Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
It’s hard, but I admit I’ve secretly stowed away my feminist card and prayed for a prince to swoop into my life and steer the ship back to the harbor, so to speak. The last ten years with my father have been one turmoil after another. From gambling debts to drinking to running an illegal poker club in our basement, which ended up getting raided by the cops.
My childhood was that sort of rollercoaster, and with all the distractions and the hell of high school as a shy, chubby gamer girl with few social skills and a crappy home life, I barely graduated.
I guess the prince charming was what I was hoping for when I decided to enter the Chubby Chasers dance contest. Because the two-grand first prize wouldn’t really be enough to get me out of the trouble my father has left me in.
I watched a YouTube video of a woman that uses her ‘curves’ to lock down benefactors as she called them. She said she started at a dance competition, then went on to form a lucrative stable of men that pay all her bills, along with a website and a killer OnlyFans account.
Sure, I ignored the parts about what she had to do in order to keep the money coming in. In my mind, I would wear cute pajamas, sit on a fluffy bed surrounded by stuffies and about ten rescue dogs, and talk to my own stable of men on Facetime about how their day was, while they spoil me and make sure I’m eating right, and give me metaphorical spankings when I break the rules.
Whatever rules they set. Nice rules, like Daddy kind of rules.
I’m pretty sure they’d want more than that, but desperate times are a fertile field for delusions.
So... is this my prince charming in a black Bentley?
Or a serial killer planning my demise?
Why am I not terrified?
“You don’t belong in a place like that.” His rumbling voice cracks open the dark silence in the car, my pulse still racing from the kiss and the groping earlier.
“Where do I belong?” My question seems to hit him like a fist, and he visibly recoils, long, thick fingers turning white on the steering wheel.
“If I answer that question, you’ll be clawing your way out that door,” he says thickly, the tendons in his neck straining against the white collar of his shirt.
He’s dressed pretty nice for a serial killer. Black suit, white shirt, open collar. Classic but sexy.
I already registered that he’s a big guy, but here inside the car, he takes up the space like ten pounds of potatoes in a five-pound sack, as my grandma used to say, God rest her soul.
As we merge onto the mostly empty freeway, one of his massive hands releases the steering wheel and those thick, hard fingers reach over and dig into the flesh of my left knee.
“Spread your legs. The scent of your wet pussy is making me a discourteous man right now. I want to see what you were going to tempt all those other feeble, weak men with.”
He tugs my leg toward the center console, then reaches over, sliding down. His hand finds its way to the heat and wetness I cannot hide, gliding across the bit of red fabric left before ripping it from the elastic, then urging my other thigh toward the passenger door with his knuckles. His attention returns to the road for a moment, where the black highway is broken by only the headlights of the car and the fast moving white stripes that divide the empty lanes.
After a heartbeat, his gaze returns to my now-exposed feminine parts, which are tingling like they are being tickled by a hundred feathers.
His heavy breathing fills the space as I hold my own. There’s low rock music coming from the car speakers. My lungs burn as I stare at the angles of his face. The cut of his jaw bone and crooked angle of his nose. He shifts his massive frame in his seat on an uncomfortable grimace, his hand retreating from my thighs, which he has positioned obscenely wide, to reach back and grip himself, adjusting what I see in the darkness is a healthy thickness under his black trousers.
God, I’ve played with myself before, but never have I felt this sort of desire. Longing. It’s like a coiled snake inside me, rattling and slithering and ready to strike.
And it’s for a man that has abducted me and assaulted me. That’s not to mention he’s got to be close to fifteen…maybe twenty years older than me.
Clearly, my Daddy issues are coming out to play.
But all I can think about is having him throwing me up against the wall and drive all that thickness into my virgin pussy.
My nipples harden and ache at the thought as I lean back in my seat, opening my legs wider for him to have a better view.