Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
My little submissive.
That’s what she is, isn’t she?
I’m the dominant one and something inside of me must have known she’d be my perfect complement. My only complement. The counterpart I’d need to survive. And the fact that I need her beyond reason becomes even more startlingly obvious as I reach the dugout and we lock eyes over the roof, her tongue covered in white ice cream as she licks, looking right at me. The breeze causes her skirt to dance higher on her thigh and a bead of sweat rolls straight down the center of my forehead. My balls squeeze in my jock strap, which suddenly feels extra tight. Like I could tear the seams if she continues her torture.
And she does.
Maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, licking her treat and shifting in her seat, but every flip of her hair or flutter of her eyelashes is like a lash of a whip to my sanity. I’m salivating. I’m about to rip the roof off this dugout and all I can think is, why didn’t I skip this game? So I’m being scouted. So what? Nothing matters without her. Nothing matters unless I’m surrounded by her, inside of her, consuming her.
“You all right, son?” my coach asks, coming up beside me, spitting a sunflower seed at the speed of bullet. “You can’t be distracted tonight. We’ve got three major league scouts behind home plate. They’re here specifically for you.”
“I know.”
The coach exits the dugout in order to follow my line of sight. “Ah. I see. It’s a girl that’s taking up your thoughts.”
“You have no idea.”
He makes a sound in his throat. I’m staring at Scout, so I can’t see his face, but I know he’s watching me closely. Maybe even clocks the obsession that I’m incapable of hiding, especially now that I know she likes to be roughed up. By me.
“Listen, son,” he says, dropping his voice. “We’ve got thirty minutes to the first pitch. If you want to bring her into my office to get some relief, we can get your focus back where it needs to be. On this game.”
My cock thickens, my stomach muscles rippling with hunger for that fucking pussy. “But the office is in the locker room. Everyone is going to head in soon.”
He shrugs. “Keep the light off and keep her quiet.”
There’s a part of me that wants to wrap my hands around his throat and choke the life out of him for talking about my female like he knows anything about her. But I’m too horny now. Too desperate and sweaty and hard. And I’m already crooking a finger at Scout, signaling her toward the edge of the dugout. At first, she looks confused, but she does as she’s told, rising from her plastic seat and coming closer. Closer. Until I can catch her by the wrist and tug, hard, toppling her down from the stands into the dugout. Into my arms.
A ripple of shock goes through the crowd, but the roar of starvation is louder in my ears, drowning everything out as I stride down the hallway carrying Scout.
“What are you doing?” she breathes.
Almost there. Office in view. “What I need to do.”
“Which is?”
“Spreading your legs.”
The ice cream is melting down her knuckles by the time we make it into my coach’s office and I kick the door closed behind me. I throw her ass down onto the top of his desk, reach underneath that mindfuck of a skirt and tear open the crotch of her panties.
“Cash!”
“Lick that ice cream again. Do it. Lap it up off your fingers.” I drag her to the edge of the desk, snapping my teeth against her little ripe cunt, watching it clench with mounting lust. Enough to capsize an ocean liner. “Every time you lick that ice cream, I’ll lick your clit. You can have my cock when the ice cream is all gone.”
She’s still reeling from the last minute of her life, but her lashes are fluttering, and her hips begin to twist on the desk, ever so lightly, the prospect of being licked between her thighs too tempting to dismiss. I groan when that pink tongue peeks out and takes a healthy lick of the mostly eaten ice cream. Unable to break eye contact with her, I gently saw my tongue between her folds, parting them and making contact with her sensitive nub.
“Ohhhh,” she whines, arching her back. “Oh, that feels so good.”
“Keep licking and I’ll do the same, angel.”
She nods, eyes unfocused, and begins to lap eagerly at the ice cream, the scoop nearly even with the top of the cone now. Keeping my eye on her and that eager tongue, I mimic her movements, plastering the flat of my tongue over her clit and sliding it up, back, up, back, seeing her thighs flex in my periphery.