The Skinwalker Totem

by Amanda Clover

  He growled against her lips and tore open her robe. His hands kneaded her breasts and peeled the cups lower to expose her fat nipples. He growled again, lapping around her areolas and suckling loudly at her tender teats. She moaned and arched beneath him, squeezing her legs against his and pushing her delicate mound against his hard cock.

  “Ohhhh, Baxter,” she moaned, cradling him against her breasts. His kiss moved lower, tongue teasing her navel before making a warm trail for her cunt. He looked up at her, still wearing his spectacles as he drew aside her panties and tongued her dewy folds. She sucked in a quivering breath as he licked the bud of her clit and thrust two fingers deep into her pussy. He had learned. He knew how to lick her, to suck her and fuck her with his fingers. He drove pleasure into her body, curled his fingers against nerves deep inside her pussy.

  “Mmmmmmm,” he moaned against her clit, licking feverishly between sucks on that most sensitive bud. Sara arched on the bed, thrusting against him and clutching at her breasts. She pinched her nipples and wailed with pleasure.

  “Oh, Baxter, you are going to make me burst!”

  “Cum for me,” he said and surprised her with his forceful tone. He pressed his lips to Sara’s clit and sucked hard, drawing the pleasure out of her in a rush. She wailed in shock, cumming almost against her will. She resisted for a moment, but was overwhelmed and could only ride the hot serpent of ecstasy that his fingers and tongue sent racing into her core. Her body quaked as her climax receded. Her breasts shook and her thighs trembled.

  Baxter crawled atop her again and did not hesitate to kiss her and thrust his cum-sweet tongue into Sara’s mouth. She embraced him, moaning as his cock met the hot, slick folds of her pussy. A turn of his hips was all it took to slide into her aching cunt.

  “Oohhhh yesss,” she hissed against his lips. “Fuck me, Baxter.”

  “Yes, Miss Chambers,” he teased and hilted his cock in her tight channel. She howled with pleasure as he took her hard and fast. He moved without concern for Sara’s pleasure, hammering his cock into her, and this, ironically, drove her mad with pleasure. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, pulling him deeper, wailing as his hard cock speared into her fluttering cunt again and again.

  “So good!” She cried, raking her nails on his toned back. “Ohhhhh, yes, fuck meeee!”

  He pushed up on his arms, the force of his strokes causing her breasts to heave and jiggle. She let go of his back, speared beneath him, and twisted her fingers in the blanket. His balls tightened and his cock swelled inside her. Sara’s toes curled with a new surge of pleasure. She cried out, her ecstasy rising uncontrollably.

  “Cum inside me!” She cried, legs holding him deep in her pussy. “Fill me, Baxter!”

  “Ohhhhhh Sara!” Baxter roared with pleasure as his cock exploded against her womb. Pulse after pulse met the hot squeeze of her orgasm. He filled her with his liquid ecstasy, spurt after spurt, slicking the red piston of his cock until it trickle from her cunt and down the crack of her arse. He collapsed atop her and she held him tightly as they panted and shuddered together.

  His cock was still hard inside her. The magic of the ring, though diminished by being turned into a tattoo, was still potent. Sara moaned with delight as he began to thrust inside her again, stirring the thick load of his seed with his stiff cock.

  It was going to be a long night with her favorite boffin.

  Hours later, she stepped out of her steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel and found Baxter lying on his back, his rather impressive cock deflated and lying limp across his thigh. He was asleep, his cheeks deeply flushed and his hair soaked with sweat. Sara briefly considered waking him up with a blowjob, but decided a seventh orgasm might kill the lad. She padded across the bedroom and into the nearby canteen of her suite. She took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and had a drink.

  A chime from her nearby office notified her that she had received a message. She shed the towel and walked naked into the office. She opened her email and her eyes widened.

  The message was to one of her charity foundation email addresses and was sent from Royce Darvish with the subject line, “We need to talk, Sara.” The email was empty other than an address in Berlin, a time, and a date. Two days away.

  And there was a photo. It showed Sara holding a pistol in one hand and standing over the mutilated body of Jonathan Carlsbad. The image was crystal clear and taken from a high definition security camera.

  The implication was clear: Royce Darvish was blackmailing her.

  But what did he want?