Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I breathed. The confession seemed to tumble from my lips like a secret that I was desperate to unveil. The acknowledgement intensified the heat rising in my core, a forbidden thrill mingling with the mortification.
Marcus’ grip tightened, his authority palpable. In that moment, the weight of my mission collided with the undeniable pull of my submissive nature. I felt torn, a puppet on strings pulled taut by conflicting desires. He continued his relentless exploration of my body, each pressure of his fingertips on my clit, each gentle thrust of the two digits, up to my intact hymen, a reminder of the power he wielded over me.
“Then I think you should show me,” he commanded softly, his voice a velvet caress against the frayed edges of my resolve.
My breath hitched, my body trembling with anticipation and dread. The line between duty and desire blurred, leaving me adrift in a sea of sensations.
“For your owner’s sake.” Marcus’ eyes darkened with an evident hunger that seemed to consume the very air between us. His left hand remained firmly on my pussy from behind for a second, as if he’d hesitated, and then abruptly withdrew. I gasped at the sudden loss of his touch, but my breath caught once more as he stood, moving to stand next to my face, towering over me in all his dark dominance.
“Go ahead,” he commanded, voice low and edged with desire. His fingers deftly worked at the buttons of his fly, revealing the hard length of his cock, jutting from the fabric of his trousers. “Perform the act you begged for. I’ll use your service as an opportunity to further train you for Delacroix’s bed.”
My heart pounded in my chest, each beat like a hammer driving me deeper into my submission. The enormity of what I’d asked for settled over me, heavy and intoxicating. He resumed his ministrations, fingers delving back into the slick heat of my pussy, maintaining a rhythm that left my reason teetering on the edge of complete incoherence.
My hands, along my flanks, clenched into little fists as I moved my upper body towards the enormous, rigid manhood I could just make out in the dim moonlight from the little shuttered window. The act seemed to me both a surrender and an assertion of my unspoken needs. My mouth opened, hesitantly at first, the head of his cock brushing against my lips. A shudder ran through me, the mixture of shame and arousal clouding my thoughts as my mind tried to get traction over the terrible complexities of the moment.
“That’s it,” Marcus murmured, his voice a velvet chain binding me closer. “Show me how well you’ve been trained.”
I took him into my mouth, the taste of him foreign, a little salty and a little bitter, yet undeniably arousing. I tried to make each movement deliberate, the same way he worked my pussy to train me in the irresistibility of my submissive pleasure. My tongue explored the thrilling contours of his hardness. The weight of his approval seemed to hang in the balance, a tantalizing prize that drove me to push past my own hesitation.
My efforts were met with a guttural groan from Marcus, his hand finding the back of my head, guiding me with a firm but gentle pressure. The sensation of his cock filling my mouth, the taste and texture overwhelming my senses, sent waves of conflicting emotions surging through me. Shame warred with arousal, each thrust into my mouth deepening my need for his approval, even as it stripped away layers of my dignity.
“Good girl,” he muttered, his grip tightening as he began to thrust harder, forcing me to take him deeper. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, from discomfort—but also from the sheer intensity of the moment. My own arousal spiked, the humiliating act paradoxically feeding the fire within me.
Each thrust was a claim, a reminder of the power he wielded over me. My body responded instinctively, hips arching into his persistent touch, seeking more of his mastery. The sounds of my own muffled moans filled the room, a testament to my helpless arousal.
“That’s it,” Marcus growled, his voice rough with desire. “Take it all.”
His words acted as a catalyst, pushing me beyond the boundaries of my own self-control. I sucked him with renewed fervor, desperate to please, desperate for his acknowledgment. The physical act became a conduit for my submissive needs, each thrust an affirmation of my place beneath him.
“Such a good little fuck toy,” he praised, his tone a mix of lust and authority. The words seemed to sear into my mind, to brand me. I felt myself longing to fall into his control, not as a columba undercover on a mission, but as a captive innocent, prepared for his pleasure, and his alone.
The tension in his body grew palpable, each movement more urgent, more demanding. My own arousal mirrored his, the lines between shame and pain, and pain and pleasure blurring until they seemed indistinguishable. With a final, forceful thrust, he buried himself deep in my mouth, the sensation sending a shudder through my entire being.