Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
He’s not being easy on her, no. He’s fucking her like an animal or like a man who only knows lust and nothing else. He’s groaning; every muscle is taut and stretched and looks so brittle. His eyes are narrowed as he watches her curves fly, his teeth bared.
They aren’t saying anything to each other but somehow, I still hear them. I can hear their story in my head.
Do you feel it, baby? Do you feel how much I love you?
Y-yes.
Do you feel how much you fucking torture me?
Show me.
He does show her. He smacks her ass, making it bounce, making her moan in pleasure. He squeezes her breast, grunting, pinching the nipple, and she bites her lip, hissing. He’s forceful, he’s desperate because he’s dying for her. She’s taking it and loving it because she knows what she does to him. He does that to her, too.
Something happens then. Something bizarre. She fists the sheet and I fist my dress. Her thighs vibrate with every jarring shove of his veined shaft, and I feel my own thighs tremble. He slaps her ass again, leaving it red and sore, and I feel the sting on my butt. When he wraps her dark hair around his wrist, I feel the tug in mine.
Suddenly, all I can feel is my body. All my senses have taken leave. I feel my stomach tightening, my spine being tickled by my sweat, my breasts growing heavy, nipples tingling. I’m all body and no thought. I’m all hormones and lust. I’m breathing hard, probably swaying on my feet. I would’ve fallen if not for the arm around my waist and that hard mountain of a body against my spine. A warm, apple-scented wall is hugging me.
“W-who are they?” I whisper, still watching them.
“I don’t know. Just performers.”
“What is this place?”
Abel kisses the nape of my neck and I feel it everywhere, inside and out. “It’s a studio. Called Skins.”
“What do they do here?”
“They make videos.”
“Sex videos?”
“Yeah.”
By now, the man’s about to come. I know it because he’s gone rigid, his neck vibrating with the effort. Just as Abel’s gets when he’s about to orgasm. Like me, the girl has let herself become loose, her entire body pliable, so the man can grip her as hard as he wants. So the man can tear her apart if he chooses. With a loud grunt, he snaps his cock out and spills his cum all over her back. Their moans are the loudest I’ve ever heard. Their relief’s the biggest I’ve ever seen.
But the moment’s over.
The trance has been broken. I can finally see something else besides the couple. The cameras stop rolling. The click, click, click is gone. A couple of people arrive on the scene with bathrobes. The man gets one and a bottle of water; the woman gets the other robe and bottle, along with a compliment from the girl handing them out.
But despite all the distractions, I can still feel Abel. I can feel his body behind me, his dick nestled in the small of my back. It’s hard and he’s rocking into me, and I’m rocking into him. He’s aroused by this.
We are aroused.
I jerk as if someone’s slapped me. The wetness of my panties feels wrong, disgusting. My sweat feels like poison.
I step away from my husband’s embrace but I don’t look at him; I’m afraid of what I’ll find. “I have to go.”
With that I start running, and dash out of there. I push the door open and come out into the sunlight. After the garish lights of the inside, the sun seems duller. I have black spots pulsing in my vision.
“Pixie,” Abel calls out.
I run even faster. The roads are empty. Strangely, no one is around at this time of the day. This whole place is abandoned, godforsaken.
“Pixie, fuck. Stop running, damn it.”
His voice follows me, alerting me to the fact that he’s behind me. Why can’t he leave me alone? Why can’t I get some space from him? I feel claustrophobic in the open air.
Abel is faster than me. So much faster. Damn his long legs. He’s right on my heels as I turn and come to a dead-end alley.
Panting, I stare at the damp, moldy brick wall. It’s lined with black trash cans and discarded boxes. It’s so narrow that the sunlight can hardly squeeze in, smothering the place in darkness.
“Pixie,” Abel says, panting behind me. “Turn around, baby, please.”
No. I won’t. I don’t want to. I don’t want to look at his face and see all the answers written on there. I don’t want to ask any questions, either.
I shake my head.
“Please, baby. I’m dying here. Just… Just turn around, okay? Lemme see your face.” His voice is broken. He never talks like that. His every gesture, every word is so full of life and energy. And sex. Yeah, it’s always seductive, tempting.