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I open my mouth. He jerks himself twice as hard as he has the whole time. But still, he only lets the angry red tip barely make contact with my wet bottom lip.
“Good girl,” he breathes out, sounding winded as he continues jacking off furiously. “Such a good fucking girl.”
And then he ejaculates, white ropes of liquid spurting toward my mouth, down my chin and onto my breasts.
I gasp and my mouth closes as I swallow, getting my first taste of… it.
Salty and bitter but not altogether unpleasant.
“Open,” he says again and I do. He rubs the tip of his cock over my lips, painting his seed on like lipstick. He squeezes himself and jerks his hand lazily up and down
his length, continuing to rub just the tip of his head back and forth over me messily, up over to my cheek then back to my mouth again.
Finally he withdraws, but only to stick his thumb in my mouth.
“Suck,” he commands.
I do, sucking his finger as well as all the… cum. My stomach flips at even thinking the word. I swallow down all the cum he got in my mouth.
“Good girl.” The hand clenching the back of my head softens and he strokes his fingers through my hair instead. “That’s my good girl.”
And the praise makes my chest warm. I’m both horrified and fascinated by the feeling before I go sort of cotton-headed about it all and just enjoy the fuzzy, sleepy feeling.
After another few minutes, he takes the washcloth and cleans me up again. Then he pulls the plug on the tub and helps me step out. With several large fluffy towels, he dries me off like I’m a child.
I just stand there and allow him to do it. The whole blank-headed thing is still in full effect. It’s far easier to just follow where he leads than try to sort any of this confusing shit out.
When he leads me to his bed and pulls me in beside him, then curls his warm body around mine, I don’t so much as blink.
***
It’s only the next morning when I wake up to an empty bed and sunlight pouring in the window that I wonder what in the hell I let myself become last night.
I shoot to a sitting position and pull my knees to my chest, looking around like I’m just waking from a trance. Which is when I realize I’m still naked.
My hands go to my head. I rub my eyes, then my temple.
What the fuck was that last night?
I had a freaking plan. I was just supposed to let him think I was going along with his shit.
Did he drug my food or something? Maybe he sprinkled some kind of compliance-inducing chemical on the eggs? Do those kinds of things exist outside of CIA laboratories?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up, trying to gauge if I feel drowsy or out of it in any way. I lift my arms and hop up and down. Which reminds me that I’m naked. I grab a pillow from the bed to cover myself.
But, all right. Everything feels ok. At least it does now. Maybe it was a drug that’s quickly metabolized and wears off within twelve hours? Or however long I’ve been sleeping.
What time is it anyway?
I turn around and look over at Xavier’s desk to try to find a clock. And see the two giant monitors.
He left me in here with all the electronics. Ignoring my nakedness, I run over to the computer and move the mouse. The monitor comes to life, but of course, duh, I’m met with a screen asking for a password.
“Damn it.” I look around the desk for anything else that might be useful for communication. Doesn’t the guy even have a landline somewhere? Does he actually get cell service out here in the boonies? But there’s no phone to be found, and while there are three enticing drawers to the desk, they’re all locked.
I jerk uselessly on one of the drawers yet again, frustration building, when I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.
“Shit,” I yip, then run back the few steps to the bed and jump in it, yanking the covers back up over myself right before Xavier pushes open the door.
