Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I hate it.
I hate even more that I hate it.
I hate missing her when she is not at the penthouse.
I hate longing for the papaya scent her newest conditioner leaves lingering in the air.
Perhaps what I hate most of all is how invested I’ve let myself get in something I intended to be temporary.
Finally finished, I scoot my chair back and gesture a hand towards her bed. “Sit.”
Zel relocates from where she had been kneeling on her knees to the edge of the mattress. Without having to be told, she pulls the two braids over her shoulder to deliciously dangle on top of her tits. Her voice is riddled with nervousness something that both now excites and saddens me. “You’re…you’re not gonna cut my hair again, are you?”
I should.
That is what I would do if she were any other doll.
I’d cut it and then cut her contract. Sever any ties we had and send her on her way.
I do not believe in multiple chances.
I do not believe in wasting my time.
Zel’s beautiful eyes widen in a silent plea igniting a pang in my chest much like she did last night when she profusely apologized.
While I have no doubt she didn’t have nefarious intentions nor was she sniffing out a “replacement” for when our time together is scheduled to end, I can’t deny that it hurt to know she was with someone else. And I can’t let the crime, or my pain, go ignored.
“No, little doll.” Leaning back in the chair, I casually cross one leg over the other. “I will not be cutting your hair.”
Relief swiftly spreads through her stare.
“You will sit there, touch yourself with your hair, and beg me for my cock.”
Shock has her jaw tumbling towards her bare lap.
“You are not permitted to come during this punishment at any point.” The faintest squeak is leaked into the air prior to me motioning a single hand her direction. “Begin.”
Zel reluctantly follows the command. She leans over just enough for the edge of her braid to graze the space between her thighs and slowly twirls the end around. Confusion and uncertainty initially cake her cherry complexion yet after only a couple more strokes the teasing of her own clit pushes those feelings aside. Whimpers gradually begin to pile onto one another as her wrist work increases in celerity. Her head falls further forward to give her better access to the pleasing at the same time her legs spread wider exposing just how dripping wet her pussy is becoming.
My fingers fold themselves together and rest unhappily on top of my swollen cock. It twitches in anger. Jealousy. Outrage that it’s not buried deep inside carving my name in the sacred place no other man will ever touch. I resist the urge to give it a squeeze when I hear her breath turn choppy and have to clamp down on my tongue to stop from groaning the first time she whimpers my name.
“Sir…”
Never has there been a more perfect sound.
“Sir…” Zel pants a second time, fingers bunching together more of the braid in hopes of creating something firmer to grind against. “Please…”
Hunger grows in my expression over the way her breath hitches and her toes claw the carpet.
“Please,” she repeats while I eagerly watch her juices start to soak her woven strands. “Please, can I have your cock?”
It thumps harshly against my zipper providing the wrong answer. “No.”
The yellow fabric suddenly joins the others that are clumped together in her enticingly shaky grasp. Needier moans pour past her lips as she frantically rubs her thick locks around in ceaseless circles. She tugs her own hair creating slight agony yet continues out of desperation to be pleased. To be penetrated by the puny amount she can push into her tight, slippery hole. Desperation noticeably builds in her whines, and I smugly smirk to myself.
Good.
Now, she understands how I felt wanting her with me when she chose to have a study dinner with another man instead.
“Please, sir,” Zel begs a little more breathless than before. “Can I have your cock?”
“No.”
“But-” her own objection is cut off by a louder, leg shaking moan. “Please!”
“No.”
“I can’t…,” she attempts to explain at the same time her fingers fight for a better grasp of the slick strands, “I can’t…” Another round of panting is attached to harsher pulling. “I need…”
Pre-cum profusely soaks my boxer briefs in a mutually shared sentiment.
“Please.” The bouncing of her head into every lifted hip thrust threatens to break my resolve; however, I hold firm. Maintain my refusal. Wait for the constant rolling of her frame and whimpering of her imploring to reach the peak of breaking her sanity. “Ohmygod, please, sir!” Huffs meet the same rhythm of her harsh rubbing. “Please! Fuck, I’m sorry I was home late! I’m sorry I broke the rule! I want you!” An inhumane gurgle is wedged between her proclamations. “I only want you, sir!”