Total pages in book: 221
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
It’s driving me crazy. Do I just do it and hand in my resignation and be the woman Ant needs me to be? My drafts folder is burning. The letter ready to send.
I should send it and do what Ant needs me to do. But I don’t. I can’t.
I know it’s going to be a shitter when I get home, nerves boiling up in my stomach on the drive there. I’m barely through the door when Ant appears with a smile on his face, suited immaculately, even though he hasn’t left the house today.
“Well, baby, did you do it?” he asks me, and shaking my head feels like a crime.
“Not yet. I’ve been crazy busy with appointments.”
“Right,” he says, and his stare darkens, even though he tries to shrug it off. “Hopefully you’ll get time tomorrow, then.”
“Hopefully,” I lie.
I figure he’s going to dig deeper all evening, pushing and pushing and pushing, but he doesn’t. He’s got a whole other kind of pushing on his mind. I see that the moment we sit down to the dinner table and he presents me with a vegetable chilli.
“Eat up quick, sweetheart,” he says, with a smirk. “We have visitors arriving soon.”
No. Not on a Tuesday.
My eyes must widen, because he puts his fork down.
“I told you last night, Cass. I have games lined up because we need to start playing them hard and fast. We’re running out of time.”
I don’t want to argue with him. If I’m stuck between the options of pleasing him by handing in my job resignation, or pleasing him by taking a roomful of strangers’ cocks, I know which one I’ll be preferring tonight.
At least I’ll get a few filthy orgasms out of being a slut on a mattress. I’ll get sweet FA in the short term from handing in my notice at Wedding Bliss. It might make me an ungrateful bitch and it probably does, but hitting send on the letter in my drafts folder is going to feel like hell when I do it.
I look at Ant and wish I could resent the way he’s pushing me on all levels, but I can’t. One smile from him is all I need.
“Champagne?” he asks, and I nod.
Yes. Fuck that as well. I’ll drink a whole damn bottle before showering for the mattress. I’m still sore from the pounding I took last night, and that was just from Ant, so hell knows how I’m going to feel in the morning.
It’s easier to keep the conversation focused on the guys who’ll be fucking me than dwelling on giving up my career, so I do that. I smile my slutty smile and coax him on with enthusiasm, swigging back mouthfuls of De Chante as I tell him how excited I am about what’s lying ahead when we go upstairs.
After a few glasses, I really begin to feel it.
I know how to present myself for Ant in the shower, surprisingly natural with the process now. I ask him if he wants me naked, but he doesn’t. I put the outfit on that he lays out on the bed for me. A tight black latex bra that holds my tits up high, and a crotchless pair of latex panties to go along with it. I barely flinch as he opens the mattress room door, and don’t give a fuck when he tells me to get on my back with my legs hitched high – I just ask for more champagne to help me on my way.
The underwear makes me stick to the rubber mattress. The panties are so tight that the latex presses hard against my clit.
“You can touch yourself,” Ant tells me, and I thank him, smiling up at him as I play.
I can do this.
Another swig of De Chante has me wanting it, because who cares? I may as well lose myself in his fantasies since soon enough they’ll be coming to an end. I should bring his dreams to life for him, since our dreams together will last a whole lot longer than these do.
“This is going to get rough for you, princess,” he tells me as I rub my clit through the latex. “Take what you can, and if you need to call time out, you need to call time out. I just hope you don’t, because I’m going to love it so damn much. It would hurt to watch you leave.”
I hope he’s talking about the room and not his life, but I guess that’s a stupid thought to consider, fuelled by De Chante and a horrible flash of paranoia. It won’t matter anyway. I won’t be leaving the mattress room. He’s worth it, and I’m drunk enough to smile, wondering who the hell is going to be fucking me tonight and what they’re going to do to me.