Page 31 of His Talisman

I paused at the next landing, watched them continue onward, talking as if they were long-lost friends. They expected me to just follow like a baby duck.

“Hell to the no,” I said softly and set my mouth. I looked down the darkened corridor of the second floor and took a few steps along it. My eyes would adjust quickly. The stair lights were dim and few. After a few wrenching moments, while I listened for sounds of them returning, I tiptoed another step. How many rooms were there? What if I doubled back and went down a floor?

Why was I doing this?

I didn’t want to hole up somewhere until I somehow miraculously found a convenient seat on a nonexistent plane or hitched a ride under that chopper. That wasn’t the ‘why’ to this escapade. The whole CNC thing was a new dance on the kink spectrum I’d never tried before, and it lured me like…like a carrot to a donkey? Yep, that was probably me.

I stopped then returned to the landing and headed down. Had this place been a hotel in another life, or maybe it was a resort that closed last century? I counted six doors on the first floor, then came to a cupboard door that opened onto a tiny storage room. The walls were shelves, and all were stacked with linen. The bedsheets and towels smelled musty enough to be from the time of Alexander Dumas. I suppressed a sneeze.

I pushed the door shut with the speed of a snail on valium, praying for zero squeaks.

I could maybe fit in one of these? The coat would make it difficult, so I shucked it and balled it up at one end of a knee-height shelf. I crouched and crawled into that shelf, squashed my way to the very back, then I wormed into a position to face outward. Yes, I fitted.

I could sleep here, emerge in the morning, and exclaim a need for a pee, to have that bath, and that I was famished and in need of breakfast, while I nonchalantly yawned at the men. That would make them growl. A shiver ran down my spine, teasing my clit to life. I pressed my palms to my breasts and squeezed myself there with my eyes closed, thinking of this, of my dirty expectations.

While they searched for me, playing with myself and coming was an option, a very nice option. What had happened earlier was enough to make me want to return to that burning high. I could see if sleep or desire won out.

I was still exhausted.

Would I get punished? My imagination swept ahead, displaying scenes of a stern spanking, but probably not too stern—not with my ass already mildly purple. I could see them tsking at me.

This was risky and exciting, this game of predator and prey. I curled up my knees and closed my eyes, brought some linen to my front to disguise my hide-out. I wasn’t going to sleep, not yet. I was wondering when they would notice I was missing.

When would they walk past, and would they look in here? The hotel was not endless—I hoped. I held my breath, thinking that through, and the shadows in the cupboard grew heavier and spread, spawning creepy creatures and portals into Hell, and long-fingered things that tapped on the wrong side of mirrors filled with cobwebs.

I shook away the nightmares.

This house held nothing worse than two dominants with predispositions for violent perversions.

The low height of the shelf meant I was squashed, but I opened my thighs and wriggled my hand between them, squeezing it along until my crumpled fingers were poised at my slit. The first touch near my entrance was electric, and I clenched and sighed. I could do this, I could come, ever so easily.

Not making noises when I reached the peak was a problem.

The amount of moisture on my thighs and pussy was a potent reminder of what they’d done to me earlier, and I easily slipped one finger inside, but not too far—my thumb had to reach my clit, and my wrist was at an angle. Pleasuring myself, without them, the men, must be the ultimate comeback. I suppressed a giggle at the unintended pun.

This cupboard would not shield me forever, but running and hiding made me a real, live, ass-kicking girl, and not some doormat. God, I hated the idea of being a doormat submissive. I was never going to writeI BELONG TO SIRon myself after one scene. I was done with being a sweet, pushover submissive.

I smiled into the darkness. I was getting the hang of CNC.Struggles R Usas patented by Charity Smythe.

My awkward, wrist-twisted, hand-squashed fingering was unsatisfactory. I only had room to press my thumb on my clit due to the squeezy spacing. Having nothing to insert in myself for extra fun, I resorted to applying thumb and finger to my clit.

While I worked at myself, I drifted into my most appealing, spank-bank fantasies. The usual one where the boss’s girlfriend was bent over a desk and fucked by his henchman, as punishment because she’d done him wrong, it kept fading away, instead…

Instead, that hard hold on my throat at the beach, with his hand threatening to crush away my air, took front and center. Cassius had seemed ready to erupt. His eyes had been fire and brimstone. I grew wetter remembering.

Or when they bent me over, yet didn’t fuck me, damn them. The doctor’s cock had been halfway down my throat while he skewered me with his sternest look. That one, yes. If only one man had taken me while the other was in my mouth, and god, I was clearly sick, and who cared.

Who the fuck cared.

Not me. My thumb and finger moved faster.

This was between me, my hand, and my clit. My gasps became more frequent, my finger and thumb moved ever faster, lubed on my own arousal, grasping and massaging. I bit a corner of folded sheet to stifle my gasps and—

Thump.

I heard another thump, then more noises, the thud of shoes. I stilled my hand. The doctor was above, calling my name. But those nearer footsteps and the creak and click and slam of doors? That was here, on my level.

I was so fuckingcloseto coming. I whimpered and stayed frozen, my pussy spasming inward now and then as I thought of who was out there, in the corridor. If I just had a few…more…seconds.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com