Make Me Moan, Daddy-Chapter 111

REINA

The moment the car pulled away from the restaurant curb, the silver balls shifted again—deep, rolling, relentless—and I couldn’t hold back the sound that escaped me.

It started as a soft gasp, then turned into a broken whimper when Domenico hit a small dip in the road.

The inner weights tumbled hard against my G-spot, sending a shockwave of pleasure straight through my core. My thighs clamped together instinctively, but that only made it worse—the pressure intensified, the cord tugged lightly against my clit, and another whimper slipped out, louder this time.

Domenico’s head snapped toward me.

His eyes darkened instantly.

"Princess," he said, voice low and thick, "you’re falling apart already."

I nodded, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper. "They’re... they’re moving too much. Every bump... it’s... I... ahh."

He glanced at the road ahead, then back at me, taking in my flushed cheeks, my parted lips, the way my chest rose and fell too fast.

"Fuck," he muttered. "I wanted to make you wait. Wanted to watch you squirm through dessert, through the drive home, through every red light. But you sound like that and I can’t think straight."

He reached over with his right hand, slid it under my dress through the slit, and cupped me over the soaked lace.

"Jesus. You’re dripping down your thighs so fucking much."

His fingers pressed the retrieval cord against my clit—just enough to make the balls shift again. I cried out, hips bucking off the seat.

"Five minutes," he growled. "There’s a hotel two blocks from here. We’re stopping."

I whimpered in relief and need. "Please. Please, daddy."

He floored it.

The city blurred past the windows. Every turn, every stoplight, every slight acceleration made the heavy silver spheres roll inside me—thudding softly, pressing, stretching, teasing.

The inner weights tumbled with each movement, creating that exquisite, rolling pressure that had me clenching and unclenching around them helplessly. My thong was useless—saturated, sticking to my folds, the cord rubbing my swollen clit with every shift of my hips.

Domenico kept one hand on the wheel, the other between my legs.

He didn’t finger me. He didn’t rub circles. He just held me—palm flat and firm against my mound, fingers splayed so the heel of his hand pressed the cord deeper against my clit while the weight of his touch nudged the balls even further inside.

"Feel that?" he murmured, voice rough. "Feel how full you are for me?"

"Yes," I gasped. "God... yes!"

He flexed his fingers once—pressing harder—and I moaned loud enough that it echoed in the car.

"Almost there," he said. "Hold on for me, baby."

The hotel sign appeared ahead—sleek black awning, gold lettering, valet already stepping forward. Domenico pulled up, killed the engine, and turned to me.

His eyes were black with hunger.

"Stay," he ordered. "Don’t move until I come around."

He got out, handed the keys to the valet without looking at him, circled the car, and opened my door. When I tried to stand my legs shook so badly he had to catch me around the waist. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"Easy," he whispered against my hair. "I’ve got you."

He half-carried me through the lobby, arm around my waist, body shielding me from view. The concierge didn’t blink when Domenico slid a black credit card across the counter and said, "Penthouse. Now."

Less than two minutes later we were in the private elevator.

The doors slid shut.

The second they closed, Domenico dropped to his knees.

My back hit the mirrored wall. He shoved my dress up to my hips, yanked my thong down to my ankles, and buried his face between my thighs.

His mouth was hot, wet, greedy.

He sucked my clit hard—once, twice—then dragged his tongue down my slit, lapping at the slick coating my folds. I cried out, fingers tangling in his hair.

He didn’t tease. He went straight for the cord.

His lips closed around the retrieval loop, teeth grazing my clit as he tugged.

The first ball emerged slowly—wet, gleaming with my arousal—and he sucked it into his mouth, rolling it on his tongue like candy before letting it drop to the floor with a soft clink.

I moaned—loud, broken—hips jerking against his face.

He pulled the second ball free the same way—slow, deliberate, lips sealed around the cord, tongue flicking my clit while the heavy sphere stretched me on the way out. The sudden emptiness made me whine, but then his tongue plunged inside me, fucking me deep, chasing the last ball.

When the third one slid out—slow, thick, dragging against my walls—he caught it between his lips, sucked it clean, then let it fall.

The elevator dinged.

The doors slid open.

A man stood in the hallway—mid-forties, suit, briefcase in hand, clearly waiting for the elevator down.

He froze.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.

Domenico didn’t move. Didn’t stand. He stayed on his knees between my thighs, lips shiny with my arousal, face buried against my pussy, hands gripping my hips like he owned me.

I should have been mortified.

I wasn’t.

I was so turned on I could barely breathe.

The stranger stared—first at Domenico’s dark head between my legs, then up at me—dress rucked up around my waist, thong around my ankles, thighs trembling, chest heaving, lips swollen from earlier kisses.

Domenico finally lifted his head—just enough to look at the man over his shoulder.

His voice was calm. Almost polite.

"You mind giving us the next one?"

The man blinked. Swallowed hard. Nodded jerkily.

The doors started to close.

Domenico turned back to me, eyes blazing.

He stood slowly—body sliding up mine—picked up the wet silver balls one by one, and tucked them into his pocket.

Then he scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing.

The doors opened again on the penthouse floor.

He carried me inside.

The suite was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights glittering below, king bed visible through open double doors.

He didn’t stop to look.

He carried me straight to the bed, laid me down gently, then stepped back and started undressing.

Suit jacket. Shirt. Belt. Pants.

Every piece hit the floor with deliberate slowness.

When he was naked—cock thick and hard, veins standing out, pre-cum beading at the tip—he crawled over me.

He kissed me—deep, slow, tasting myself on his tongue.

"You were so good tonight," he murmured against my mouth. "So fucking perfect. Letting me stuff you full. Letting you edge in front of that stranger. Letting everyone see how wet you were for me."

I whimpered, legs falling open.

"Please," I begged. "Please fuck me."

He smiled—dark, tender.

"Since you asked so nicely..."

He lined up, rubbed the head of his cock through my soaked folds—coating himself in my slick—then pushed inside in one slow, deep thrust.

I cried out—back arching—nails raking down his back.

He filled me completely—thick, hot, stretching me open after the balls had left me aching and empty.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to mine.

"Look at me," he whispered.

I did.

His eyes were soft. Burning.

"I love you," he said quietly. "More than anything."

Then he started to move, slow at first, deep, rolling thrusts that hit every spot the balls had teased.

I came almost immediately, shattering around him, sobbing his name, thighs locked around his hips.

He fucked me through it, steady, relentless, drawing it out until I was shaking, oversensitive, begging.

When he finally came—deep, hot pulses flooding me—he buried his face in my neck and groaned my name like a prayer.

We stayed like that for long minutes—sweaty, tangled, breathing hard.

He kissed my temple.

"My perfect girl," he whispered.

I smiled against his skin.

"Yours."

Always yours.