Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
“This,” Neil said in a low growl as his fingers slicked down between my folds. “Looks very inviting.”
I moaned against the make-shift gag as his fingertip slid into my cunt, just far enough to rub in and out of my sensitive opening. In the darkness behind the blindfold, I imagined what I must have looked like, bent naked over the counter, still wearing my red patent leather pumps. My ass probably matched them; I ground my teeth against the bruised ache.
My vulva, bare and still a bit swollen from my wax the previous afternoon, tingled as the backs of his knuckles bumped my labia. He pushed his finger deeper, twisting it as he pumped and withdrew. I sobbed at the loss of penetration, my hands opening and closing on the lip of the counter.
“Oh, a very warm welcome indeed.”
I heard a rustle of fabric, then felt hot skin and the coarse touch of his chest hair against the backs of my thighs. He leaned down and kissed the curve of my bruised ass, kneading the flesh with both hands as I moaned in exquisite pain. More kisses pressed along the seam beneath a cheek, and I wriggled in his grasp, my toes curling in my shoes.
When his tongue touched my clit, it startled me. Blinded by the silk over my eyes, I had been using his slow progress down my backside as a map to predict his destination. He’d skipped over a lot of road to take me by surprise. He flicked the hard, straining nub with the very tip of his tongue then licked over it with flat, wide strokes. I pushed back on him and rolled my forehead against the counter.
I’d watched him go down on me a hundred times, at least. Either looking down my body, or seeing his reflection in a mirror. Almost always, he would hold my gaze as he sucked and stroked me. Now, even without the blindfold, I wouldn’t have been able to see him, and it drove me mad.
He knew it would, of course, and that was the point. It was no secret that having something taken away from me was a sure fire way to make me want it even more. I’d become more practiced at delaying my orgasms, but robbing me of a sense had removed one of the distractions I used. If I were watching Neil eat my pussy, it was easier to remove myself from the act, as though I were watching it happen to another person. Now, it was too much. There was no distance. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep from coming out of sheer willpower.
So when Neil murmured, “You have my permission to come, Sophie,” against my labia, my knees buckled with relief.
“As many times as you like,” he added.
I had become so attuned to obedience that just having permission to come was nearly enough to get me there. A long, slow swirl of his tongue helped me along, and a finger gliding easily into my vagina took me the rest of the way. He pressed hard on my g-spot and I let go completely, rocking on his hand, my inner muscles gripping his finger in waves of ecstasy and desperation. It wasn’t enough, wouldn’t be nearly enough until his cock was inside me.
But with Sir, it was never so simple. Though I’d just had an orgasm, he didn’t stop, laving my over-sensitive flesh with demented purpose while I sobbed through the gag, begging him to stop despite the fact that my words were lost in the sodden mass of lace filling my mouth.
Or the fact that I didn’t really want him to stop. If I did, I could give him our signal, and he would stop immediately. That’s what made the futile begging so fun.
He kept me there, pinning my hips against the counter, sucking and licking me to another peak, and another.
When my knees buckled from exhaustion and I nearly toppled to the floor, he stopped and helped me to straighten. I leaned on him for support.
His hands worked at the back of my head to untie the blindfold. “I’m checking in, Sophie.”
I blinked at the change in light, and Neil pulled the panties from my mouth. Two tear tracks of mascara cascaded down my cheeks. My face was flushed from the slap he’d given me, the marble pressed against my skin, and the head rush of too many orgasms.
My throat was hoarse. “We’re still green, Sir. But I do need some water.”
He pulled my hair into a ponytail in his fist and wrapped it around his knuckles. I flipped on the tap, and he lowered my head so that I could drink from the long stream that flowed from the tall, arched faucet. The man could make getting a drink of water arousing.