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“You say that like you didn’t cream all over my fingers.”
I could die.
“Never be ashamed of enjoying pleasure.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so filthy about it.”
He chuckles. “Little girl, I think you’ll come to find the filthier, the better.”
Why do I believe him?
He leans back in his chair. “Sit on my lap.”
I’m shaking so badly, I couldn’t obey him even if I wanted to, not that I have to, because a moment after his demand, he reaches over, lifts me, and sets me where he wants me.
Flooded with arousal, I let out a low moan, which turns into a yelp when I try to stifle it.
My back is pressed to his chest, and again I feel his beard on me, escalating every primal sensation coursing through me.
This isn’t right, yet I want it so badly, I can’t think straight.
Hot breath washes over my ear and throat as he snakes a hand under my shirt and bra. My back arches involuntarily, pushing my breast into his hand.
Every part of me is determined to commit treason.
“How often do you touch yourself?” he asks.
“I don’t.”
With his other hand, he strokes me through my panties, circling my clit. “A pretty little pussy like yours deserves lots of pampering.”
Shame and pleasure intertwine, climbing through me like ivy.
“Let me guess, no one’s treated you right.”
I nod, biting my lower lip as I gyrate against his hard member.
“Has anyone ever made you come before? Aside from me.”
I shake my head no as I continue to press against his thickness.
“Then get on the floor and spread your legs so I can lick you real good.”
Shock ripples through me.
He did not just say that.
“Are you going to listen to me, or am I going to have to throw you down there?”
My body says, “yes”, but my brain is confused.
Why would he do that? I’m his prisoner. He could fuck me three ways from Sunday and there’s nothing I could do about it.
“What are you waiting for, little girl?”
“Make this make sense to me,” I say, and heaven help me, I pray he can.
“What is there to make sense of?”
