Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He knelt at the edge of the bed and pulled me toward him. He slid his fingers back inside me and lowered his mouth to my pussy. Oh, sweet Jesus. He used his thumbs to hold me open, and dragged his tongue along my pussy to my clit. He prodded it, caressed it, stimulated it while my hips went wild.
I panted behind the gag. It felt too good, too intense. I reached down, I couldn’t help it. I pushed on his shoulders and the pleasure went away, replaced by stern admonishment.
“What did I tell you? You fucking listen to my instructions.”
He held my wrists over my head with one hand, and smacked the underside of my ass with the other. And by “smacked the underside of my ass,” I mean destroyed my ass. Eight hard, stinging spanks, one after the other, all on one cheek as I wailed past the panties in my mouth. He let go of my hands and no words were necessary. His expression and my throbbing ass cheek were message enough. I curled my fingers into my hair so I wouldn’t fuck up again, and I opened my legs the way he’d told me.
“That’s better,” he said. “You’re here to obey me, and please me. Do your fucking job.”
Yes, Sir. I couldn’t say it, I was gagged, but the words echoed in my head. Yes, Sir, Yes, Sir, whatever you like, Sir. I was his sex doll, and I existed to serve him. There was something freeing about that idea, something comforting. Even though his mouth was tormenting me beyond bearing, I was going to lie there and take it because that was what he wanted.
But ohh, God. Now it wasn’t just the fingers probing my pussy, and his tongue teasing my clit, it was the lingering heat where he’d spanked me. I bucked my hips up into his mouth, opening my legs even wider, like some crazed yoga maven. I didn’t do yoga. Maybe I’d better start. My whole body felt like a rubber band connected to the place where he licked and sucked me. I was tensing in pleasure, and I felt like I was about to snap.
The first orgasm arrived before I was ready. I didn’t have time to brace against its power. My hands yanked at my own hair and my legs flailed. I think I might have kicked him. He didn’t stop and I thought, oh God, he has to stop or I’ll die.
“Stop fighting,” he said, massaging inside me. “Stop fighting it. Get out of your mind.”
I didn’t think I’d be able to “get out of my mind” but I tried. I stopped thinking about my body’s exhaustion, and how wrung out I felt, and started thinking about pleasure expanding and billowing beyond the climax I’d already felt.
And when that happened, I stopped thinking at all. His fingers were wreaking havoc along my walls, inciting every nerve, and his tongue pushed and sucked my flesh. His mouth pressed, his teeth bit me. My muscles trembled from holding open for him, at the same time my body worked toward an even higher peak.
When the second orgasm came, I shouted into my wadded-up panties. I shouted now and no and yes. He held me down when I tried to buck away from him. The rippling contractions went on and on for what seemed like five minutes, each more excruciatingly wonderful than the last.
I had literally gone out of my mind. I lost track of him, what he was doing, what he was saying. The gag came off, the panties came out, and his cock was shoved into my mouth instead. I sucked like the satisfied, obedient sex doll I was. My pussy was still clenching, still buzzing with bliss. My hands lay open over my head as his balls whacked against my chin. Not one gag reflex as he surged over and over into my throat. Who needed breathing? Who needed personal space? Not this girl. Even the cherry flavor of the latex tasted good.
He didn’t finish in my throat. He pulled away and flipped me over, and rammed into me from behind. His knees held mine open, and his hands gripped my wrists on either side of my head. Fuck if I didn’t come again, the rubber band finally snapping as he bucked his hips against mine. He came with a grunt, his fingers clamping hard around my wrists. Maybe, that time, he would leave a bruise. I didn’t mind.
He collapsed on top of me. I was dead, literally dead. My pussy was dead. My body was dead. Death by orgasm, my grisly fate.
But no, I wasn’t dead. If I was dead, I wouldn’t have felt his lips against my shoulder, and his breath against my ear.
“You’re mine, Chere,” he said quietly. “And I can make you feel good, or I can make you feel bad.”