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I felt his hand down there, where he had bared me, dressed me, stripped me, punished me, deflowered me, sealed me. Instinctively I tensed, stopping the little drops of pee that I’d been allowing to escape. The pressure had eased, so I felt I could control it, and the presence of my sponsor’s caressing fingers sent a new wave of shame through me—I wouldn’t pee on his hand… I wouldn’t…
His hips rocked back and forth, his cock enjoying the soft interior of my mouth. I could feel him looking down at me, at the wanton sight of a well-punished girl learning to suck a man’s hardness.
“Pee on my hand, Leah,” he ordered, his hand holding, squeezing, emphasizing the command.
I made a wordless noise of protest.
He reached his left hand across, to hold my head, and he thrust deeper, as if to make clear what happened to girls who refused their master’s obscene instructions. Between my raised, spread thighs, his hand gripped me more tightly.
With a cry of shame that seemed to come from the pit of my stomach, I let go. A feeling of submission much deeper than anything I had yet felt or supposed I might feel washed through me as I wet Christian’s hand with the pee that rushed out the little hole he had left me.
Heat surged into my cheeks as my mind, floating somewhere between the ceiling and the galaxy where the space vesselMoongliderhad found its happy ending, understood how terribly good it felt to wet the bed. Christian leaned back so that his hardness escaped my mouth, even though—in an involuntary, ultra-humiliating motion—I tried to keep it there, my tongue out as if for a treat and my lips seeking the demanding, hard length of my master’s penis.
He took his cock in his left hand again, letting my head fall back against the pillow. Between my legs, atop my pussy, soaking now with two kinds of shameful wetness, his hand possessed me even more urgently. As I watched him pump the rigid shaft of his manhood, faster and faster, I cried out at a clench of my pussy, so hard it made my whole lower body jerk against the webbing restraints.
“Oh, God…” I moaned. “Please… I want… I want to… sir… Ineedto…”
My gasping words seemed to push my keeper over the edge into the release of his climax, as if to demonstrate once and for all how greatly it pleased him to deny me pleasure.
No,my mind observed,he’s not really denying you pleasure, is he? He’s just refusing to give you thereliefyou want. To train you. To teach you.
I looked up at him: I could see his cock and his face at the same time, now, because he loomed over me, holding his erection, glistening with my saliva, an inch or two away from my eyes. He sped up the rhythm of his hand even further, and I felt my eyes go wide as I sensed the tension in his body and saw the brutal look in his eyes.
He liked it. He liked it very much: closing a naughty girl’s pussy and making her wet her bed. Using her mouth and promising to use her anus. Telling her she would only have her private lips opened up if she behaved herself correctly. All of it made the man I had started to fall in love with feel like coming on that girl’s face.
Myface.
My body shuddered again, the tremor so deep in my muscles that if felt like my bones themselves needed the fucking that Christian wouldn’t give me for three days. I realized that I might actually come, even with the terribly dull feeling of friction that his hand brought to my sealed pussy. In fact, as I looked up at his hard masculine body, his taut muscles and his hairy chest, I understood that if Ididcome this way, the orgasm might be earth-shattering, limb-rending. Something about the slowness and the dullness and the sheer amount of arousal there seemed to promise that if I survived the experience I would know more pleasure than the human body was designed to undergo.
I tried to stifle the cry of need that burst from my chest, because I knew it would betray me. It came out anyway, echoing off the walls, all the louder because of how I had attempted to silence it.
Christian took his hand away. He let out a grunt from deep in his body. He put his right hand, shamefully damp with my pee on the back of my head to hold my face in place for his ultimate degradation. I whimpered with frustrated desire, and I saw his dark eyes light up as if in appreciation of my erotic suffering. I could see the approach of his orgasm, right there in his unwavering gaze, and then with another grunt and a spasming jerk of his hips it happened.
The hot, white seed spurted out of my master’s cock onto my forehead, then my cheek, then my nose. I tried to move my face away, but Christian held it motionless so that he could give me my humiliating facial.
He had claimed me with his hardness in my pussy, and I supposed I had thought the claiming complete. This new obscene act, the marking of his territory with his masculine essence, though, told me that he had no intention of stopping there. Christian Guzman, gorgeous, dominant billionaire, would claim me as his property over and over.
* * *
Waking up the next morning, I thought at first that the next two days—all of Thursday and most of Friday—would feel like two hundred years. As I lay in bed though, remembering and at the same time trying to push away the vivid recollection of Christian making me pee on the towel, on my bed, over his hand, my apartment spoke to me.
“Appointments and reminders placed on your calendar by sponsor Christian G. Do you want to hear the details?”
With a rush of hot blood to my cheeks I remembered something that I had hoped Christian himself would have forgotten—something I had wanted to think a joke, or a passing whim. Suddenly I had a suspicion that today, at least, might go faster than I had supposed it would.
“Yes?” I said, my voice quavering.
“Tonight at nine p.m.,” the apartment’s pleasant feminine voice said. “Event: rub your naughty pussy and train your anus for your sponsor’s cock. Location: in your bed, with your knees spread and raised to show you’re being a good girl.”
Something about the way the voice just said those obscene things made it seem twice as shameful. I felt my face pucker, and I swallowed hard—even as I realized that my hand had unconsciously gone between my legs and inside my pink cotton panties to feel the smooth, sealed pussy lips, the seam running down between them almost like a closed zipper.
What if…my brain began, and I shuddered at the dark, wild fantasy that had formed in a split second.What if my keeper installed a zipper… one of the ones that you can lock, like on a suitcase…
“Oh, God,” I whispered, as I felt the muffled pleasure of my fingertips’ desperate pressure. My bottom squirmed, and I moved my hips as if I could find more pleasure from my self-caress if I pushed my closed pussy against my hand—or as if I were trying to move my pussy on the nonexistent hard cock of a ghostly, dominant man fucking me in my aching, needy hole.
The apartment had continued speaking, though.
“Tomorrow at five p.m.… Event: dinner with Christian, location Carrefour Restaurant. Christian will pick you up at your apartment. Next alert: reminder from sponsor Christian G.”
