Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
His sanity sounded like s-sanity.
And I know somehow, as scary as he seems right now with the gun in his hand, he’s also scared. Still scared of what could’ve happened. So I open my mouth and wrap my lips around the muzzle of his loaded gun.
And suck.
His nostrils flare the first time I do it. The second time, his jaw clenches, and on my third suck, I feel his chest vibrate with a low growl. When I notice a flush painting his sharpened cheekbones next, something happens to me. Something strange and new but also old and familiar. Something that tastes like this metallic object he’s making me suck but also like a quickening in my lower belly.
It’s heavy and sticky, swollen and wet.
It’s my pussy. It’s pulsing down below, throbbing from this lewd thing I’m doing. From the way I’m swirling my tongue around the barrel, vacuuming it in my mouth, trying to drink from it like I would if we were really kissing.
I have to clench my thighs at that. And since my thighs are bare just like that throbbing place in between, I make a mess. I’m all wet and leaking and my thighs slip against each other. They also make a wet, slick sound that causes me to suck the gun harder. It causes me to open my mouth wider and go up and down the barrel, gagging myself on it. Or maybe it’s him who’s making me gag on his gun, shoving the thing in and out of my mouth, pumping and pumping.
I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t just pretend that I’m thinking of kissing his mouth. This is a full-blown sucking, and yes, I’m pretending to suck his dick. And at this, my body goes in search for it outside of my imagination and I begin to rock against him. Or rather, against that bulge in his pants that I swear is growing harder by the second.
Just like his breaths.
They are wild and violent, gusting against my spine. I moan and writhe and suck the gun harder. I realize my chest is wet with my saliva, all greased up and slippery, and I wish my arms were free so I could wrap them around the gun and go at it even harder. I wish I could hug it between my breasts and use my spit to go up and down.
I wish I could suck on his real dick the way I’m sucking on his loaded gun.
It’s a harsh wake-up call when he pulls the thing out of my mouth and leaves me bereft. I hate it so much that my eyes open and I whimper. I roll my head back and forth in protest, but he shushes in my ear. “Shh… It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“But I—”
“I know,” he whispers, his arm around my waist tightening and squeezing, pressing me against his frame even harder. “I know, darlin’. I know you want it.”
“I do. I do. Please, please,” I whine, grabbing the rope and trying to arch and rub up against him.
But instead of bringing it closer, he moves the gun even farther away from where I want it. It goes lower and lower on my body, leaving a wet trail of my own saliva as he whispers against the side of my face, “I know you wanna suck it, but it isn’t the real thing, yeah?”
“But—”
“Shh,” he goes again, his tone gentle and soft, a little bit amused too. “I know. But listen to me, this isn’t my dick no matter how much you want it to be, baby. And trust me when I say you don’t want it goin’ off in your mouth like my dick either, okay? So how about you calm down some and let me give you what you want.”
I know what he’s doing.
I know he’s trying to handle me. Because this is what he does when Rocky gets agitated about something or doesn’t want him to check his hooves. He talks to Rocky, using the same gentle, indulgent tone that he’s using on me.
I probably should say something, something like I’m not his horse or filly or whatever it is that he keeps calling me, but I don’t care. I don’t care how crazy I look right now or how amused he is at my desperation; I want it.
I want him.
So still writhing against him, I ask, “Your d-dick?”
His breath escapes in a low chuckle. “My baby’s got a one-track mind, doesn’t she.”
“You—”
“Not a big fan of guns; I like my knife better. But my baby made me a convert. All I had to do was point a gun at her and she went from being a sassy, pain-in-the-ass wife to my personal little porn star.”
I jerk at his words and from the fact that he’s brought his gun down to my tummy, and at porn star, he presses the muzzle into my belly button. “You—”