Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Or do I?
The heat is building, and yet again, my weird biology is turning what is supposed to be pain into that hot pleasure which ignites the spaces between my thighs and the lower reaches of my belly and gives me lift off. Under his harsh, whipping palm, I fly.
I try to keep my orgasm quiet. I grab the coverlet between both hands and shove it toward my mouth, knowing that if he knows I’m enjoying this, he’ll stop. He doesn’t want me to like the pain. He’s trying to enforce his will. Good fucking luck with that.
Terrible
I throw her gown up to see the results of my handiwork. I must be careful not to do serious harm to her. It would be so easy to accidentally harm her, and I would not forgive myself.
She is soaked. There is a soft slit between her lips which gleams with human desire. I never imagined I would be so entranced by a simple female this way. I find my gaze, my attention, every part of me absolutely drawn to this girl.
I’m not supposed to want her. I don’t want to want her. But that sex of hers is like a cosmic nexus drawing me in. As much as I would like to rely on my sense of discipline to stay clear, it is more powerful than I could ever have imagined. This is human biology’s finest trick, and I have to admit that even as a much more advanced creature, I am being lured by it.
“Aren't you done with me?” She sniffs the question, referring no doubt to the way I am holding her down, naked and vulnerable. I cannot stop staring. I had an idea of the general appearance of the nude human, but I had no idea how it came alive with desire and need.
I cannot be done with her. There is a thread of desire binding us together now, a need which has entered my body and will not be broken until we are physically joined.
I am a creature of discipline and self-control. She makes me want to be a wild, primal beast.
“Are you going to fuck me or something?”
That question shunts me out of my carnal fugue state. “Of course not.”
“Good. You better not.”
We are both saying words that do not reflect reality. I want her. She wants me. But she is not my mate. She is my assistant, and I am her boss. It does not matter that my mating rod is throbbing with intense need.
I slap her cheeks again. That is well within the purview of our relationship. I can make this ass sore and hot. I can make it bright red for me. I can take her to the verge of another one of those stolen orgasms, and I can leave her panting for more. I can slap her and watch the generous twin orbs of her ass squirm for me. I can watch that wet slit and that tight little hole above it clench and pout and dance for me.
She is practically purring by the time I stop, not wanting to blemish her skin for longer than a few minutes, abhorring the idea of bruising this perfect flesh. Much time has gone by, far longer than I intended to spend on her. My other duties have gone by the wayside. I have become lost in this human, swept up in the chaos of her character and the allure of her body.
Still, I cannot draw myself away. These lines and sweet organs, and the delicate wetness of her sex which is only growing and becoming ever more ample with every slap and caress. She is like a river flowing, her translucent essence smeared over her inner thighs.
I find my fingers exploring her sex, parting her outer lips and tracing the slick inner lips which are delicately folded and crimped to hide the tight little entrance to her body. Her sexual canal is there, the tight tunnel leading to her fertile womb.
I could push myself inside her and feel her inner walls stretch around me. I am sure she would have to spread very wide to take my rod. There would be some pain, I imagine. But she would like that. This human responds with sexual desire to every disciplinary action I take. Perhaps this was her destiny, to come and be here, to take the brunt of my growling and lecturing and yes, thrashing.
She is making soft little moans which she tries to hide but cannot, no matter how much she buries her face in the bedding. I slowly press a finger inside her, feeling the warmth of her body.
She accepts me. She grips me. That surprises me. I did not realize how much muscle tone she had there. I can feel her body trying to draw me in with a greediness which also takes me off guard. She is hungry for me. She wants to be filled. There is something at play here, an instinctual connection which I do not know what to do with. Or rather, I know precisely what do with it, but there is honor to consider.