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“Enjoy your masturbation session, Doctor,” I taunted. “I’m sure it will be a good one this time around!”
I laughed as the door slammed shut behind him and knew he would get off to thoughts of my daring and sensual exploration on camera.
Chapter 5
Zachary
I betanyone would pay a pretty penny to watch that.
Her voice taunted my thoughts, angered and agitated at every memory I held of her chained down in that room until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Her words repeated in my head as I snarled. They bewildered my over-analytical brain with how accurate they were. There was no way she’d known. She was fully aware I recorded her sessions, but there was no way she could have figured out the game so soon.
And the game wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
There was more hell to endure first. Not to mention, more self-denial. At least for me.
I needed a few minutes alone. My body was wound up from that session and it took every ounce of my control not to act impulsively.
Leaning against the door of my private office, I let my mind wander to Alice’s softly parted thighs and the smell of her dripping sex. Her scent drove my lust to prurient heights and had my cock leaping to life. My body hummed with arousal as I yearned to lean in and inhale her natural musk, taste her flesh and learn each and every way her body would respond to mine.
I wanted to memorize every detail about her whimpers and moans, commit and bury her every cry of rapture in my mind where none could take the truth of her away. She was like a drug and I was slowly becoming addicted to these sessions in a way that was both dangerous and all-consuming in their madness.
Alice was captivating in a way I had never experienced before now. When she spoke, it was sexy and sensual, her sultry imagery sent me reeling into her world. That same corrupted world of sin she loved so much and chose to delve into far too enthusiastically, and which forever dangled temptation before my eyes.
I’d been a part of Wonderland for years now, not willingly, but it was necessary for my survival. Dominic Chartreaux, or how Alice described him, The Cat, was a powerful man, an evil entity that preyed on the weak and fed off their fear.
Mine included.
Alice was brought to me for that sole purpose. It was my duty to drain her of every ounce of sanity she held in order to corrupt every truth she claimed, but she was strong. In fact, Alice was just as wickedly intelligent as Dominic Chartreaux had assured me.
Fuck.
I wanted to get lost in all of her, every single inch of her wit, her haunted gaze, and her tight little pussy.
I was losing my will to this lust, and I didn’t care.
My hand shoved my zipper down and my cock jutted out, precum already seeping from the tip. I was painfully hard and growing more aroused with every minute that I pictured those pretty pouty lips of hers. Hissing, I rubbed my thumb over my swollen crown, leaning my head back against the wall as I pictured her small tongue lapping up each drop, gliding over every thick and rigid inch.
My eagerness to have this small, slender woman, to control her, to possess her, was becoming a problem. She was so perfectly wounded. I fought with myself and the idea of ever letting her go.
Could I give in? Would I lose control?
All I needed to do was give her the key, but what would that kind of freedom unleash? What effect would that have on me? Our sessions? Her fleeting sanity?
I groaned as I fisted my cock, nearly jolting at the pressure as I gripped tighter. Slowly stroking the hard length, I imagined her full lips closing around my shaft as she sucked it in deep and I forced every inch down her throat. My strokes grew faster as I remembered how her fingers delved into those glistening pussy lips, pumping with a raw desire that matched my own.
The sight of her juicy cunt was mesmerizing. How I wanted to taste her in that instant. Just drag my tongue along her dirty core and feast on her flesh until my name was all she would remember.
The heavy sound of her breathing had been an alluring rhythm that held me entranced in her wicked world. I wanted to join her, to erase all memory of her past and plunge myself so deep none if it remained.
My eyes constantly struggled to catch a glimpse of her soft tits beneath the white tank top she wore, and I had to force my gaze away more than once. That damn strap kept slipping, giving a peek of the upper curve of a pale white globe, but the rest was left to my imagination as her tight nipples distended and strained against the thin material. The sound of her juices had emanated throughout the large expanse of the room as she fucked herself, a hypnotizing erotic lullaby that made me grip my chair and force myself not to take her right then and there. Her fingers plunged in and out of her wet heat and I swear my hips moved involuntarily in response.
The thoughts that swirled in my head were mindless and revolting. Taking her without permission, without remorse. I wanted to cast aside my humanity and indulge in my desires. She wouldn’t have known if I’d dipped my cock inside of her, filled her with every inch as the drugs fucked with her senses. I could have made her mine without her knowledge. She wanted me. I was aware of that intoxicating fact, and she would have given in so easily.
Fuck, the thought alone made my dick twitch as white creamy fluid seeped down the shaft, coating my hand to help my relentless strokes along as I searched for that impending release. The image of her fingers flicking her clit while I stretched her around my thickness made my rigid shaft swell with need. I imagined how her body would receive my cock, so willingly, so greedily. The thought was immoral, but the forbidden reality turned me on to such a degree that I could almost taste how good it would feel.
The one stipulation of this vile show that Chartreaux insisted putting on, was that I was not to put my hands on his toy under any circumstances. If I did, or if he found out, he’d destroy the one thing that mattered the most. My one salvation in this world.
That was his sole purpose. To control every living thing around him, including me. Chartreaux was a puppet master, an expert at dangling us all on the end of his manipulative strings. One wrong move, and we’d topple off that stage without anyone ever remembering our name. He could erase us as easily as he could find our replacements.
