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)
He’d parked the chair we sat in across from the full-length trifold mirror set into the opposite wall. I took in my reflection: my long legs draped over his longer ones, spread wide, the crotch of my black lace thong pulled up between my labia. His big hands cupped my breasts, kneading them as his mouth lowered to my neck. He nibbled and sucked, and squeezed with his hands until I was writhing in his lap as much as I dared without scooting right off.
One hand moved to stroke my hair behind my ear before he brushed his lips over the spot just beneath it, the spot that made me shiver and tickle all over. Neil loved to tease me this way, combining rough touches with delicate ones, so I never knew what to expect.
He dropped his hand to my shoulder, gliding down my arm, veering off where my elbow was pinned between our bodies. He followed the line of my hip instead, over my stomach to the top of my panties. He clenched the lace in his fingers, drawing the material up painfully tight in my cleft. The edge of the fabric cut across my clit, and I squeaked in discomfort. He eased off and slipped his hand beneath the lace. I watched the mirror, fascinated, as his big hand stroked me beneath the thong, his fingers curled possessively over my mound as he rubbed in soothing, maddening circles.
“Oh, did that hurt?” He was definitely not as remorseful as he was pretending to be.
“Yes, Sir.” My lips pursed, and I was keenly aware of the slow, steady breaths I took through them. One finger slipped between my labia, over my clit, and I closed my eyes. My shoulders slumped, and I leaned forward on the hand that was still at my breast. The finger in my panties drew a lazy swirl, and I shuddered.
He dipped lower, wetting his fingertip and slicking my fluid up and over my hard, straining clit. I mentally tried to step my arousal back, because I knew there was no way I’d be coming this soon in the evening.
I concentrated on the sight of his hand in my panties, my body undulating in his lap. It wasn’t the most efficient way to keep myself from getting hornier. I should have thought it through better. I closed my eyes and leaned my head on his shoulder, and the hand at my breast came up to grasp my chin, forcing me to face the mirror once more.
“Open your eyes and look,” he commanded me. “Look at what I’m doing to you.”
It was almost too much stimulation. I wanted to clamp my thighs shut around his hand to stop him from moving. But he continued his slow circles that tugged at the hood of my clitoris and set off more throbbing pulses deep in my groin. His calm, steady breathing in my ear highlighted my own breathlessness; the brush of his clothing on my skin reminded me of my naked, vulnerable state.
“What can I do to you, Sophie?”
My answer was automatic. “Anything, Sir.”
“And you don’t ever fucking forget it.” He softly bit my shoulder and withdrew his hand from my panties to give my mound a slap that made me yelp.
“Quiet,” he warned, and it was the voice of Neil my fiancé, not Neil my Dom. Then darker, lower, he said, “Get on your knees.”
I sank to the carpet in front of him, and the bra around my wrists slipped a bit. He pulled it free the rest of the way when he bent down to take off his shoes.
“Would Sir like me to take those off for him?” There was something I found incredibly sexy about taking his shoes off. That probably made me a bigger pervert than I already was. But acts of lowly subservience really turned my crank.
Sir looked like he was considering it for a moment, then he nodded once and lifted his foot. I sat back on my heels and slipped the shoe off, then slid my hands along his foot, to his ankle, reaching under the leg of his trousers to roll down his thin wool sock.
When I’d finished with his other foot, I felt him watching me with the kind of darkly amused intent that always gave me a pause. What had he come up with in his devious imagination? What would he do to me this time?
Raising his foot, he pressed my shoulder down, and I lowered myself to my hands and knees, then to the floor when he didn’t let up. He rose and stared down, hands in his pockets, at me lying prostrate before him. Then he held my head down with one big foot gently on the back of my neck.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Sir,” I mumbled into the carpet. “Thank you for letting me please you.”