Chapter 23: Craving Sweetness

[al****]

This true story is the origin story of how I met my second 24/7 live in sub.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three years since the last blonde disappeared, a ghost leaving behind a trail of threesomes like breadcrumbs to nowhere. A year since Red and I said goodbye. And now, mid-October, I'm standing in the greasy sprawl of a theme park outside Chicago, surrounded by screaming kids and thrill rides clanking like dying machinery. The crew and I are here, trying to push gonzo-style adult filmmaking into public stunt territory; the thrill of maybe getting caught before we got the shot.

In the thick of all this, I've got a pickle on a stick, cheap, sour, perfect; and then she's there. Blonde, smirking, wrapped in the park’s uniform, stepping into my space as if she already owns it. Her eyes lock onto mine, and she leans in, not missing a beat, practically devouring the pickle with one slow bite. The crunch hangs in the air, sharp and deliberate. By the time she pulls back, there's almost nothing left.

"You're so fucking sexy, AleXxX," she says, low and certain, as if stating a simple truth. She’s already turning, hips swinging beneath the polyester skirt, her grin daring me to follow.

So I did. Didn't think twice. Dropped the stick, let the rollercoaster line fade to nothing, and chased after the blonde who'd soon be my next live-in submissive.

She cuts out of work early; we hit the nearest hotel, and as she undresses, everything about her feels deliberate, crafted by some quiet artist who knew exactly when to stop. Her breasts are small, natural, unapologetic, perched high with a simplicity that doesn't need dressing up. They fit her, designed to be exactly as they are, no excess, no flourish. Just smooth, pale skin leading to the soft edge of her collarbone.

Under her left breast, there's a tattoo, dark and intentional, a triquetra, three interlocking loops. It’s ancient, almost haunting, a secret she keeps close, her own mystery inked just below her heart.

Around her neck, a thin chain holds a pendant, plain but heavy with meaning, a charm or maybe a talisman resting just above her tattoo. It’s the only flash of metal on her, aside from the simple bracelets looped around her wrists, each piece carefully chosen to be exactly where it belongs.

And there, on her torso, sits a small patch, a diabetic monitor, most likely, attached just above her hip like a quiet reminder that even beauty like this has its own battles. She doesn't try to cover it up; it's there, as much a part of her as the tattoo or the jewelry, a small, almost invisible defiance against any notion of perfection. It's this piece of reality, this unfiltered glimpse of who she is, and somehow, it only makes her more beautiful, more human.

Impromptu shoot. No time for paperwork, no penetration pass, just oral clearance. Normally, I'd have her on her knees, get that perfect angle where I press forward, feel her tongue struggling to keep up. But something about her, the way she strolled up to me at the park, full of confidence, biting into that damn pickle like she owned it; I decide to shift gears.

I hop onto the bed, unzip, pull myself out. Already semi-hard, thickening by the second. I ask, casual, "You think you can handle this?"

She looks at me as if I’m some kind of miracle, as if she’s stumbled into a dream and can’t believe it’s real. That grin, wide and raw, like she couldn't hide it if she tried, stretches across her face.

"I'll try," she says, voice as raw as her smile.

She crawls forward, eyes locked on me, blue and wide, like if she looks away, I might disappear. There's something in that gaze, excitement, disbelief, maybe a little awe. She settles between my legs, tilts her head down, wraps her mouth around me.

She works slow, feeling out the shape, the length, the weight. Each inch she takes is a triumph, an accomplishment. I feel her concentrating on every detail, the warmth, the smoothness, the way her lips adjust, almost like she's tuning herself to something she's not sure she can handle but is still dead set on trying. Her head bobs, inch by inch, down to that faint line of color, a memory stamped into my skin from back when growth hit hard and fast. Past that mark, she's got a solid four and a half inches left to manage.

"Look at the camera," I tell her. And she does. Her eyes flick up, obedient, trained. Good girl, I think. It's there, hanging in my mind, but I keep it to myself. Not yet.

"Now, deeper," I say, voice low. A test.

And she does it, mouth dropping wide as she lowers herself, deliberate, maintaining the slightest touch until she’s nearly there. Just two inches to the finish, and that’s when she clamps her lips around me, tightening. A sharp inhale, halfway back up, then another steady push down, determined. She slides off, takes a breath, and out comes a burp, one she laughs through. Almost cute.

Without a word, she opens wide again, same approach. Lips barely making contact till she's down deep, just a heartbeat away from giving me exactly what I want. It's close. Maybe fourth and goal close.

Her lips with a strong grip on my shaft make their way backwards with this slow sensual motion, another pause, another burp with a cute smile, and then another wide attempt, like she's got a job to do and she's clocking in overtime. Every time she pauses, every time her lips trace their way up, I think, Sweet Jesus. And that's when it hits me, halfway between her taking a breath and me holding mine. Sugar Lips. Perfect. Like the universe just handed it to me on a silver platter.

She's a diabetic, counting every gram of sugar like it's gold. The irony's so thick I could *** on it. Sugar's the one thing she can't have, and here she is, giving it all away, drip by drip, with those lips.

I chuckle, low and rough, and mutter, "Deeper Sugar Lips, Get on that cock," under my breath.

Her palms press into my thighs, fingers gripping hard as she lowers herself slowly, forcing every part of me inside her. Her breath is tight and controlled, but I feel the tremor in her grip. She doesn’t stop, even as her body starts to push back, the first convulsion rippling through her. Her head wavers, yet her hands stay steady, holding firm as she takes me deeper, resisting every reflex, every shudder. She’s just shy of the base, her throat tightening around me, and with one final, trembling push, she takes me fully, her lips pressed firm against my skin.

For a heartbeat, everything holds still, her body taut as she keeps me buried inside her, defying her own limits. And then it happens. Her body rebels, a violent spasm clenching through her as she ***s, the sound wet and raw. Her stomach lurches, and she loses control, vomiting all over me, thick and heavy, coating my skin. It's a visceral act of will, pushing through her body's breaking point, proof of how far she's willing to go. Sugar Lips. My own little rebellion against the rules her body sets.

She pulls back, wiping her mouth, calm, unfazed. I'm expecting hesitation, some pause for dignity, but instead, she gets up, snags a towel, soaks it at the sink, and comes back. Her hands work fast, cleaning my cock, stripping away the mess she left. Not a word exchanged. The towel hits the floor, and her mouth's back on me, deep, silent, swallowing every inch until I'm there, letting loose in thick, hot pulses. She takes it all, thumb pressed to my vein like she's squeezing out every last ounce. She takes it all. When she finally lets me go, I'm still hard, wondering how sweet her other lips are. But I let it go. Addictive. Just a little bad for you.

Four days go by, and I get the call. Her voice on the other end, teasing, like she's letting me in on a secret. "Results came back clean," she says, light and easy. "I'm cleared for bareback."

I'm smiling before I know it. "Meet me at the hotel with the results," I tell her, feeling that thrill already simmering.

"They're mailing them," she answers, voice faltering.

"Then call me when it's in your hands," I say, quick, final, hanging up before she can protest.

Three days. Another ring, but this time there's a bite. "Got the envelope," she says. "How soon can you meet me?"

The garage door is lifting before she's finished. "I'm bringing a cameraman," I tell her, hearing her eager breath through the line.

"Whatever you want." I can practically hear the grin.

Thirty minutes to the hotel, and the door barely clicks shut before we're at each other, urgency pressing every second. I'm too eager to wait for Tim, still fif*** minutes out, so by the time he walks in, she’s already got me in her mouth again. I stand there, hands roaming those perfect, soft breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. She doesn’t stop, lips firm, unyielding, and I’m swaying, pushing deeper with each rock of my hips.

And I need a taste of her.

I reach down, grip her waist, and she's on me, her legs wrapping around my neck with an ease like she's reading my mind. I lift her, and we're locked in this gravity-defying tangle, her whole body inverted, thighs d***d over my shoulders, pulling her to me. Her mouth stutters once, just enough to catch her breath, then finds me again, swallowing me back down, her fingers pressing into my hips, anchoring us both.

She gasps as I settle in, tongue slipping deeper, probing, tasting that heat that nearly drips onto my tongue. Sweet, soft, velvet. Her body trembles, every tightened muscle, every pulse thrumming against me as I press in, pulling her close, savoring her, feeling each moan and every broken breath. And my own pulse builds, every nerve alive, the need almost too much to hold back.

I set her down on the bed, signal her to get on, and she slides over me, the tightness of her wrapping around me with each sinking motion. Her face twists into something close to bliss; eyes half-closed, lips parted. She starts to ride, fast and hard, her hands clamping onto my shoulders, chasing her own release.

"Work that dick," I whisper, the words slipping into her trance. Her eyes snap open, that devilish grin emerging as she shifts her hips, riding me with intent, each motion slower, deeper. She's taking her time, showing me what she can do. Her hand slides down to my knee, anchoring herself as her hips roll, her body so focused it's like she's singing to herself, some inner chant, locked in that private rhythm.

I watch her, how she moves with focus, every drop of her weight pulling something taut between us. "I want you to cum all over me," I tell her, each word sharp, hitting like an order she can't ignore.

Her hips ride steady, unflinching. She's close but not close enough, hands pressing harder, lifting herself up until she's squatting above me, dropping down with a *** that hits like a hammer, each time driving deeper. Then there's this little moan, like a crack in her voice, the kind you can't fake. I feel her tightening, those telltale tremors starting, that quiet tension winding through her like she's holding back, like she doesn't want to lose control too soon.

When my hand lands across her ass, it’s all in her reaction. Her head tilts back, eyes half-closed, glazed with something between surrender and thrill, lips parted just enough to show she’s right there with me, feeling every second. I lean in close, my hand still pressed against the red mark blooming across her skin, feeling the heat rise beneath my palm. "Come on," I say, low and rough, each word sinking into her.

"I want you to cum all over my cock," I tell her, rough; it hits her like a command. A moan rises from her, raw and caught off-guard, words spilling out, "Oh God," again and again, filling the room with her surrender. I smack her ass once more, and she shudders, her climax building until her body gives in, convulsing with the *** of it.

She growls through clenched teeth, "I love your dick." There's something raw there, almost feral, like she's at her breaking point. But she's not done, not yet. Her mouth is on mine in a soft, desperate kiss, and when she pulls back, she whispers, like she's admitting defeat, "I don't think I can cum anymore."

I smile, pulling her close, her skin slick against mine. "I'm not close to being done." She laughs, tired, her fingers raking down my arms. "Then what's the quickest way to get you there?" Her voice is almost pleading, her body spent.

"Bend over," I say, "ass up." She hesitates for a second, then obeys, crawling forward, spreading her legs, spine curving in submission. My hand meets her skin with a sharp crack, a red mark spreading across her ass. Her body tenses as I grip her waist, fingers pressing into her flesh as I pull her close, firm, and bring myself into her, deep. "This is going to be fast and hard," I warn, and my hand comes down again, her skin already flushed under my fingers. Another smack, and another, each one driving me deeper, each one making her tremble.

She braces herself, fingers digging into the mattress, my hand tangled in her hair as I push her limits, each thrust drawing her forward. Her body grips me, clenching as another climax overtakes her, quivering beneath my hold.

I lean in, take a fistful of her hair, and pull just as it hits, my release sudden and hot. She cries out, her back arches, eyes rolled up, mouth slack, as she's swept under again, collapsing into the bed, her body limp, but it's not over. This isn't one of those easy one-and-done days. I'm still pumping, still filling her, and there's no end, as if someone left the valve open, each pulse a wave forcing its way through, an endless surge. I let out a roar that fills the room, echoing off the walls, primal, drawn from somewhere raw and ancient, and I smack her ass one last time. Her whole body quivers under me; I don't stop until the last pulse is gone, until every ounce of control has left me, and we finally collapse together, breathless, melting into the bed.

The bed creaks in the silence, a stillness settling in. She asks the cameraman for water; I gesture for a smoke. The bottle reaches her, and he lights the cigarette at my lips.

She leans into me, her hand splayed against my chest, steadying herself. "That," she breathes, catching her breath, "was the best sex I've ever had." Her eyes meet mine, hungry yet softened. "So... what's a girl gotta do to make this more than just videos?"

I inhale, savoring the smoke filling my lungs. “Making this a regular thing? You’d have to be ready to give up control. All of it,” I say, letting the smoke curl out, lazily. “No boundaries, putting yourself in my hands completely.”

She takes the cigarette from my mouth, pulls a drag, her eyes fierce and steady. "You got a form for me to sign for that kind of arrangement too?" the smoke spilling from her lips.

I laugh, low and rough. Eigh***, and she’s already mastered dedication, pressing herself down like she’s got something to prove, gagging through every inch, taking each slap with a grin that dares me to go harder. She’s got that kind of drive you can’t fake, the kind that doesn’t wait for age. And with that kind of grit, how the hell could I say no?

[al****]

Since this is chapter is from the "black tape" collection you can expect the video drop showcasing the content that inspired this chapter very soon.

[ShyTeddy]

video where

[al****]

DM sent 😀

[ri****]

I’d like to watch it also.

[al****]

Tried to drop you a DM to hook you up with the link but I ran into issues. DM me if you want the link as I'd be happy to share. Alternatively the videos are directly on my profile here if you are a premium member and on a computer, word has it that the app doesn't have video functionality yet.

[Lo****]

Tempted to view em too