Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
My cock strains against my uniform pants. I shift uncomfortably, trying to focus on the screen and not my own burning desire.
Tell me how you beg, I type, my breath ragged.
Please, she types. Please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need to feel your cock stretching me open. Please, I’m yours. Take me. She continues to type. But you won’t. Not yet. You’re waiting for . . . them. They haven’t arrived yet.
Who are they? I prompt.
The others, she finally types. The ones who watch.
You want to be watched as I fuck you.
Yes. More than anything.
How many others? I type.
A roomful, she responds quickly. I want everyone to see my pussy as you spread me.
And what do I do next?
You slide your hand between my legs, feeling how wet I am. You tell the others how ready I am, how desperate. Then you push two fingers inside me, making me cry out.
I stifle a groan, my arousal almost painful now. On the screen, I can see Chloe’s breathing has quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
You fuck me with your fingers, slowly at first, then faster, she continues.
I’m lost in the fantasy now, picturing every detail. The heat of her skin, the sound of her moans, the feeling of her tight around my fingers.
And then? I ask, desperate to know more.
Then you pull your fingers out, she types. You bring them to my lips, making me taste myself. And finally, finally, you unzip your pants and pull out your cock.
I watch as Chloe’s fingers hover over the keyboard, her chest heaving. She’s clearly as aroused as I am.
You tease me with the tip of your cock, she types. Rubbing it against my clit, making me whimper. The crowd watches, their eyes hungry. You ask me if I’m ready, if I’m sure I want this.
The need to be inside her is unbearable.
I beg you, she replies. I tell you I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. I wrap my legs around your waist, trying to pull you closer.
I need to fuck her. I need to fuck her now.
You thrust into me in one smooth motion, she types. I cry out, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness. You start to move, slowly at first, then faster. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, of my moans and your grunts. You’re fucking me hard now, she continues. Your hands are gripping my hips so tightly I know there will be bruises tomorrow. I love it. I want everyone to see the marks you’ve left on me.
I’m so hard it hurts.
I’m moaning your name, begging for more. I—
Suddenly, the fire alarm blares through the station. I jump, slamming the laptop shut instinctively. My heart pounds as I hear my fellow firefighters stirring, boots hitting the floor as everyone rushes to respond.
I can’t simply leave Chloe wondering where I had to run off to, so I quickly type, I have to go, pretty girl. Someone is at my door. I’m sorry. But know that I’ll be jacking off to this later.
I scramble to my feet, adjusting myself and trying to compose my thoughts as I rush to join my team. This girl is going to be the death of me, or at the very least, the giver of some gnarly blue balls.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chloe
I somehow get the courage to type, I’m going to Naughty and Nice in the city tonight. Maybe you’re free to meet me there? I’ll be wearing a red ribbon around my neck tied in a bow. I’ll also be in a green, silky dress. Come and unwrap me.
My fingers hover over the send button for what feels like an eternity. Have I lost my mind? Yes, I think that is fair to say. I never thought I would be going to a sex club party with Sloane before. And as much as I’d like to say it’s due to my best friend’s urging and that this was all her idea, I actually am excited. She didn’t really have to force this on me.
I press send. It’s done. No turning back now. I stare at my message to WinterWatcher, now a part of reality forever.
I pace around the room, my palms sweating, my mind a whirlwind of vivid expectations and terrible anxieties.
Was that too bold? Yes, it was. I don’t even know this person.
I don’t even know this person! Now I just told him where I’d be tonight.
I’m not a naive girl. I’ve lived in New York all my life. I know better than this and yet . . .
I look at the clock and know I no longer have time to overthink if he’ll come or not, and if he does, if he’s a serial killer or a Boy Scout. I need to go if I’m going to catch the ferry in time to meet Sloane. I glance again at my phone. No response yet. Should I feel relieved? Disappointed? It’s hard to decide. As I gather my purse and keys, one last look at that agonizingly silent device makes me wince.