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)
“All the way down,” Belkonov said, his voice cold though I thought I could hear the huskiness of arousal in it, too. “I want those cunt lips up against the saddle.”
CHAPTER 23
Heather
Ivan had me under my shoulders, his hands gripping me firmly. He enforced his enemy’s order with such force that I couldn’t help wailing. I sounded, my fevered brain decided, like a forlorn waif discovering that the man she thought her protector meant to violate her instead.
The huge rubber cock seemed to fill me completely, to press against my lungs and drive the breath out of them. Open-mouthed, I let out a pitiful little sound every time I exhaled. My bruised bottom came into painful contact with the leather beneath me, and then with a final pressure of his hands around my ribcage my master gave his enemy what the man had asked for: I felt my pussy press against the saddle as well.
Impaled on the huge phallus, held upright by Ivan’s hold on me, I sobbed in discomfort and shameful need. My feet hovered, kicking slightly, trying to find some place to rest and support myself—to ease some of the suffering in my pussy, but also, despite the shame of knowing Belkonov wanted exactly this, in desperation to ride the terrible device.
At last my right foot, and then my left, found the little wooden posts that stuck out from the sides of the horse, to serve as stirrups of a sort. I cried out at the tiny relief it brought to ease the downward pressure, and at the jolt of arousal from the friction inside me that came from even the slightest movement atop the horse.
I could feel the cunning way the saddle rocked, both back and forth and up and down, while the dildo stayed motionless. Minuscule shifts of my bodyweight brought humiliating whimpers, whining cries of helpless need, to my lips as I felt the huge artificial cock seem to thrust in and out.
“Let’s clip her wrists in front,” Belkonov said in Russian.
Ivan let go of me, and I let out a long, sobbing moan as much at the desertion of my master’s grasp as at the shift it caused in my position and how my bottom and my pussy moved atop the terrible saddle. He unclipped the cuffs around my wrists, and brought them forward roughly, making me bend so that he could fasten my hands to the horse’s wooden head.
I heard a keening cry come from between my closed lips, and I felt my head shaking a vain refusal at the overwhelming sensation. My feet tried to use the little posts to rise and ease the fullness inside my pussy, but I could feel how in this new position that movement pushed my bottom out, forced it over the back of the horse and even parted the whipped cheeks to expose the part of me Belkonov planned to use.
I sat like a racing jockey atop the horrible toy, my vagina much too full, my anus much too available. In the frightening darkness of the hood every sensation seemed magnified, too, so that I could hardly remember that I had a mission, let alone what I had to do to fulfill it.
“Ride, you little slut,” Belkonov said in English. “I want to see that saddle all wet before I fuck your ass. And you won’t be allowed to get off the horse until you have my seed in your anus.”
My mouth shaped the words oh, no, and my head shook, but I couldn’t resist the command. I had no choice. With a cry of mingled pain and pleasure, I gripped the posts on either side of the carved wooden horse’s head and, in the darkness my gospodin’s enemy had brought to my eyes, I started to ride.
I cried out with every movement, and the frame of the rocking horse creaked in time with my cries. The soundproofing made the noise vanish as soon as it arose, as if my ordeal existed only in my mind despite how aware I was of the two men standing by, watching, and how thoroughly the horse had mastered not only my mind but above all my body.
I hung my head and rode. I felt my tongue emerge from my mouth, licking a phantom cock, an absent scrotum. My cheeks went blazing hot as I realized how desperately I wanted Ivan’s hardness there, inside my mouth to take away some of the shame of having had to please Belkonov that way.
But it was the enemy who noticed. “Look at that,” he said to Ivan. “She wants my dick back.”
I sensed him moving in front of me, and then I felt his hand under my chin.
“Here you go, whore,” he said in English, and as I moaned around the thrusting hardness, he buried himself between my lips again. “Get me ready for your ass.”