Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“You’re going to invite some guy over here to fuck you up?”
“Well, preferably he just fucks me instead of fucking me up, but yeah, that’s the idea . . . although I wouldn't mind it if he were rough with me.” Sarah winks at me. “Let me know what time you’re coming home, unless you want to walk in on me being nailed by some guy.”
“I’m going to beat up that guy,” I say. “And then I’m going to lock you up in your room. Say hello to solitary confinement.”
I don’t know if she’s going to buy that. The only thing she’s seen me “beat up” is Peter’s African drum.
“You’re not going out?” she asks as I walk back to my bedroom.
I ignore her and lock the door behind me. What follows is a shameful abomination.
I lie down on my bed, pull out my phone and my dick, then watch video after video of writhing, naked women being fucked hard and rough.
I wear earphones to hide what I’m doing from Sarah, but also to drown out any noises from outside, in case she’s whispering evil, tempting things through the door.
I stroke my fist up and down my rock-hard shaft. It takes too fucking long because none of these videos does it for me.
But as soon as I imagine Sarah’s red lips around my cock, cum boils in my balls, and I shoot ropes of it onto my own shirt.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I didn’t even remember to prepare some tissue to catch my cum? I haven’t made that mistake since I was fifteen.
I pace into the en-suite bathroom to clean myself up. After that, with nothing to do, I decide to take a nap. But sleep just won’t come.
So I grab a book from the shelf. The Tattoo History Source Book. It’s a collection of historical records about tattoos, dating back from ancient times, all the way to the present. I’ve been meaning to finish the book, and seeing as I have time now . . .
Soon, though, I find that reading just frustrates me. I can’t focus. I’ve been staring at the same illustration for five solid minutes, during which I also haven’t flipped a single page.
All I can think about is Sarah.
I wonder what she’s doing. Is she still sitting in the kitchen? Is she still naked underneath that coat, or has she grown tired of my passive resistance?
My chest burns as I think about her threat to invite some random guy to my house to fuck her. But anger and arousal go hand in hand for someone like me, and Sarah knows that.
I thought knowing her weaknesses was my advantage. I forgot that also means she knows my weaknesses, too.
I throw my book on the floor, where it makes a loud thud at impact. No doubt she hears it, too.
Fuck this.
A warning bell rings in my head, telling me I’m doing the wrong thing.
But my cock still yearns for her, even after I jerked myself off. Thoughts of her swirl in my mind, making no space for anything else.
I unlock the door. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I can’t hide in my room forever.
At the doorway leading to the kitchen, I stop.
She’s still sitting there, like an obedient little slave. She looks up at me like she’s been expecting me. Her eyes, big and innocent, watch me expectantly. She doesn’t have to say a word. I notice the slight part of her lips and the way her breathing has quickened.
She’s begging me to take her.
Fine, little doll. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I march into the kitchen. Standing behind her, I pull her up to her feet and back against my chest. She gasps in surprise, but she puts up no resistance.
Leaning against the kitchen cabinet, I pull out a knife from the wooden block on the counter.
Sarah
I catch the metallic glint of a blade in my periphery, and my heart starts pounding.
Finally.
I’ve been waiting all morning for Luca to do something. I was starting to think I was wrong about him.
But I’m not.
Now, I know for sure.
Because the way he’s holding me right now, the way he restrains my whole body with his strong arms . . . I can feel his sexual frustration. The way his hands grab me. The way his fingers dig into my flesh. This is how a tormented man moves.
His chest feels hard and solid against my back. His breath falls softly on my neck, in stark contrast to the roughness of the way he’s holding me. “This is what you want, doll?”
PuppetMaster is back.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispers, tickling my earlobe with every syllable.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” That’s exactly what I want.
“Don’t speak too soon, doll. You have no idea what I want to do to you.”