Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Jesus, she’s going to make me fucking come, and there’s not a goddamned thing I can do about it.
I drop my eyes from her face, feeling incredibly disgusted with what’s happening and even more repulsed at what I know is coming, no pun intended.
I scream, the pain almost enough to make me pass out, when she once again digs her fingers into one of my wounds. At least she has the compassion to look upset that she’s hurting me.
My words may not have been a lie or a performance for the cameras. I just may kill this bitch given the chance.
Her mouth hangs open, sounds of pleasure coming from her lips, and it makes me freeze. Not because of what she’s doing but because of what she isn’t doing.
The cha-ching sound echoes through the room, a constant noise, but it doesn’t drown out the fake-as-fuck orgasm she’s playing out. Whoever the customer is clearly can’t tell, but he’s probably some sick fuck in his mom’s basement who’s never had a girl orgasm on his cock before.
The most fucked-up part of all of this is that it still makes me come. Her fake fucking orgasm makes my balls seize and my cock jerk inside of her.
We lock eyes, and I find relief in them, understanding that she’d have to stay up there until I finished because it’s what the man on the other side of his computer wanted. It was the expectation for the prisoner to orgasm, despite wanting to slit the throat of the woman riding him.
She falls forward, the exertion from her faked release rushing past her lips on uneven bursts.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers just before her head lifts to once again look over my shoulder.
I understand that she’s apologizing, not only for what she’s previously done but for everything she’s going to do, as she slides down, my still half-erect cock slipping from her cum-soaked pussy.
Once again I find myself clenching my eyes closed as she licks down my body. I can feel the tremble in her hands now that I comprehend a little more about what’s going on.
I internalize that disgust, hating the way my body enjoys her touch even when I know it must repulse her. Her lips find the tip of my dick, and I swear I hear her swallow so hard the sound echoes louder than the money sound as she’s tipped heavily for cleaning my cock after fucking me without my consent.
I try my best not to have any response, but the warmth of her tongue on my nut sack makes me arch my head back. I consider that maybe I shouldn’t feel ashamed for how what she’s doing is making me feel. It’s the only good thing that I can recall, going even farther back than the night I walked into that bar Pirro was in and joined his poker game.
It hits me even harder that the shame can’t take a foothold, because I lie there and revel in the pleasure her mouth brings.
Chapter 9
Ayla
As much as I’d like to ignore the shadows that periodically pass in front of my door, I’ve been trained to look up, to meet the eyes of whoever it might be. I’ve learned what’s expected with each one of the men. I know who to act afraid of, who to look excited for. I even know when to channel a combination of both when it’s Pirro standing there. He’s been distracted lately, keeping his playtime in other areas of the house. As thankful as I am for it, I know what it means for others. Today, I don’t feel as guilty for the reprieve. I know that’s a terrible thing, that I’m on some level of okay with someone else getting hurt because it means I’m saved from the pain if only for a little while.
I barely catch the back of the man walking by, too distracted and lost in my own thoughts to react as quickly as I should. Thankfully, the guy doesn’t turn back around in an attempt to remind me exactly who I am and what’s expected of me.
For the millionth time since being brought here, I map the lines on the palm of my hand, thinking of how fucked up it is that I’m bored. I don’t for a second wish to be entertained or busy because of what that means in a place like this, but it isn’t often that I’m left with time of my own that isn’t spent sleeping.
It’s not that I couldn’t fall asleep right now. I think I could sleep standing up most days, but we aren’t allowed to during what Cortez considers business hours, which are from noon to six in the morning. If we have a client that goes past that time, then we just lose those hours of sleep.