my face. He squishes my cheeks together, pushes his thumbs into my mouth, stretching it out. Testing what I'll let him do. I don't object to anything. He could do anything to me and I'd take it like a good girl. I just sink further into the comforting fog of need, run my tongue over the pad of his thumb, tasting the whorls of his fingerprint. He drags his spit-wet thumb over my lower lip and smears the last remaining vestige of my lipstick. “Open,” he says, and I comply. “Tongue out.”

I can't help the happy sigh that comes out of my mouth.

“You like that, whore? Like being told what to do?”

I nod dumbly, mouth still open.

“Good slut.” He holds out his palm. “Get it nice and wet for me.”

I do as I'm told, lick his palm like I'm worshipping it. Devotional. My eyes flutter closed for a second, overwhelmed, but he grips my chin firmly and I open them again.

“Keep looking at me,” he says. “Want you to watch.”

“Can I-” I stutter. Words are hard. “Can I touch myself?”

He groans, tightens his hand in my hair until it hurts and I hiss in pain. He likes the thought, enjoys the degradation of it. Me, hand moving frantically beneath my rucked up skirt, cumming in a puddle on the floor at his feet. I can see him weighing it up. But. “No,” he says, and there's a glint of meanness in his eyes. “Watch. Pay attention.” He tanks my head up, back. “Want you desperate when you finally get to cum.”

He starts to stroke himself slowly over my waiting mouth, using my saliva to jerk himself off. I wait, awestruck, looking up at him. He's so beautiful, standing over me like this. I want everything he's willing to give me suddenly, a clenching need in the pit of my stomach. Anything he'll give, I'll take.

When he cums, thick ropes striping across my cheek, my nose, my tongue, I lick up every drop that I can. Swipe my fingers across my cheek and lick them clean, keeping eye contact as I do. Then I lean forward, taking him in my mouth again, and hollow my cheeks. Taking every last drop, licking him clean. I hear him breathe in sharply, a cross between a sigh and a moan. I could listen to that sound a thousand times over. He leans forward for a moment, palms flat on the kitchen counter while he catches his breath, and I rest my forehead against his bare thigh. I press my lips to his skin. He feels so warm. I can feel him shaking slightly.

After a moment his hand finds my hair, stroking through the fine soft strands. “God,” he says. “Good girl.”

“Please,” I mumble incoherently. I'm not even sure what I'm asking for, but I lean into his touch like I'm drawn to it, like a moth towards a naked flame. “Please.”

He lets me go, steps back. His eyes wander over the state that I'm in; slumped on my knees, t-shirt and bra yanked down around my waist to expose my heavy tits, my skirt pulled up around my thighs. My hair all mussed up, curls sticking up in every direction. My lips puffy and swollen. Tear trails on my cheeks. Residual cum still streaked across my nose. He's admiring his work, quietly proud of himself.

“Alex,” I say. It's the most coherent thing I've said in the last twenty minutes.

He doesn't respond. He just nudges his foot between my legs, kicks my thighs apart. Raises an eyebrow and smirks at the wet patch in my white lace underwear. Presses the toe of his shoe to my mound, easily brushing against my untouched clit. I moan, far too loud, at the contact and my hand flies to cover my mouth at the sound but he slaps it away. It stings. “No,” he says sharply, like he's scolding a dog. “I want to hear you.” He shifts his weight, presses harder, finds the right spot and I feel my thighs threatening to give way. I'm trembling with want. “Go on. Grind against me. I want you to cum grinding against my shoe.” My head spins. I thrust my hips forward in little jerky movements, desperate and wanting, each movement punctuated with little moans and groans. Uh, uh, uh, uh. It's humiliating. Such needy little sounds. Breathy sighs, my eyes heavy lidded, my mind too full of need to think. It doesn't take long for me to get close, the taste of his cum still in my mouth and the warm bulk of him standing over me. He leans down, gropes at my breasts, pinches at my nipple and watches my mouth open in a perfect silent “o” of pain as I squirm. I'm certain I'll bruise from his grip. Little decorations from him that I will wear for as long as I can. “That's it. Come on. Keep going.” He sounds so steady, so firm.

"Uh uh." I shake my head, whimper quietly, my hips pushing forward of their own volition. I'm overstimulated, too close, too tightly wound. I can't. Can't.

“Don't shake your head at me, slut, if I tell you to keep going, you keep going.” Every sensation feels amplified a thousand times over. “Come on. Cum for me.” There's no room in his voice for argument. He rakes his nails over my skin, presses his lips to my forehead when I slur out another half formed protest, pinches sharply at my nipple.

That's what pushes me over the edge, the sublime burst of pain that leaves some kind of metallic taste in my mouth and a smile of perfect calm, as my hips judder and still, and I cum hard with his name on my lips.

I can taste my heartbeat. The world spins, brilliant white and full of stars.

"Thank you," I hear myself say, from somewhere far away.

His voice is an anchor point. “Well done, darling.”

There's a warm hand stroking my cheek. The world feels muffled for a second as I feel myself calming down.

When I can process my thoughts again, I look up to see him pulling his jeans back up, smoothing down his hair. He looks so unaffected. So normal. He picks up the bag of sugar from the kitchen island, starts to weigh it out.

“What-”

“I'm going to have to make another batch of these cookies,” he says, his voice so even. “Since you messed up the last one.”

I start to stand, knees wobbly, clutching to the counter for stability, but he's there before I can manage it with a firm hand on my shoulder, pushing me down. “No,” he says, tone just a little too patronizing. “You stay down there. I think we can find something more worthwhile for you to do here.”