Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Master Paul’s eyes moved down my body with a deliberateness that made every inch of skin he looked at feel like it was being touched.
“I chose well,” he said. “You look incredible in that lingerie.”
“Paul.” Melissa’s voice came from behind the monitors, low and charged. “Keep talking to her. Be dominant. Tell her what you’re going to do. Own her.”
His hands went to his belt and he unfastened it. The clink of the buckle sent a Pavlovian jolt of fear and arousal through my body so powerful that my hips lifted off the mattress. But he wasn’t reaching for the belt to use on me, to teach me another terrible lesson. He was undressing.
The trousers came down. The shirt came off. And then he stood over me in nothing but his shorts, and the sight of his body—the broad, muscled chest, the dark hair, the flat stomach, the unmistakable ridge of his erection straining against the fabric—made my mouth go dry and my pussy clench so hard that the lace pressed against my bare folds and I whimpered.
He pulled the shorts down, his cock sprang free, and I saw it for the first time since yesterday, when it had been in my mouth, when it had been too close and too overwhelming to really look at. From this angle it looked much too big. Thick and hard and flushed dark with blood, the head swollen and glistening faintly, curving upward toward his stomach with a heaviness that made my inner walls contract around nothing.
He knelt on the bed, between my spread knees. His weight pressed the mattress down on either side of me, and his hands found my thighs and pushed them further apart with a firmness that brooked no negotiation.
Then his hands closed around the red lace between my legs. I gasped as both fists took the left side of the front panel in their grasp.
He didn’t pull the panties down. He didn’t slide them to the side. He gripped the delicate fabric in his fist and he ripped it, and the sound the lace made as it tore—a soft, decisive shredding, the tiny threads snapping one after another—sent a bolt of something through my body that was so far beyond arousal it needed a different word. The ruined panties fell away from my pussy in tatters, and he left them there, the torn crimson lace around my right thigh like a flag of surrender.
My shaved pussy lay bare beneath him. Exposed. Smooth and glistening and swollen and completely, utterly his.
“Oh, fuck,” Melissa breathed as Master Paul’s hands found the backs of my knees.
He pushed them up. Not gently. Not with the careful, incremental pressure of a man giving a girl time to adjust. My master folded me in half with the decisive, proprietary force of a man who owned the thing he manipulated.
He pressed my knees back toward my ears until my hips tilted upward and my freshly shaved pussy was presented to him at an angle that felt like the most explicit thing my body had ever been made to do. The red garter belt dug into my waist. The stockings pulled taut against the suspender clasps. My welted bottom lifted off the sheets, and the cool air of the studio hit every inch of bare, swollen, desperately needy flesh between my thighs.
I whimpered as he took his right hand from the back of my knee and used it to adjust the position of his huge, rigid penis. Expertly he lodged the head just inside the entrance to my slick, aching sheath. The whimper became a moan of helpless anticipation. Master Paul moved his hand back to my knee, pressing me open even further. He looked into my eyes, and the hunger I saw made me feel faint.
Then he thrust himself into me.
CHAPTER 25
Paul
As I drove hard into Anne’s tight little pussy, I looked into her eyes and watched them widen—those green eyes, bright with tears that hadn’t dried from the belting, now going round and glassy as my full length pressed into her.
Her lips parted around a sound that seemed to get stuck somewhere between her chest and her throat, and her fingers found my forearms and gripped with a desperate, white-knuckled pressure that I felt all the way to my shoulders.
I held myself there for a beat. Buried. Feeling her.
Then I looked further down.
The sight sent as urgent a dominant thrill as I’d ever felt shooting through my nervous system, centered right where I focused my eyes.
My cock—thick, flushed dark, veined with the force of my arousal—split the bare, glistening folds of her freshly shaved pussy like something obscene and sacred simultaneously. The pale, smooth skin I’d uncovered with my own hands less than twenty minutes ago was now stretched taut around my shaft, the delicate inner lips clinging to me, pink and swollen and slick with an arousal so copious it had already coated the base of my cock and was running down toward my balls.