Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140874 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
There was a difference between surrendering one’s will and surrendering to pleasure. It was easy to do the latter. At the moment, I was doing the former; stopping myself from giving in to my urge to wriggle and maximize contact, talking myself out of taking too much at the buffet. My shoulders shook with the tension of keeping still.
Neil noticed, took his fingers away, and pulled me up to sit across his lap. “Have a care, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
I rolled my neck from side to side. “Sorry, Sir. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You were thinking.” He patted my knees and I moved to stand, but he simply turned me to straddle his legs, my back against his chest. With a little nudge to sit me up, his hands closed on my shoulders, kneading my muscles with firm pressure that made me moan in an entirely different context.
“You were thinking about when the next slap would come,” he continued, while his strong hands made jelly of me. “You were thinking about when you might come.”
I wished he hadn’t mentioned that, because I had no idea when that would be.
“What should you be thinking of?” he asked, his thumbs moving up the back of my neck on either side of my spine.
“I should be thinking of how to please you, Sir.”
He caught my earlobe between his teeth, releasing it to murmur, “I love how you say that. Without hesitation. Without resistance or uncertainty. Look at me.”
I leaned to my right and turned my head, and his hand closed over my throat. It was crazy; I made eye contact with Neil all the time. Yet somehow, being allowed to do so while we were actively playing, when his hand was clasped around my neck, made it somehow more meaningful.
“You should be thinking of nothing.” He brushed my hair back, curving his fingers around my ear. He looked into my eyes, then he kissed me with urgency that snatched the breath from my lungs, leaving that weird, semi-painful love ache beneath my ribs.
“Face forward,” he ordered as he pulled back, and I did as he told me.
One of his hands slid between my breasts, to the top of my thong and under. I glanced down, and nearly came right then. The sight of Neil’s hand in my panties was one of the most erotic things I’d ever seen, and was in the top ten of things I loved to look at, probably somewhere between baby ducks and the words “Yoji Yamamoto’s new collection.”
Obviously it helped that the image was associated with some supremely pleasurable physical sensations. His other arm wrapped around my rib cage, holding me captive as his fingers sought out my clit.
My body bowed; it wasn’t an instinct I could resist. I’d been so keyed up for this all day long, and I lost myself in his touch.
“You can writhe all you’d like, but you aren’t going anywhere,” he warned, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re mine, Sophie. Tonight I will use you, I will punish you, I will hurt you, any way I please. Why is that?”
I wetted my lips. My breath shuddered from my lungs. It was hard to concentrate under the onslaught of his titillating words and his wicked touch. “Because…” My voice broke on a gasp as he slipped one finger up and down my clitoris.
His arm tighter around my ribs, and his hand stilled in my panties. “Say it.”
“Because I’m yours, Sir.”
His fingers moved in a final, slow circle. He pulled his hand away, and I stifled my whimper of protest. Sir would not like it if I asked for more than he wanted to give me.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered, and when I did, he forced his fingers past my parted lips. “Taste yourself.”
I sucked his fingers clean. This was one of his favorite things to do, and I’d gotten used to the musky, slightly salty flavor.
“Did you ever do this before?” he asked, gently pushing his fingers in and out of my mouth in a maddening tease, giving me exactly what I wanted on the wrong part of my body.
I nodded.
“When?”
He dragged his fingers slowly from my mouth, over my chin and down my throat.
“When I’ve masturbated, Sir. Every once in a while, I like to taste myself.” My face got hot at the admission. He could pull secrets from me on a whim.
“Do you think of me while you’re touching yourself?” He trailed the backs of his fingers across the skin between my breasts.
“I do, Sir.” Gooseflesh stood out all over my body.
“Every time?”
“Every time, Sir.”
He pinched one nipple, hard. “Tell the truth now.”
I gasped in pain. “Not every time, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”
He rubbed his fingertips in soothing circles over the flesh he’d just tormented. “Who do you think of?”
Without hesitation, told him. “I think of Emir. And I think of other men.”