Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
"Or here?" His voice has dropped even lower now, rough with arousal as he walks around to position himself between my spread knees. I watch in the mirror, feeling everything at the same time. The brush of his thighs against the inside of my legs. The way he dips down, bringing his cock to my clit and circling it with the same maddening, barely-there pressure he used on my lips.
The sensation rips a whimper from my throat. I'm so wet already that he glides easily against me, the thick head of him pressing and retreating, pressing and retreating, until I'm trembling and biting the inside of my cheek so hard, I taste copper.
"There are a few more ways to play this one out, if you're adventurous enough," he continues conversationally, like he isn't driving me absolutely insane with need. Like he can't hear the desperate little sounds I'm making or feel how my hips are trying to tilt toward him despite the restraints holding me in place.
"Would you like me to go on? Should I show you all your options before you decide? Or have you already made up your mind about where you want this cock first, my sweet little slut?"
I force myself to speak, my voice coming out small and broken. "What... what are my other options?"
His answering smile is pure wickedness, visible in the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes gleam behind that fucking mask.
"I'm so glad you asked." His voice is low, rough with arousal. "Because I have so many ideas for this perfect little body of yours."
I watch in the mirror as he takes his cock in hand, stroking it slowly while he studies me. Then he moves lower, and oh god, oh fuck, I feel the thick head of him press against my asshole.
Just the tip. Just enough pressure to make me gasp and tense against the restraints.
"I could fuck this tight little hole instead," he says conversationally, like he's discussing the weather. "Stretch you open slowly. Make you feel every single inch as I work my way inside. You've written about it, haven't you? How it hurts at first, that burning stretch that makes you cry? But then how it starts to feel good in that dark, shameful way you crave?"
He pushes slightly harder, just enough that I feel my body start to give way, and I make a desperate sound that's half whimper, half plea.
"I'd go slow at first," he continues, his voice dropping even lower. "Let you adjust. Let you feel how full you are, how completely I'm claiming every hole. Then I'd fuck you properly—hard and deep until you're sobbing, and begging, and you don't even know if you want me to stop or keep going."
My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps. The pressure is constant, insistent, not quite pushing inside but making it very clear that he could. That all it would take is one firm thrust and he'd be buried in my ass whether I was ready or not.
"Or," he says, pulling away suddenly, leaving me gasping at the loss of contact. He moves up toward my head, and I crane my neck to watch as he brings his cock to my mouth again. "I could fuck your throat instead."
The tip touches my lips, and I can taste myself on him—salt and musk and something darker.
"Not your mouth, Scarletta. Your throat." He emphasizes the word, making sure I understand the distinction. "I'd grip your hair like this—" His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back at an angle that makes my neck straighten. "And I'd slide in deep. Past your tongue, past your gag reflex. I'd hold myself there while you choke, and your eyes water, and you can't breathe around my cock."
My heart is hammering against my ribs. I can barely process what he's saying.
"You'd drool everywhere," he continues, almost dreamily. "Spit would be running down your chin, tears streaming down your pretty face. And I'd fuck your throat like it's a pussy—hard and brutal until you're gagging and struggling and making those desperate little sounds. Then I'd come down your throat and make you swallow every drop."
I'm shaking now, trembling so hard the restraints rattle slightly.
"Of course," he says, releasing my hair and stepping back, "if you really want to commit to this experience..." He walks over to a cabinet I hadn't noticed before and opens it, revealing an array of toys that makes my stomach drop. "I have options."
He pulls out a thick purple dildo, holding it up so I can see it clearly in the mirror. It's huge—maybe not quite as big as his cock, but close enough to make me whimper.
"I could strap this one to myself," he explains, walking back to position himself between my legs. "Fuck your pussy with my cock while this one stretches your ass. Both holes at once, Scarletta. Completely filled. Two at a Time, remember?"