Chloe's throat fucking empire exposed live

The red light on the smartphone glowed like a demon’s eye, its unblinking stare fixed on me. On my knees, the plush carpet of our new “studio” apartment digging into them, I looked up at Mark. His cock, thick and hard and already glistening at the tip, was inches from my mouth. The scent of him, that musky, primal aroma that had started this whole fucking mess, filled my head.

“They want to see you take it, Chloe,” he groaned, his voice a low rumble that vibrated straight to my core. “They paid to see my cock disappear down your fucking throat.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. My tongue snaked out, a long, flat lick from the base of his shaft all the way to the swollen head. I swirled it around the crown, tasting the bitter-salt pre-cum that beaded there. God, I loved that taste. It was the taste of late nights in his corner office, of quickies in motel rooms that smelled of bleach and regret. It was the taste of our ruin.

And our fucking fortune.

The chat scroll on the screen beside us was a blur of emojis and crude comments, a digital waterfall of lust. I ignored it. My world had shrunk to just this: the weight of his cock on my tongue, the way his hips twitched when I sucked just the head into my mouth, the low, animal groan that escaped his lips.

“That’s it, you filthy bitch,” he breathed, his fingers tangling in my hair, not guiding, just holding on. “They’re going wild for you. They love seeing my secretary on her knees where she belongs.”

A memory, sharp and sudden, flashed behind my eyes: the blinding stage lights of the concert, the swell of the music, the cool metal of the seat in front of me. The dizzying, reckless freedom of knowing we were hidden in a sea of eighty thousand people. His zipper down. My head in his lap. The taste of him, just like this, as Ed Sheeran sang some sweet love song. Then the gasp of the crowd, a sound that wasn’t for the stage. The cold dread washing over me as I looked up and saw our faces, giant and luminous on the Jumbotron, my lips stretched around him. The cameras didn’t look away. They zoomed in. They caught the precise moment his body shuddered and he came, a hot, thick rope painting my cheek, my chin, my stunned, open mouth. The look on his face wasn’t shock. It was pure, unadulterated relief.

The clip went viral before we’d even found our car. His wife’s lawyer called before we’d made it out of the parking garage. My inbox was flooded with offers from porn studios by morning. We were ruined. We were famous.

So we became entrepreneurs.

Mark’s hand tightened in my hair, pulling me back to the present, to the glowing red light and the paying audience. “Stop teasing, Chloe. Take it all. Now.”

I opened my jaw wider, letting my lips form a tight seal around him, and pushed forward. The head of his cock bumped against the back of my throat, and I relaxed, letting him slide deeper. I took him all, until my nose was buried in the coarse hair at the base of his shaft, until I could feel him throbbing in my throat. I held it, looking up at him, my eyes watering.

“Fuck, look at that,” he moaned, his head thrown back. “Look at her take every fucking inch. You see that, everyone? She loves it. She lives for my cock.”

I did. I sucked him slowly at first, building a rhythm, my head bobbing up and down his length. Each time I pulled back, I dragged my tongue along the sensitive vein on the underside. Each time I plunged down, I hollowed my cheeks, creating a vicious suction that made his legs tremble.

“Harder,” he demanded, his voice ragged. “Fuck my mouth, Chloe. Do it.”

His grip on my hair turned from possessive to controlling. He started to move his hips, fucking my face in short, brutal thrusts. I relaxed my throat, letting him use me, the sounds of his skin slapping against my lips, his guttural grunts, and my own choked gags filling the room. Spit dripped down my chin onto my tits. The sheer degradation of it, the absolute nastiness, made a fresh wave of wetness soak my own panties.

“You’re my perfect little cocksucker,” he growled, looking down at me, his eyes dark with lust. “This is all you’re good for now. This pretty little mouth was made for my dick. Tell them. Tell them what you are.”

I pulled off him with a wet pop, gasping for air, a string of saliva still connecting my lips to his glistening shaft. I looked directly into the camera, my voice husky and broken.

“I’m a cocksleeve,” I panted, running a hand over my own hard nipples through my blouse. “I live to serve his perfect cock. I want him to fuck my face until I can’t breathe. I want him to dump his entire fucking load down my throat.”

The chat exploded. Hearts. Fire emojis. “TAKE IT ALL SLUT.”

Mark’s laugh was a dark, thrilled thing. He shoved his cock back between my lips, and I welcomed it, sucking him like my life depended on it. I could feel his rhythm getting erratic, his thrusts becoming more frantic. His balls tightened against my chin.

“I’m gonna come, you dirty whore,” he warned, his voice straining. “You’re gonna swallow every. Last. Drop.”

I just looked up at him, my eyes promising obedience, and doubled my efforts. I slid one hand down between my own legs, frantically rubbing my clit through the wet fabric of my panties as I serviced him. The dual sensations—of giving pleasure and taking my own—were overwhelming.

His body went rigid. A deep, shuddering groan was torn from his chest. The first hot, bitter spurt hit the back of my throat and I swallowed instantly, greedily. The second. The third. I kept sucking, milking his cock with my throat, my tongue, my lips, drawing out every last bit of his orgasm until he was sensitive and twitching, until he finally pushed my head away, utterly spent.

I sat back on my heels, panting, his cum still on my tongue. I made a show of licking my lips clean for the camera, a smug, satisfied smile on my face.

Mark, still catching his breath, looked down at me, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He reached for the phone, turning it to frame my body.

“Alright, you animals,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You liked that? Now let’s show them what we do with a greedy little cunt that can’t keep her hands to herself.” His eyes locked on mine. “Bend over the desk, Chloe.

His command was a live wire against my skin. I didn’t just obey; I needed to. The camera was a distant god, the subscribers a faceless crowd, but Mark was right here. He was everything.

I turned, the polished mahogany of his executive desk cool against my burning palms as I bent over. I heard the rustle of his trousers, the clink of his belt, and then his heat was against me. His hands, those powerful, CEO hands that signed million-dollar deals, gripped my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. He didn’t just push my skirt up; he wrenched it to my waist, exposing my ass to the chilled office air and the unblinking eye of the camera.

“Look at that,” he growled, his voice a low rumble meant for me and the thousands listening in. “This fucking cunt is already dripping for me. Were you thinking about my cock the whole time you were sucking me, you greedy slut?”

“Yes, Mark,” I moaned, pushing my ass back against the hard ridge of him, wanting to feel that dominant pressure. “Always.”

With a sharp tear of lace, he ripped my panties down my thighs. The sound was obscene, a declaration of ownership. He kicked them aside, and they landed somewhere near the webcam, a discarded trophy for our audience.

His palm came down on my right ass cheek, a stinging, possessive smack that made me gasp and my cunt clench around nothing. “This ass belongs to me,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He spanked the other cheek, the sharp pain blossoming into a deep, throbbing heat that spread straight to my core. “And this wet, little fuck-hole?” He dragged a thick finger through my soaked folds, and I cried out, my knees trembling. “This is mine, too. You’re just a set of holes for my cock, Chloe. My personal, filthy fuck-toy.”

The degradation was a drug, and I was an addict. It made me feel owned, wanted, used in the most perfect way. I was his secretary, his whore, his star. And I loved every fucking second of it.

He positioned himself, the broad, flushed head of his cock nudging against my entrance. I was so wet it slid through my slickness, teasing my clit, making me whimper and push back, trying to impale myself on him.

“You want it?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to drive me insane. “Beg for it. Beg for your boss’s fucking cock.”

“Please, Mark,” I panted, my forehead pressed against the cool wood. “Please. Fuck me. I need your thick cock in my cunt. I need to feel you stretching me open. Please, sir.”

That was all he needed. With a grunt of raw hunger, he drove into me in one brutal, perfect thrust. My back arched as he filled me completely, the stretch a blinding, beautiful ache. He was so fucking big, and he owned every inch of the space inside me.

“Fuuuuck, yes,” he groaned, his hands locking on my hips like vices. “That’s it. Take it. Take all of it, you filthy bitch.”

He didn’t wait for me to adjust. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into the hilt. Each thrust rocked my entire body forward on the desk. The sound was lewd, a wet, slapping symphony of skin on skin and his cock plunging into my drenched pussy.

“You feel that?” he grunted, his pace never slowing. “You feel how deep I am? I’m in your guts, Chloe. This is my fucking cunt.”

“Yes! Yes!” I screamed, the pleasure a tidal wave washing away every thought. I reached a hand between my legs, frantically circling my swollen, aching clit, the added sensation pushing me closer to the edge. “It’s yours! It’s all yours! Fuck me harder!”

He obliged, his thrusts becoming animalistic, desperate. He leaned over me, his chest hot against my back, his mouth near my ear. “They’re watching,” he rasped, his breath hot. “Eighty-thousand people are watching me wreck this perfect, tight cunt. They’re watching you come all over my dick. You love that, don’t you? You love being my little show pony.”

His words, the reality of the camera, the feel of him splitting me open—it was too much. The coil in my belly tightened to a breaking point. My fingernails scrabbled against the desktop as my orgasm ripped through me, violent and all-consuming. My cunt clamped down on his cock in fierce, rhythmic pulses, milking him, pulling him deeper as I screamed his name, my vision whiting out.

The feeling of my climax squeezing him was his undoing. With a primal roar that was for me and me alone, he buried himself to the root and came. I felt the hot, pulsing jet of his cum flooding my depths, marking me from the inside out. He held himself there, grinding against my ass, as he emptied everything he had into me.

We collapsed together over the desk, a sweaty, panting heap. His weight on me was the most comforting feeling in the world. I could feel his heart hammering against my back, a wild echo of my own.

After a moment, he shifted, pulling out of me slowly. A gush of our combined release followed, a lewd testament to what we’d done, right there on his desk for the world to see. He reached for the phone, turning the camera to show the messy, glistening evidence on my thighs and the desk.

He gave the lens a wicked, satisfied smirk. “That’s what a real orgasm looks like.”