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)
The humiliation felt total, absolute, a full-body immolation that consumed me from the crown of my head to the soles of my curled feet. He’d called me a bitch. On camera. While I knelt with my face in the mattress, my whipped ass in the air, and his cock buried inside me to the hilt.
And my pussy clenched so hard around him that he grunted.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed into the sheets. “Oh God, oh God—”
“Paul.” Melissa’s voice cut through the haze from somewhere beyond the lights, low and electric with intensity. “Keep calling her that. She loves it. Look at her—she’s clenching every time you say it. It’s just what all our market studies are showing.”
The mortification of hearing Melissa narrate my body’s responses… of knowing my reactions could be read on a monitor, analyzed, directed… it made me want to crawl under the mattress and disappear. Part of me, anyway.
But it also fed the terrible fire. Knowing they could see what his words did to me, that the evidence of my shameful arousal was visible on camera, that Melissa was actively encouraging my master to degrade me further—all of it poured gasoline on whatever was burning between my legs.
“You hear that, Annie?” Master Paul’s hips slammed against my welted bottom and I shrieked at the collision of pleasure and pain. “Everyone can see what a desperate little bitch you are. Coming on my cock with your whipped ass in the air.”
He thrust again, even deeper, and his lap ground against the welts on the underside of my cheeks. The sting made my vision flash white. “This is what happens to a girl who can’t keep her fingers off her cunt. She gets bent over and fucked until she learns who she belongs to.”
The next orgasm hit me like a freight train. It slammed through my body with no warning, no build; one moment I was drowning in humiliation and the next I was convulsing around him, my inner walls clamping down in vicious, rhythmic spasms that tore a scream from my throat so raw it seemed to shred something in my chest.
My fingers ripped at the sheets. My back arched. My entire body shook as if electrified, and through it all Master Paul kept thrusting, kept driving his thick cock through my clenching, spasming pussy. The continued stimulation didn’t let the orgasm end. It stretched and deepened into something that felt less like pleasure and more like being taken apart at the molecular level.
“Good girl,” he growled. “Good little bitch. Come on my cock. That’s what it’s for.”
The word again. Bitch. I sobbed and came harder, my face twisted against the sheets in an expression I was grateful the cameras couldn’t fully see, though I knew Darlene probably had an angle that captured almost everything.
The degradation and the pleasure had fused into something I couldn’t separate, couldn’t parse, couldn’t resist. Every time he called me that word, my body responded with another violent contraction, another wave of shame-drenched ecstasy that left me more wrecked than the one before.
His hips slapped against my welted bottom with an accelerating rhythm. Each impact sent twin shockwaves of stinging pain and electric pleasure through my core. My whipped bottom burned with every collision, a fresh reminder layered on top of a fresh reminder, and the cumulative effect was a sensation of being perpetually punished—his cock inside me, his body against my welts, his voice calling me names that made me want to die and come simultaneously.
“Such a wet little bitch,” Master Paul said, and his voice had gone rougher, lower, the controlled authority beginning to fray at the edges in a way I hadn’t heard before. “Soaking my cock. Dripping all over the sheets. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? This is what you were rubbing your little cunt for last night.”
“Yes,” I wailed. The confession was ripped from me the way the orgasms were ripped from me: involuntarily, completely, from somewhere deeper than thought. “Yes, sir, this is what I wanted, I wanted you, I wanted your cock, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry.” His grip on my hips tightened, his fingers pressing bruises into my flesh. “Be grateful.”
Another orgasm started inside me. This one felt different: slower, deeper, a rolling wave that started at my clit where the base of his shaft ground against it and traveled upward through my belly and my chest and my throat until it emerged as a long, keening moan. My inner walls milked him in slow, powerful contractions that I could feel individually, each one gripping the full length of his cock and then releasing, gripping and releasing, in a rhythm that seemed to synchronize with my heartbeat.
“Paul.” Melissa again, her voice tight with something that sounded like awe. “One more notch?”
Master Paul’s response came immediately, as if he’d waited for the precise moment when his next command would have the maximum effect.