Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
For a moment terror filled my chest that the pitiful noise would cause Christian to stop his hand’s movement. The terrible paradox of my submission, the way it seemed that from henceforth my master’s pleasure must come before my own, opened before me as a sort of yawning chasm of endless aching need.
But instead of withdrawing his hand, or reprimanding me for my shameful wantonness, Christian said, “Shh, sweet girl,” and he laid two fingers gently on the front of my panties, precisely on top of my tingling clit, and he started to rub.
“This is how I inspect a naughty pussy,” he said softly, almost as if he spoke only to himself.
I felt the muscles in my lower back, in my ass, in my thighs, light up with pleasure and spasm uncontrollably. I gave a little cry as I felt my whole lower body squirm and rise, desperate to rub against my master’s too-gently caressing fingers.
My arms struggled against the cuffs. My knees tugged at the straps holding them, trying to spread even further, provide even better access to the naughtiest parts of me.
With my eyes tightly shut against the degrading sight of Christian’s ‘inspection,’ I threw my head back, sobbing, “Oh… God… oh… oh… sir… please…”
But my keeper’s touch remained light. Up and down his fingertips went, pressing just a little each time, at the place that tingled with terrible, fierce need all the more at each touch, and then at the lower spot where his hardness had tamed me once before, his rigid cock fucking me into submission.
He worked me slowly and rhythmically. I took my lower lip between my teeth and let out a tiny, involuntary whimper with each motion of his fingers over the lace of my naughty panties.
“You’re getting your panties very wet, Leah,” he said, so softly I had to strain to hear him. “I think you’ve been teaching your little pussy to respond to a man’s touch. Have you been playing with yourself, Rebel?”
I opened my mouth to question, to protest, to deny, but all that came out was a panting, gasping breath.
“We’d better get these off you,” he murmured, “so I can conduct a proper inspection.”
My pussy clenched hard. I had no idea how the seemingly innocent—even slightly menacing—word inspection could provoke that helpless response. I didn’t think I wanted to know.
“Apartment,” he said. I opened my eyes, surprised, and managed to keep them where Christian had told me they belonged: his left hand, on his huge manhood, still stroking himself almost idly—as if he simply meant to show me, his fuck toy, that billionaire keepers get to enjoy themselves as they like while kept bed girls must wait until their owners judge them worthy of pleasure.
“Open toy cabinet,” his voice said, and I heard a click from behind me, in the headboard.
“What…?” I started, twisting my head in vain to try to see what sort of shameful toys Selecta had provided for a sponsor’s pleasure, and blushing furiously at the thoughts that filled my wayward mind.
I saw only Christian’s right hand, having left my soaking panties and my needy pussy bereft, reaching over my head. I heard a moment of rummaging as he located what he wanted, and then I saw his hand return, holding something I took a moment to recognize as blunt-nosed safety scissors.
I let out a little cry as I understood all too well. Like the word inspection, the sight of the scissors sent a shockwave of arousal through my body. The knowledge that a man meant to cut off my underwear… to destroy the expensive, pretty thong… in order to render my pussy and bottom fully available for his punishment and his pleasure—it made my whole backside squirm with need even as it stirred a fluttery panic in my belly.
“Wait…” I said, my good-girls-don’t-ruin-their-nice-underwear instincts suddenly, weirdly taking hold of me. “Wait… sir… can’t you just… I mean, I won’t try to run away…”
The babbling part of my brain had taken firm hold; I didn’t even really know what I meant to say, except that having Christian use the scissors on the prettily decorated elastic waistband of the expensive thong seemed like… just too much. Too much of just about everything. My eyes had followed the movement of the shears all too closely; he held them only an inch away from my left hip.
He didn’t answer me for a moment. Instead his left hand moved over, leaving his hardness swaying menacingly next to my upraised right thigh. I had a terribly ambivalent moment as I longed for the touch of its warm shaft against my naked skin and dreaded it at the same time, and felt bizarrely like the scissors and Christian’s enormous cock represented two sides of the same dominant, brutal, impossibly seductive coin: my master’s lust and his power over me.