Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
The bag covered over his face again. The motor roared. He fought for air, his chest burning. The suffocation seemed to double this time. Trapped. Can’t breathe. Too long. Black spots speckled his vision.
When she turned it off and pulled back the plastic, he couldn’t catch his voice. He didn’t want to.
One of her cold, heartless fingers traced his jaw. “You failed two of the simplest requirements.”
He panted, his lungs on fire. The requirements…the requirements… Strip. Kneel. No sex with her. No touching her. No masturbating. Eyes down.
His gaze flew to his stomach, taking his heart with it. Chest heaving, instinct screaming to insult her with every curse word he knew, he tried to shed the fear from his face.
“That’s one.” She placed a hand on his groin, the heat of her palm seeping through the thin barrier.
A moan caught in his throat. He didn’t want to feel her hand there, and he definitely didn’t want to like it. Dammit, which requirement was he missing? Sifting through the list, he grit his teeth. “Mistress.”
“Good.” She stroked his penis through the latex with a skill that infused his body with lust and fury. Keeping his eyes averted from hers, he flexed his muscles, drew calming breaths, and blanked his mind. Years of practice in controlling his desires should’ve overpowered the sensations she was weaving through him, but with each twist of her wrist and drag of her fingernail, the traitorous erection swelled.
Her touch disappeared. His pulse tapered then hammered anew as she shifted down his body. Her mask hovered over his crotch, her hands braced on either side of his hips. The long silk of her hair curled around slim, bare shoulders. If his hands were free, he could snap her in half.
She slid the mask to her forehead, her face angled out of view, and the heat of her breath penetrated the thin material, sweeping over his groin. He arched, straining against the compression of the bag. His legs trembled as quivering energy tingled over his thighs and tightened his balls.
This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t stop his release from building. He must’ve looked ravenous, the transparent latex adhering to his genitals, revealing every detail under her close inspection.
It was wrong. She was violating him, molesting him—
Her tongue dragged over his length from root to tip, wrenching a moan from deep within his chest. Despite the layer of latex between them, all he could feel was the concentrated heat, the soft stroke, the atrocious pleasure of it.
With an invasive grip, she adjusted his erection to lie flat between his pubic mound and the latex. “You have permission to speak. Tell me what you want me to do with this monstrous cock.”
“Mistress, release me.”
She raised up, shifting the mask to cover her face, and straddled his hips. “I’m so wet, if you weren’t wearing a full-body condom, you’d slide right in.” She ground against him, and he thought, for a terrifying second, he might come just from the contact.
“My pussy would stretch to accommodate your girth. It would grip you like a vise and cream all over your cock as you rub in and out, sinking deeply, withdrawing reluctantly.” She leaned toward his face, her breath whispering behind the mask. “You would finish with hard, hurried fucks, punching every inch of my cunt.”
Vulgarity could be a form of torture, along with character assassination. He knew she was taunting him, trying to coax him into abandoning his beliefs and begging her like those before him. Even knowing this, he couldn’t stifle the overwhelming desire gripping his body. He’d never wanted to come so badly, but he would not beg.
She slid the red satin crotch of her panties to the side and rolled her hips up. The sight of her plump, pink creases of skin, hairless and glistening with moisture, wrestled his wildest, most insane fantasies to the forefront of his thoughts. He curled his toes and tensed against the warmth rushing to his groin. His breathing and heart rate quickened, yet he couldn’t look away from her body.
No cheerleader, no pastor’s wife compared to her beauty. She moved with the grace of a dancer, lithe and muscular, shifting over his privates as if she were floating. For a thick moment, he was convinced he’d found an angel. Then he remembered she was his captor, a rapist, the devil incarnate.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into his thighs, his penis unbearably hot and uncomfortable.
“Open your eyes, boy.” Her voice was commanding, the mask adding another layer of detachment. “Watch me.”
Startled by the ease at which he followed her command, he watched her finger as it traced her slit, up and down, gathering wetness. He couldn’t stop his mind from darting to the conclusion of sex, wanting the mystery of her flesh wrapped around him and not caring about his virginity or his parents’ promise to God. It was enlightening and reckless.