Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I sank down, the vehicle’s subtle movements making me sway slightly. Horakovsky settled into one of the leather chairs with a satisfied grunt, spreading his legs wide. His cock jutted from his open trousers, thick and already half-hard.
“Crawl to me,” he commanded, pointing to the floor between his feet.
The humiliation of it burned through me as I moved forward on hands and knees, the vehicle’s movement making me sway awkwardly. When I reached him, his hand tangled in my hair, guiding my mouth to his length.
“Good. Now show me those skills your husband never gets to enjoy.” He glanced at his men. “Dmitri, Vassily—help yourselves to drinks. Then come have your cocks sucked while you relax.”
I heard the clink of glass as the guards moved to the bar. My mouth worked mechanically on Horakovsky, taking him deeper with each stroke while trying to disconnect my mind from what my body was doing. The taste of him—salt and musk and cruelty—made my stomach turn even as my trained responses kicked in.
“Norquist,” Horakovsky said casually, his hand controlling my rhythm. “Want a turn with your wife’s mouth? She’s quite talented.”
Through my peripheral vision, I saw Takken shift uncomfortably in his seat, his face flushed from alcohol and humiliation.
“No,” he said tightly. “She… she doesn’t turn me on.”
I knew better. The whiskey had rendered him incapable, and admitting that to Horakovsky would be worse than any other humiliation. I felt a perverse satisfaction at his predicament even as Dmitri settled into the chair beside Horakovsky, freeing himself from his pants.
“Your loss,” Horakovsky said, pulling my mouth off him and turning my head toward his bodyguard. “Service Dmitri now. Then Vassily. Back and forth until we’re all satisfied.”
For the next twenty minutes, I moved between them like a mechanical toy, my jaw aching as I took each man in turn. Dmitri was rough, holding my head and thrusting deep. Vassily seemed almost bored, sipping his vodka while I worked. And Horakovsky watched it all with those cold gray eyes, occasionally offering crude commentary that made Takken flinch.
When Dmitri finished first, flooding my mouth with bitter heat, Horakovsky commanded sharply, “Swallow it all. Show me.”
I forced myself to swallow, then opened my mouth to display it was empty. The degradation of it made me want to disappear into the floor. Vassily followed soon after, his release thankfully quicker, and I repeated the humiliating display.
Horakovsky took longer, drawing out my service until my knees had numbed against the hard floor and my jaw ached. When he finally came, he held my head down, forcing me to take everything while he groaned with satisfaction.
“Good little whore.” The praise felt like acid on my skin. “Now show me your appreciation properly.”
I forced myself to swallow, the bitterness coating my throat as I opened my mouth to show him I had accepted his shameful gift. My jaw ached terribly, and I could taste all three of them mingled on my tongue—a reminder of my degradation that made me want to retch.
“Turn around,” Horakovsky commanded, his voice carrying that casual cruelty I’d come to dread. “Face down, ass up. Present yourself properly while we discuss business.”
My limbs felt disconnected from my body as I obeyed, turning on my knees and lowering my face to the vehicle’s carpeted floor. The position forced my bottom high in the air, everything obscenely displayed. The subtle swaying of the transport made it hard to maintain balance, and I had to spread my knees wider for stability, which only increased my exposure.
“Much better,” Horakovsky said, and I felt his hand settle on my raised bottom, proprietary and possessive. “Now we can have a civilized conversation.”
His fingers traced along my slit without warning, making me flinch. The casual way he touched me while settling back to talk with my husband made my skin crawl. His thick finger circled the entrance to my terribly warm sheath, gathering the wetness that my body had betrayed me with despite my horror at the situation.
“You know, Norquist,” Horakovsky began conversationally, his finger now tracing around my other, narrower entrance with disturbing interest, “you and I could build something truly significant in the North. Your political connections, my resources—we could reshape the entire Arctic economy.”
I heard Takken shift in his seat, the leather creaking. “The possibilities are… intriguing.” His voice carried an eager note I recognized from when he thought he was about to close a major deal.
Horakovsky’s finger pressed slightly against my bottom-hole, not entering but threatening. I bit my lip to stifle a whimper as he continued, “More than intriguing. Revolutionary. Imagine controlling not just the energy infrastructure but the shipping routes, the mineral rights, everything. The Arctic is the future, and together we could own that future.”
The grandiosity of it, the obvious manipulation—I could hear it so clearly in Horakovsky’s tone. He was playing with Takken like a cat with a mouse, dangling impossible dreams while his fingers violated me. But Takken’s breathing had quickened with excitement.