Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Ivan’s cold eyes looked down on me as I dropped the coat to the floor of the limo and knelt up, my right arm shielding my breasts from view and my left hand over my pussy. Covering my private parts represented a serious infraction of my master’s rules for me, and I watched him register the misconduct with a narrowing of his gaze.
“You don’t want this anymore, Master?” I asked, making my voice husky, as if trying to persuade Ivan that he should reconsider—as if being denied the sight of my little tits and hairless pussy might drive him mad with possessive lust.
Ivan shook his head. “No, whore,” he told me. “But that doesn’t mean you may break the rules.”
Could I see a struggle in the eyes of the man I loved? I didn’t think I had imagined it: Ivan, despite the danger of the moment, had felt his dominant need—for power and for pleasure—aroused by my simply covering the parts of me where he had taken, and given, so much lewd delight.
The parts of me that belong to him most of all.
I looked steadily back at my master. I clutched with my fingers a little more tightly, on my right breast, and over my pussy. I paid a price in my own arousal, because the sensation made me bite my lip and furrow my brow. Nude but for my heels, kneeling before my fully clothed owner, my backside terribly sore from his stern discipline—it had become paradoxically the joy of my life, because it meant so much wild pleasure and then so much tenderness.
Not tonight.
Ivan’s face turned suddenly wrathful. He got up from the long black-leather-covered seat and lunged toward me with the strength and grace of a panther. He had his right hand in my hair and his left on my ass before I could even understand what my master intended. The limo turned, and I felt myself sway a bit, but Ivan remained rock solid. He used the motion to propel me more easily forward, pushing my face into the passenger seat as his other hand grasped me in that most humiliating of ways, thumb between my sore bottom-cheeks and fingers in my pussy, keeping my backside raised.
“Oh, no,” I sobbed. “Please… Master…”
But Ivan said, “Keep this ass right here, you little slut.”
His right hand withdrew, and I cried out even before it came down again with a hard spank to my right cheek. Then I screamed because the agony simply overwhelmed me entirely. My body shook, and I disobeyed Ivan’s command because my muscles simply couldn’t help it: I bent my knees and lowered my bottom, trying to ease the awful pain and trying helplessly to keep my poor bottom shielded.
“I said, keep your ass up,” my master said angrily. His hand returned to my pussy, his thumb pressing hard against my anus. I cried out as sudden, inescapable need flooded outward, filling my whole nervous system. “I’m not going to help you with your good-girl wand, either. I’ll let Belkonov use that to make you behave—or he can punish you the way you really deserve, like this.”
He lifted my bottom again, and he gave me another spank, so that another shriek of agony filled the passenger compartment. Somewhere, distantly, I understood that we were giving Anatoly and the listeners a hell of a show, but in that same still-rational corner of my mind I also knew that I had to do something quickly to stop Ivan’s plan of sending me home.
I could see now what he meant to do: this scene would inevitably lead to some moment where my master would pretend to decide I had failed him one time too many, and he would pretend to lose his temper. He would tell Anatoly to take us somewhere different, some secluded spot by the river, I felt certain. There Ivan probably had the broker who had sold me waiting, or someone else who could take me to the broker.
If it was the broker, that meant the Pretorian Guard knew, because they were the broker—or maybe the broker worked for them. Either way, the plan meant safety for me. Despite all the exquisite pain in my backside, my heart filled with warmth for Ivan.
The plan also could well mean death for him, though—even immediate death, right there, because the Guard might think the position ideally compromising: warlord Ivan Antonov killed in the act of trying to kill his fuck toy.
I couldn’t let it happen. My bottom felt as if Ivan had literally poured gasoline over it and set my skin on fire, but I kept it raised. I sobbed and wailed into the leather upholstery of the elegant limo’s seat. I tried desperately to think of something to say, some clue to give Ivan that instead of just handing me over he should wait and listen. That rather than a problem, I represented a solution.