Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
I was wrong. As she opened her eyes, in my arms, I knew just how wrong. Really fucking wrong. I hadn’t thought like her. Just because I figured I’d want that didn’t mean it’d be what she would’ve wanted. I’d made irrational decisions through the black rage.
Her body started trembling and her eyes were filled with accusation. I’d abused her trust. Horribly.
“Sweetheart…” I whispered.
The trembling had started low and was revving up like someone turned the volume up. And it kept going up.
Her chin was trembling, her eyes were wet, and then she started to grab for my shirt.
I lifted her wrists up over her head and pinned them under one hand and my other hand went into her panties. Her skirt was up around her waist.
“Kick your shoes off,” I told her. She jerked around, crying.
“Shh, it’s okay.”
I leaned down and took her shoes off for her. But when I’d let go, she started to fret, to hyperventilate, so I grabbed her wrists and re-pinned her.
“Shh, I’ve got you. Open up.”
She spread her legs wide. The thought of cameras occurred to me but she still had her panties on, just me with my hand in them. She was not wet.
“Feet together.” She put her soles together so that her legs were wide. She was sobbing.
“Baby, I’ve got you. Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes bloodshot, her chest moving up and down quickly.
I kissed her tears. Her eyes were fixed on something. What? I followed them to my forearm, which had a thick red welt from when I reached and took that whip from her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and chewed her cheek.
“Stay still. Let me make you come. You’re such a good girl. My good girl.”
It wasn’t very convincing.
I tightened my grip on her wrists and then I circled with three fingers around and around her clit. She closed her eyes tighter, her facial expression like she was in pain. She lifted her bottom up a little, moving into my hand.
“Look at me.”
She obeyed. But her eyes…they were looking right through me, like she didn’t even see me.
“I want you to come for me. Calm down and concentrate on what my fingers are doing. What are my fingers doing?”
“Trying to make me c-come.” She groaned and her mouth opened.
“Yeah, baby. Making you come. My good girl. Moan for me. Say my name. Tell me what you want.”
She was still dry.
I leaned over and sucked on my fingers and then worked them into her. I kissed her, teasing her lips open with the tip of my tongue as I worked my middle finger inside her and pushed against her g-spot.
“Ah. Yeah, Master…” she whispered against my mouth. “Right there.”
I kept that finger there and put my thumb to her clit and strummed and stroked it.
“Master. Please don’t stop. Don’t. Ah! Damn it.” She got a frustrated look on her face. She’d been at the edge of that cliff but hadn’t gone over.
Her body went from lax to tight and she shifted, blew hair out of her eyes, used her upper arm to rub her nose and then blew her hair out of her eyes again. She was having trouble. She began breathing harder, almost hyperventilating, but it wasn’t with an impending orgasm. This was stress. Full blown anxiety attack and I wasn’t doing anything to help.
I let go, grabbed the crotch of her panties, and yanked it forward without pulling them off so that I could get my mouth to her clit.
“Fuck, you taste amazing,” I told her.
She let out a whimper. I worked her with my tongue and it seemed like she was getting closer. But then she started to fret, like she didn’t want it.
I flipped her over onto her belly and lifted her hips.
“Master,” she pleaded.
I don’t know if she wanted me to hold her down again or what but I wanted to make her okay, so I was trying something else, something that’d maybe be a different pattern.
“No. Stay like that.” I worked my suit pants undone. Shit, I wasn’t even fully hard. I grinded against her ass, my dick still in my pants. I grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her up by it. She was supporting herself on her palms. I held her tenderly by the throat and grinded a few more times.
Shit, I loved her. I needed to make her okay. I’d fucked up really badly and now I was on the verge of an anxiety attack, too.
What good was I? I fucked up and now I couldn’t calm her down and I could barely get it up. And people were listening. Not just that, they might even be watching.
“Beg,” I demanded. She usually got off on that. I usually seriously got off on that, too.
“Pl-please,” she whimpered.
This wasn’t her normal begging style. Fuck, but we were both struggling here. And if someone was watching this on camera, they might be able to tell.