Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“That’s it, whore,” he hissed. “Come for me. Come from having your ass fucked like the dirty little slut you are.”
His words pushed me over the edge. I cried out, my body convulsing as the orgasm crashed over me. Waves of shameful pleasure radiated from my core, intensified by the continued thrusting of Delacroix’s cock in my anus. My sealed pussy clenched and released rhythmically, desperate for penetration it couldn’t receive.
“Good girl,” Delacroix panted, his pace increasing. “Good little whore.”
As my climax subsided, leaving me trembling and gasping, Delacroix’s movements became more erratic. With a guttural groan, he slammed into me one final time, his cock pulsing as he filled me with his seed. The heat of it made me whimper, a fresh wave of mortification washing over me.
Delacroix remained inside me for a long moment, his hands gripping my hips tightly. When he finally pulled out, I felt utterly used, my abused hole clenching around emptiness.
My mind drifted unbidden to the memory of Marcus. The contrast between the two experiences seemed so stark, and I found myself longing for Marcus’ touch, even as shame washed over me at the thought.
Marcus had seemed almost considerate, attentive to my reactions, despite the fervor with which he had used me. He had eased into me slowly, giving me time to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. I recalled the fullness, the slight burn that had gradually given way to pleasure as Marcus moved within me.
In my memory, Marcus’ strokes had been measured, deliberate, each one sending shivers of unexpected pleasure through my body. I had gasped, surprised by the intensity of the sensations, and Marcus had paused, his hand stroking my back soothingly.
“Are you alright?” he had asked, his voice tight with concern and restrained desire.
I had nodded, unable to form words, and he had continued, his movements gradually becoming more forceful as my body relaxed and welcomed him.
I felt Delacroix’s hands parting my punished bottom cheeks to expose the little hole where he had come, the intimate opening where I could feel his seed seeping out. In the mirror, I saw him gazing down at my spread backside with a leering smile, holding me open as if to ensure I felt as much shame as possible at the way my owner had used my whipped bottom, at how thoroughly he had fucked my most private place.
In my mind, though, I defied my evil owner. With my thoughts, I claimed my body for Marcus.
Marcus. My miles. My master. My love.
CHAPTER 16
Marcus
Delacroix had fitted every corner of his chateau for video and audio surveillance, with the sole exception of his bedroom. I had once suggested to him that the lack of coverage there could pose a serious problem if an enemy decided to infiltrate the chateau through the window. Delacroix had scoffed.
“The window is alarmed, Marcus,” he had said with his usual air of condescension, of always knowing more than everyone else. “And I have no intention of letting anyone gather kompromat on me. What happens in my bedroom stays there.”
I had almost kept at it, because of course it would have helped me greatly to have precisely that kind of blackmail-ready footage to send to the Guard. The need to keep my cover intact had overruled the thought, and I had merely said, “Very wise, Monsieur.”
As I opened the door to Delacroix’s bedroom, I couldn’t decide whether I would have wanted to watch the evil magnate’s night with his new fucking piece or not. On the one hand, it might have given me important insights into Delacroix’s psyche, ways to use the precise nature of his clearly strong attraction to Sophia in pursuit of my own ends. On the other, it would have probably made my private emotional torment all that much worse.
But, I told myself, if Delacroix were to go too far… Yes, I wanted to see: if only to make sure I could save Sophia if things went the way they had gone from time to time in Delacroix’s bedroom, at least as I had heard about it from his previous head of security.
I stepped through the doorway, the Persian carpet muffling my footsteps. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of sex, expensive cologne, and what I thought might be the faintest trace of fear-sweat. My eyes swept the room for threats, automatically, before I turned them to the bed.
Sophia lay atop the bolster, her sweet, lithe form a study in degradation. Her wrists were still bound to the headboard by her leash, her honey-gold hair fanned out across the mattress. In sleep, her face held an innocence that belied the debauchery she had endured. My chest tightened at the sight.
The en suite door opened, releasing a billow of steam. Delacroix emerged, a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets glistening on his toned physique. His lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he saw me.