Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
As soon as I entered the back room, he was on me, grasping me, holding my head in hard fingers, as if he had to force me to endure his kisses. I moaned because I wanted those kisses. He came to visit me at least once a day, sometimes more, for this, for kisses and groping and fast, hard sex against the wall or over the couch, or sprawled out on the carpet.
His force ruled my world. All he had to do was touch me—grab me—and I melted for him. I ground my hips against his crotch as he yanked up my skirt. I was only allowed to wear skirts or dresses to work now, with no panties underneath. It was a very effective method of making me think about him all day. At home, I wasn’t allowed to wear anything at all, except nipple clamps, harnesses, chastity devices, and other evil things he used to torment me. In comparison, the no-panty rule was positively tame, and it allowed him easy access during these fleeting visits.
He forced me to my knees and I undid his fly, releasing his thick erection. He thrust into my mouth with his pants still around his hips. I held up his shirt, being very careful to keep him neat and clean, because once he left me, he’d go back to work in his office upstairs. My old friends at Eriksen Architectural Design knew I had a studio here, and that their boss came to visit me. They knew we were together, since he’d taken me to a couple of corporate dinners. Why wouldn’t the boss fall for the intern? They didn’t know the rest of our three-year history. Maybe that was for the best.
I choked, a loss of concentration. He twisted fingers in my hair and pulled hard to refocus me. Yes, yes, Sir, forgive me. I didn’t say it out loud, didn’t say anything, just went back to sucking him. We hadn’t shared so much as a greeting yet, but that wasn’t unusual when his mind was on sex. He didn’t like a bunch of words clouding up the dynamic between us. When we were in his dungeon, I wasn’t allowed to speak at all. Not one word, not one syllable unless I was responding to a question. He’d told me that rule the first day, and no amount of protesting and negotiation had changed his mind. After being gagged many times over the following week, sometimes for more than an hour, I’d learned to accept it and obey.
But I could still make noises. I could scream and whine, yelp and shriek, groan and struggle to my heart’s content. And here, now, I could talk, because this wasn’t the dungeon, but what was there to say except Use me, and I missed you, and I love you, even when you treat me this way…
His hands tightened in my hair until my toes curled in my shoes, then he released me and nudged me toward the sofa. I crawled there, waiting for his hands to show me what he wanted. He lifted me and bent me over the cushions, slapped my ass and shoved his cock inside me. I was so, so wet. His forceful thrusts banged my hips against the couch where I should have been meeting with clients. Let’s face it, I was way better at having sex than launching a business.
“Hurt me,” I whispered into my hands. “Please hurt me.”
I wanted to touch myself, but I didn’t. He could make me come from fucking alone, from rubbing over my G-spot until my legs were trembling and my clit was swollen into a throbbing, horny center of need. I didn’t have to ask permission to come, but I was sometimes instructed not to come, intentionally or on a whim. This created a situation where I tried to come all the time, until he told me not to—because at any moment he might tell me not to.
He enjoyed my scrabbling, frenzied attempts to get off, enjoyed making me come over and over sometimes, until I was exhausted. I bucked back against him, ignoring the scratching carpet against my knees, but constantly aware of keeping his clothes clean. The one time I’d accidentally humped his pants and left a wet spot, he’d made me take them to the dry cleaner with a very sore ass. Live and learn. Since I’d moved in with Price, I’d learned so many things.
Be good. Be a pleasing, sexually available slave. Hurt for Master when he wants it. Don’t ask him if he loves you.
“Oh, please,” I said. “I’m so close.”
He immediately changed his rhythm to make it harder for me to come. I should have known better by now than to admit I was almost there. He squeezed my nipples through my shirt, making my pussy twitch and clench around his cock. He was so big, he filled me so full. He was everything to me. He left my nipples and reached down to slap my clit. The contact felt electric. I stuffed my knuckles in my mouth so I wouldn’t ask for it again, because then I might not get it. He slapped my clit again, hurting me as much as he thrilled me. The third time I went off, climaxing, grinding on his hand as he drilled into me.