Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“I’ll never get over how beautiful you look bent over, open and dripping for me.”
He was right; my pussy was slick, both from my arousal and the lube that had missed its mark and rolled down. Sir stood behind me and pressed his fingers to the opening of my cunt, barely dipping inside before sliding them down, over my clit.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, slowly stroking the broad tips of his fingers back and forth.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Why do you like it?”
“Because…I’m your filthy slut, Sir.” Demeaning words were a major turn on for me, though I knew that it was fully a matter of societal conditioning. It felt strangely powerful to self-apply them in play. “I’m your fucking whore.”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “Say it, again.”
“I’m a filthy whore.”
He slapped my pussy, and I rose up on the balls of my feet, sobbing at the unexpected pain. “Again!”
“I’m a filthy whore, Sir!”
Another hard slap targeted my clit, and agony exploded through my lower body. The torturous sensation faded to a throb of renewed pleasure. I wanted him to do it again. I never wanted him to do it again. Either way, I couldn’t win.
He did it again. Of course he did.
“I want you to scream it, Sophie.” His hand tightened on my hair, and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.
“I’m your filthy fucking whore, Sir!”
He let go without warning, and my head lolled forward.
“You’re not my whore,” he growled. “You’re my property.”
I closed my eyes. Yes. That was what I wanted. To be nothing more than a toy to please him. To be powerless to him, with no opportunity to argue or object. I pushed the thought of my safe word to the back of my mind. He’d told me to use it, to know my own limits. Tonight, I didn’t want to know my own limits. I wanted to be utterly used.
“And my property,” he continued, “doesn’t need to talk.”
He went to the cabinet and carried back what I’d thought was a ball gag, until I saw the gleam of surgical grade steel.
“And my property doesn’t need to close her mouth.”
The claw gag consisted of four hooks on an elastic strap. The hooks had smooth steel balls on the ends of them, so they couldn’t puncture anything important. He slipped two past my lips, seating them at the corner of my mouth, then wrapped the band around the back of my head to place the others on the opposite side. The gag held my mouth wide open and vulnerable to anything he’d like to do to it.
“Get on the bed. Hang your head over the side.”
I climbed up, the weight of the plug shifting inside me as I positioned myself. I’d barely gotten comfortable, with my head tipped back over the edge, before he unzipped and pulled out his erect cock.
“I’m going to fuck your throat, Sophie. Do you remember your signal?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Good. Then, I won’t hold back.” He pushed the head of his cock into my mouth, and I thought he would start out with a few shallow strokes. Instead, he shoved all the way back. The angle of my head lined up my mouth and my throat perfectly. He passed my gag reflex, but I still compulsively swallowed; I was off my game.
He slid out slowly, forcing me to hold my breath. I coughed and drooled, and with the gag holding my mouth open, there was no chance of keeping it from escaping. Nor could I with the next thrust, or the next. I closed my eyes and tried to remember to breathe through my nose, but it was difficult with each new flood of saliva that trickled down—technically up—my face. His thrusts grew faster and harder, his groin slamming into me painfully.
“I could come down your throat,” he threatened. “I could come and let it run out of your mouth. I could bind your hands so you couldn’t make yourself come, and leave that plug in you so you wished you could. Would you like that?”
I bucked my hips, reaching out for a touch that hadn’t been there in the first place.
“Do you want my cock in you tonight?” he asked, thrusting forward hard.
I made a muffled affirmative noise.
“Prove it.” He withdrew, then pushed in again. “Make me believe it.”
I cried again, wordlessly. Whatever I said would have been unintelligible.
“Imagine it, Sophie,” He said, still fucking my face, choking me mercilessly with every stroke. “I could bring you to the very edge. I could do it, again and again. And I could leave you unsatisfied. After I’ve come, what do I care if my plaything does?”
Panic curled through me. I tried to beg, “No, no, no,” but it came out as a series of desperate grunts.