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Looking up at him from here makes everything feel wrong. It’s obvious to everyone with their eyes on me what’s going to happen.

I’ve imagined moments like this privately for years in the safety of fantasy, where I could stop whenever I wanted and no one was there to see me fail. But this is real. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if being good at it matters or if obedience is the only thing they care about.

I twist as far as I can and look behind me. Bridget is already kneeling before Patrick. He has unbuttoned his pants, exposing himself. She leans in confidently with no hesitation. I’m sure she practiced more than a few times. She looks right at home in that position.

Edwin’s hand closes in my hair and pulls my attention back to him. The crystals in his shirt sparkle in the firelight, and I feel like an insect drawn to a bug zapper. He unzips, letting his cock spring free. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, at the reality of what I have to do.

I can’t. It won’t fit.

The fire crackles softly around us while the masked figures wait.

No one tells me what to do.

Light flickers across his face, catching in his eyes as he stares down at me, and I finally understand. He’s waiting to see if I’ll obey without guidance. If I’ll offer myself without being asked.

I want him to look powerful and for the men watching to believe in him. I want this to matter.

So I open my mouth.

Approval flashes across his face, hot enough to make my chest tighten. He brings the tip of his cock to my lips and I open wider to accommodate him. My tongue laps against the velvety softness of his skin, and it sparks a certain pleasure inside me.

I never expected to enjoy the taste of him. Or the little grunts he utters as I lick up his length. Confidence starts to warm my nerves.

I take him carefully, shallow at first, testing what my body will allow. Maybe I can do this. Maybe if I go slow enough, if I stay calm enough, I can get through it without embarrassing either of us.

Then he pushes deeper.

My body rebels. I jerk back with a gag, tears flooding my eyes. Embarrassment burns through me hotter than fear.

I wanted to look graceful.

His grip tightens in my hair.

“Again,” he says quietly.

I force myself forward. My lips part wider. I take him back into my mouth, trying to breathe through my nose, trying to keep my throat relaxed and disappear into obedience. It works for a second. Maybe two.

Then he presses farther.

I choke.

The ugly sound escapes me while saliva spills down my chin. I cough around him and try to pull back, but his hand holds me in place.

Tears blur my vision.

This isn’t pleasure anymore. It’s endurance. It’s him showing me exactly how little escape I have once he decides something for me.

He pulls out long enough for me to gasp, and I barely fill my lungs before he grabs my tongue, rubbing himself against it while I pant helplessly.

Humiliation crashes over me in waves.

Then he pushes back in.

Harder this time. My gag reflex keeps catching, but my body is already starting to fall into it, the panic burning so hard it almost numbs everything else. Tears are streaming down my face in steady lines now. I hear myself choking and hate the sound of it. Hate knowing they all hear it too.

Edwin holds my head with both hands to thrust deep into my mouth, pumping his hips against my face as I continue to splutter and gag on him. The sounds of my struggling throat echo off the trees. I can’t hear Bridget, and that embarrasses me even more.

His strong grip scares me. There’s no way out of it.