The Perfect Dick - an excerpt :) Read the full story on my Substack.

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“Couch,” he said, pointing to it. “Now. On your stomach, and wait for me."

Anastasia’s feet carried her over to the couch. The lower regions of her tummy were trembling in anticipation. She laid down on the couch, placing a pillow beneath her hips, and waited.

Edward came over to join her a few seconds later, chucking the pillow aside and situating her ample hips directly over his lap. He pressed his erection, still covered, into her side, and Anastasia relinquished all hope of escape. She wanted to be trapped. She’d secretly known it, deep down, all along, and now the awareness was rising to the surface, becoming public. Edward clasped a firm hand around the outer edge of her hip, while the other one rubbed her thighs.

“So you remember how this goes,” he said.

“Yeah,” she responded, though it came out as more of a squeak.

Her face was, once again, pressed into the cushions. In all this time, so much had changed, and yet, nothing had.

“Do you want it soft or hard?” he asked, grazing his knuckles across her entrances. In response, she lifted her hips toward him, then remembered to say, “hard please.”

“Good girl,” he said, taking a sip of his beer with his free hand, before reaching over her bare bum to set it on the table. “Or should I say bad?”

She waited wordlessly, legs trembling in response, steadied by the hand that was gripping her hip. She felt his lips against her back entrance, and his tongue swirling, and could have sobbed from anticipation. Then he lifted his face and squeezed her butt-cheek, quickly and assuredly, before smacking it. Her knees jolted, finding support in his immovable thighs. She braced herself there, against him, as he whacked her again and again, not pausing until she cried out. It was as if the gates of her vocal chords had been pummeled. She had been quiet before that, communicating to him in whimpers and murmurs. Now she had cried out, and she continued to do so, urgently, violently, as he spanked her at a slower, yet more forceful, pace, pausing after each one as if to savor the reverberations of her pleasured scream.

She knew her ass was red when he stopped to kiss it, planting tender kisses that almost hurt because they were so delicate, over flesh that was now marred by pleasure. Edward let out a sigh of satisfaction, and some submissive presence in her wanted to please him again, pushed her legs open so that he could access her inmost parts. 

Edward licked at her vulva, then settled back comfortably against the couch and slid a finger inside. They both knew that she was his now, putty for him to do with as he liked. Something was ceded when she offered herself to him like this, and she wouldn’t get it back until they were clothed. Didn’t want it back.

As Edward’s finger plowed her vaginal passage, they both privately marveled at how lush it was, how abundant the flow of feminine essence, just for him. He added a second finger, and she felt her muscles contracting against it. This was an orgasm she had been waiting for, from him. She needed it. She wanted it, with him.

“Edward,” she said, turning her face to the side so he could hear her.

“Anything,” he responded.

“Will you fuck me?”

Except that. Two fingers came to constrain her on either side of her neck. It was nearly a chokehold. Her nipples hardened.

“What did I tell you?” he growled.

“You said you want to make—love.”

“Ask for that.”

She couldn’t. As much as she wanted to get fucked, she couldn’t use the word love. Not with Edward. She wasn’t ready. Her face dropped back into the cushions.

“You little brat,” he said, swatting her again.

There was levity in his voice. He wasn’t taking this too seriously, though she knew there was dead seriousness at the heart of the matter. Comforted by his teasing tone, she relaxed, and ceded the rest of this experience to him. Edward had made it clear to her that he was content to take his time. So would she. 

He spanked her again and she whined, “fuck,” stretching into his hand like a cat.

“God, you’re so sexy.”

He intoned it, instead of exclaiming like Henry had. Something about the muted tone made her believe it. Made her realize she wanted him to think about her that way. Always. 

Again his hand gripped the outside of her hip, and she braced herself for another onslaught. Instead, three of his fingers coaxed their way into her pussy, intruding as far as she would let them. It took everything Anastasia had to relax enough so that the crest, where his thumb met his forefinger, was flush against her vaginal opening. 

Edward had complete control of her now, as if she were a puppet. Anastasia couldn’t move. He was controlling her from within.

Instead of abusing this power, Edward treated it with the utmost care. He very gradually, very gently, worked up a subtle rhythm with his fingertips. Though his movements were faint, she felt every atom where her inner flesh was touched. She let out a high-pitched whisper as the concentric circles he was generating, concentrated at her core, spread. The orgasm was so intense it was an altered state of being. It consumed her as if sucking her into a black hole, and while she was experiencing it, she doubted if she would ever come out. The orgasm was all-consuming, in every inch of muscle, and as she lost herself, the sole remaining reminder of the outer world was the very steady presence of Edward’s hand, which pushed her into and through the culmination of energy.

“God,” she heard herself panting, as the total dissolution of her being gave way to a series of aftershocks.

“That’s my girl,” said Edward.

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