Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 61508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“You need this, don’t you, Amy?” Mr. Samuel taunted, his hips flashing back and forth as he drove toward his release.
I tried to shake my head, and I felt the restraint of the strong hand in my hair like a jolt of need shooting through my body. The very attempt to deny the awful words only seemed to demonstrate their truth.
Mr. Samuel grunted, his huge erection jerking in my mouth as I felt his hot cum pulse down my throat. He held himself in deep, making me take all of it.
“You may not like what you just learned,” his voice rumbled out as he pulled his softening penis from between my lips. “But I know you learned it all the same, Amy.”
CHAPTER 11
Amy
“Jenna… and Amy.”
Miss Frieda’s voice cut through the frenetic soundtrack of the action movie on in the rec room, without any of us really paying attention to it. I turned from the picture puzzle of a sunset to see our trainer standing in the doorway. Jenna had looked over from her conversation with another girl on the couch, whose name I couldn’t remember.
“Come here,” Miss Frieda ordered.
Jenna and I looked at each other. For the first time in a few hours, the fact that we were all naked all of the time brought a blush to my face, and I saw a similar one appear on Jenna’s, as we both clearly wondered what Miss Frieda had come to tell us. I saw the same hesitation in Jenna’s step that I felt in my own as we made our way to stand before the beautiful but severe woman in her white babydoll nightgown.
“You two have been requested in the guesthouse this evening,” she told us, her tone matter-of-fact and authoritative.
“Requested?” Jenna asked. “For…?”
She glanced over at me, as if I might have something to offer, but all I could do was swallow hard because requested in the guesthouse must mean something shameful, or painful… or both.
Miss Frieda fixed Jenna with an icy look.
“For one or more daddies’ pleasure, Jenna. That’s all you need to know.”
My heart raced as we followed Miss Frieda out of the rec room and across the manicured grounds toward the guesthouse. The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the lawn and bathing everything in a warm golden glow.
Despite the beauty of the evening, I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach. The vague memory of having gotten used to being naked all the time seemed absurd to me; I was biting my lip so hard as I thought of how I must look, how degraded, that I tasted blood.
I glanced over at Jenna, seeing my own apprehension mirrored in her eyes. We walked in silence, our bare feet padding softly on the gravel path. The cool evening air raised goosebumps on my bare skin, making me acutely aware of my vulnerability.
As we approached the imposing structure of the guesthouse, its grand facade looming before us, I felt a confusing mix of emotions. Fear and uncertainty warred with an undeniable thrill of excitement. What awaited us beyond those ornate double doors? Which daddies had requested our presence? Would Daddy Daniel be among them?
Miss Frieda led us through the opulent lobby, past luxurious velvet sofas and glittering chandeliers. My eyes darted nervously around, taking in the luxurious surroundings. Everything screamed wealth and power, from the marble floors to the priceless artwork adorning the walls. To be nude in such a place made me feel as much like a bad girl as getting fucked in the ass against the cell block wall had done.
As we followed Miss Frieda down the lovely hallway, my heart pounded in my chest. The thick carpet muffled our footsteps, creating an eerie silence broken only by the soft rustle of Miss Frieda’s nightgown. The air felt heavy with anticipation, scented with a heady mixture of leather and expensive cologne.
We turned a corner, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Before us stood an imposing set of double doors, carved from rich mahogany. Above them, in elegant gold script, I read the words Hall of Pleasure. A shiver ran down my spine at the implications of that name.
Miss Frieda pushed open the doors, revealing a room that seemed to embody both decadence and depravity. The space was vast, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of mythological debauchery. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, casting a warm, intimate glow over the room.
Big leather-upholstered chairs were scattered throughout, their deep burgundy set off by the cream-colored walls. Padded benches, fitted with leather restraints and obviously adjustable to suit their users, stood out prominently. Various implements hung on the walls—paddles, floggers, and other devices whose purpose I could only imagine.
As we stepped inside, the thick carpet became even more luxurious and soft. The temperature dropped slightly, causing goosebumps to rise on my bare skin again.