Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
With a cry of shame that seemed to come from the pit of my stomach, I let go. A feeling of submission much deeper than anything I had yet felt or supposed I might feel washed through me as I wet Christian’s hand with the pee that rushed out the little hole he had left me.
Heat surged into my cheeks as my mind, floating somewhere between the ceiling and the galaxy where the space vessel Moonglider had found its happy ending, understood how terribly good it felt to wet the bed. Christian leaned back so that his hardness escaped my mouth, even though—in an involuntary, ultra-humiliating motion—I tried to keep it there, my tongue out as if for a treat and my lips seeking the demanding, hard length of my master’s penis.
He took his cock in his left hand again, letting my head fall back against the pillow. Between my legs, atop my pussy, soaking now with two kinds of shameful wetness, his hand possessed me even more urgently. As I watched him pump the rigid shaft of his manhood, faster and faster, I cried out at a clench of my pussy, so hard it made my whole lower body jerk against the webbing restraints.
“Oh, God…” I moaned. “Please… I want… I want to… sir… I need to…”
My gasping words seemed to push my keeper over the edge into the release of his climax, as if to demonstrate once and for all how greatly it pleased him to deny me pleasure.
No, my mind observed, he’s not really denying you pleasure, is he? He’s just refusing to give you the relief you want. To train you. To teach you.
I looked up at him: I could see his cock and his face at the same time, now, because he loomed over me, holding his erection, glistening with my saliva, an inch or two away from my eyes. He sped up the rhythm of his hand even further, and I felt my eyes go wide as I sensed the tension in his body and saw the brutal look in his eyes.
He liked it. He liked it very much: closing a naughty girl’s pussy and making her wet her bed. Using her mouth and promising to use her anus. Telling her she would only have her private lips opened up if she behaved herself correctly. All of it made the man I had started to fall in love with feel like coming on that girl’s face.
My face.
My body shuddered again, the tremor so deep in my muscles that if felt like my bones themselves needed the fucking that Christian wouldn’t give me for three days. I realized that I might actually come, even with the terribly dull feeling of friction that his hand brought to my sealed pussy. In fact, as I looked up at his hard masculine body, his taut muscles and his hairy chest, I understood that if I did come this way, the orgasm might be earth-shattering, limb-rending. Something about the slowness and the dullness and the sheer amount of arousal there seemed to promise that if I survived the experience I would know more pleasure than the human body was designed to undergo.
I tried to stifle the cry of need that burst from my chest, because I knew it would betray me. It came out anyway, echoing off the walls, all the louder because of how I had attempted to silence it.
Christian took his hand away. He let out a grunt from deep in his body. He put his right hand, shamefully damp with my pee on the back of my head to hold my face in place for his ultimate degradation. I whimpered with frustrated desire, and I saw his dark eyes light up as if in appreciation of my erotic suffering. I could see the approach of his orgasm, right there in his unwavering gaze, and then with another grunt and a spasming jerk of his hips it happened.
The hot, white seed spurted out of my master’s cock onto my forehead, then my cheek, then my nose. I tried to move my face away, but Christian held it motionless so that he could give me my humiliating facial.
He had claimed me with his hardness in my pussy, and I supposed I had thought the claiming complete. This new obscene act, the marking of his territory with his masculine essence, though, told me that he had no intention of stopping there. Christian Guzman, gorgeous, dominant billionaire, would claim me as his property over and over.
Waking up the next morning, I thought at first that the next two days—all of Thursday and most of Friday—would feel like two hundred years. As I lay in bed though, remembering and at the same time trying to push away the vivid recollection of Christian making me pee on the towel, on my bed, over his hand, my apartment spoke to me.