Maid for the Millionaire by jewel crotan (different ereaders TXT) 📖

been warm and inviting, now seemed like a mountain to climb. A test of my abilities. A chance to go beyond my limits. I took his penis in my mouth and moved down as far as I could. Slowly, gently. It was still only halfway. I loosened my jaw the best I could, relaxed my muscles. But this was all I could do. I once again felt Mr. Carawell's hands on my back of my head.

"Relax, April. I have no doubt you can."

To my surprise, he began pushing on the back of my head. With any other man I would have been enraged. But I couldn't say no to Mr. Carawell. Instead I took his forcefulness as motivation, support for this endeavor. A miraculous thing happened. I felt the back of my throat loosen up. I was able to lower myself even more. It was an incredible, satisfying sensation to feel his cock hit the back of my throat. With his hands as forceful support, I managed to get every last inch of his penis inside me. It stayed like that for a few seconds as I breathed through my nose. Mr. Carawell stroked my hair.

"Good girl..."

That was all the support I needed to continue. Dragging my lips along his shaft, I moved my mouth back up to the tip of his penis. Without even taking a break I went back down to the hilt. It was easier the second time, once my mouth had loosened up. Soon enough I was back to a frantic speed, sucking and licking with an unfound desire. Mr. Carawell's reactions stayed the same; slight affirmations of pleasure but overall commanding. In a way, it turned me on even more. It made me feel used, submissive. Like I was only a toy to him. With any other man I would have found it degrading. But with Mr. Carawell... I was proud to be his slut.

There was no warning when he came. Only an increased grip on my hair and the salty tase of semen down my throat. I had been working the head with my tongue when it happened, so I quickly took the entire shaft down to his waist as the ropes of cum landed deep within me. To be honest, I didn't even register much of the taste. It was my duty to please Mr. Carawell, and I felt nothing but satisfaction from making him orgasm.

Mr. Carawell lifted me up by the chin after he was finished. I was breathing more than he was. Giving a smile, I spoke.

"Did I do well?"

He smiled.

"Oh April. We're not done yet. On the bed. On your back."

I was hoping he would say that. Obeying diligently, I laid on the bed as he took the belt from his pants on the floor. The familiar feeling of discomfort ran and was quickly shut out of my mind. Just think, I told myself. An hour ago I thought would be on the streets. Now I was preparing to have sex with an attractive millionaire. So what if he was a little rough? As evidenced by how wet I was, I was enjoying how commanding and intimidating he was. I loved how he took charge, how I was purely there to be used for his benefit. The feeling was liberating, in a way. No emotions. No feelings. Just pure, raw sex.

Mr. Carawell lifted my hands above my head; tying my wrists to the bedframe with his belt. I cooed and squirmed seductively, echoing my desire to be fucked as he slowly took off his clothes with professionalism. Each button on his dress shirt meant another second I had to wait. The anticipation just about killed me. Finally, he was naked, erect, and glaring at me hungrily. It was time.

The world stopped as he penetrated me. Goosebumps lit up all over my skin. I felt every last inch of his penis slide into me at a savored pace. Mr. Carawell had his eyes closed. Mine were starry-eyed, rolling back in my head as I arched my back. It felt entirely unlike any other man I had been with. Something about the suddenness of the situation, the power he wielded over me, the girth of his dick. It all combined to a feeling that satisfied my massive pent-up frustration. He stayed like that a while, cock buried deep inside me. He probably wanted to fully enjoy the sensation before moving on. I didn’t mind.

As his hips moved back and forth my breathing quickened as well. I had to keep as quiet as possible, there were other maids and butlers through these walls and passing by outside my door. But as his pace increased I couldn’t help but moan quietly. Back and forth, feeling the entire length of his cock move in and out of me. There was a very precise motion he was carrying himself with. He hit just the right distance before plunging back in, controlled his breathing as a professional runner would. Just as I was wishing my hands weren’t tied so I could rub them all over his bulky chest and back, he kissed me.

 

More specifically, he kissed my neck. Buried his face in the crux of it, biting in lightly. While the combined feeling of goosebumps and being tickled spread across my face, Mr. Carawell started to quicken the pace. His strokes were no longer cold and calculated. They were more frenzied, as if he had tested the waters and was now giving into his desire. The heat that radiated from his body was powerful. His breath filled my ear as he fucked me. I moved my head for a kiss on his lips. Almost as if predicting my movement, he ran his tongue downwards towards my chest. Licking and sucking on my breasts as his penis continued to fill me. A little disappointing, but the sensations ran through my body like lighting. I couldn’t help it, my moans grew louder throughout the room.

At some point while he was trusting from up top, he had managed to unhook the belt from my wrists. I didn’t even notice my hands falling down to the pillow until he dismounted me. In my chest my heart was pounding wildly. The room already reeked of sex. Looking at Mr. Carawell, his eyes wandered over every last inch of my ruffled uniform. I ran my fingertips over his chest, glistening with the sweat of a good fuck. My womanhood ached with the craving of his cock. Some might even say it was painful. Mr. Carawell knew this; the way he looked at me confirmed he enjoyed my anticipation. He loved the tease. He loved having this control over me.

“On top. Now.”

With a hold on my wrist I was dragged out of the bed. Mr. Carawell sat back down on the chair, myself straddling him precariously. I looked into his eyes. Eager. Yearning. Burning. From his eyes I felt far from the same. I felt pride in his eyes. Power. Desire. With his left hand he grabbed my hair in one fell clump. I buried my head in his neck and lowered myself gracefully. My skirt spilled over his legs as I impaled myself on his cock once more.

This was a different sensation entirely. As each inch entered me my arms tensed up, wrapped around his shoulders. In my ear I felt the heat of his breath caress gently. Mr. Carawell placed his hands on my hips, yet I still controlled the pace. For now. Another few seconds and he was completely buried inside me. The room was silent except for my gentle breathing. I took my hands and placed them on his shoulders, feeling the power of his muscles under my fingertips. I began to move.

It was slow work at first. My hips moved forward just enough to keep the angle right. I loved the feeling of my breasts pressing up against his chest through the fabric of my uniform. Then I moved backwards, touching my forehead to Mr. Carawell in the process. Feeling the exhales of our breath intermingle. On my toes I continued to rock back and forth. It was a new position for me, but the surrealness of the tryst still hadn’t turned me off. It was almost like an addiction; I just couldn’t stop. With each glance at Mr. Carawell I almost felt boredom from him. Was he used to slow sex? On that thought, I grinded faster for him. Gripping his shoulders tight, practically slamming our chests together. The pleasure I felt grew more intense and soon I was feeling the heat of the moment again. Faster. Harder. More passionately. In that moment, I felt like a sexual goddess.

Hands roughly grabbed my hips. I paused in the moment to see Mr. Carawell staring at me. He still wasn’t satisfied. I felt him pumping up from below. There were only a few thrusts before his pace became frenzied. Filling me to the hilt, pumping at an incredible rate. There was no way I could hold in the moans that flooded the room as he fucked me silly. With each thrust Mr. Carawell moved my hips to meet his movements. I no longer felt like I was making love. I felt like he was using my body for his own pleasure. In that second, in that room, the thought turned me on immensely.

It all happened in a blur. I buried myself in his shoulders as I felt the buildup in my womanhood. He roughly clawed at my back, tearing the uniform in certain places. The chair shook with such force I was sure it would fall over. My mind could only concentrate on the feeling of his dick continuously entering me at a frenzied pace. I couldn’t stop it.

“I’m coming!”

Mr. Carawell stopped thrusting. I started grinding again before he wrapped his hand around my throat. Not tightly, but firmly enough to enforce the idea that he was in control. It took me a moment to register what was happening.

“April, you will not come until I say so.”

I nodded my head while squirming as much as I could. It was futile though. I couldn’t defy Mr. Carawell. With his hand still on my throat, I leaned into his lips. He returned the kiss, but half-heartedly. As if I was swearing fealty to him; he was acknowledging my submission. Our lips still locked, he once again thrust up into me. The way he played my body was masterful. We danced the edge of my orgasm, denying me relief with seconds to spare. I held off as long as I could. My body was shaking from the anxiety. I begged.“Oh please, Mr. Carawell. I can’t take it anymore. Please let me come.”

“April, I still haven’t given you my permission. I’m still not done with you yet.”

“Oh... Ah! Oh please. I can’t... I can’t take much moreeeee Oh! Oh! Oh!”

Sighing, he spoke.

“Very well. You may come.”

The second the words left his mouth I felt a rush of euphoria escalate through my body. It cumulated in an explosive ecstasy that almost made me topple over. Mr. Carawell grabbed me to sit me up straight as he continued to pump away. I rode every trust through my orgasm before he came himself deep inside me.

It was quiet afterwards. No hushed whispers of voyeurs at the door. No murmur of confusion through the walls. Just the gentle breathing of us two as the blood rushed back to our heads. My head rested on his shoulder, looking right into his face. Mr. Carawell had his eyes closed. Meditative. Calm. It was almost romantic. Before his eyes shot open.

“I need to go.”

Picking me up and setting me aside, Mr. Carawell began gathering his clothes. As he meticulously put them back on I questioned him.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to help you... I hated seeing