Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Instantly, I sobbed with the terrible effort of trying to keep myself from coming. His tongue felt impossibly skilled, knowing exactly where to press, where to flick, where to circle. My thighs trembled in my grip as I struggled to maintain the exposed position he’d demanded while fighting against the pleasure building inside me.
“Please,” I gasped. “Please… Monsieur… please… may I…”
“No,” Pierre said, seeming to speak directly to my pussy, so that I could feel the vibration of the sound, the slight pressure of the air from the words, against my distressingly sensitive inner lips. “The next time you come, it will be with my cock in this delicious little cunt.”
My whole body bucked at the sound, the meaning, the pure sensation. I let out a deep moan, closing my eyes and furrowing my brow hard, trying to find some way to deny the pleasure. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling so that the shameful pictures inside my head, of what my bedroom must look like to the surveillance cameras, had to compete with the blank white space above me.
Pierre’s big hands reached up and found mine, where I was holding my knees back. He pressed down, forcing my legs even further apart, restraining me, shaping me to his will. Though his grip was firm, almost painful, I thought I could also feel a strange tenderness in the contact—as if his touch conveyed the value he placed in me, in my submission.
To my astonishment and horror, I heard myself whimper a question that seemed to come from someone else: “Do I taste good, Monsieur?”
I raised my head slightly to look at him and felt my hips jerk involuntarily as I took in the lewd sight of a man’s head between my spread thighs. Pierre raised his face, and I could see my wetness glistening on his lips, chin, and nose. He smiled wolfishly, his eyes dark with desire.
“You taste marvelous, you little whore,” he said, the crude compliment sending another wave of shameful heat through my core.
He gave me one final, deliberate kiss on my clit, the pressure just enough to make me gasp, but not enough to push me over the edge. Then he stood up from the bed, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Keep your legs spread,” he commanded, his voice thick with arousal. “I want to see that pretty little cunt while I undress.”
I watched, unable to look away as he removed the rest of his clothes with methodical precision. His body was magnificent—muscular without being bulky, his chest and abdomen defined by years of careful maintenance. The dark trail of hair that led from his navel to his groin drew my eyes inevitably to his erection, which jutted proudly from his body, impossibly large and intimidating.
When he was fully naked, he reached up the bed and took hold of my waist. I started, and whimpered, but my new sponsor seemed utterly indifferent to my feelings on the matter. He gripped hard, and pulled me all the way down to the foot of the bed in one swift motion. I kept my legs open, sure that Pierre would punish me if I let go and let my thighs close by even a millimeter.
He moved his right hand to the tender back of my thigh, where he had whipped me so fiercely for not wearing the nightgown whose translucent silk now scarcely covered my breasts. He took his enormous cock in his left hand, and then I nearly fainted with shame and need as he began to work the head of his manhood up and down the furrow of my pussy, coating himself in my abundant wetness.
“That’s it,” Pierre murmured. “Get me nice and ready to fuck.”
I felt him nudge the head of his cock against my virgin opening, the pressure both terrifying and thrilling. He lodged himself just inside, stretching me slightly, the sensation making me gasp. I stared up at him, watching his face as he prepared to take my virginity. His expression was a mixture of desire and concentration, his hazel eyes darkened almost to brown with lust.
“Do you think you’re starting to understand about the New Modesty, Audrey?” Pierre asked, his voice husky as he held himself poised at my entrance.
The question caught me off guard. I blinked up at him, trying to focus my scattered thoughts while the head of his cock pressed insistently against my virgin barrier.
“I… I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
“Think about it,” he urged, moving his hips in tiny circles that made the head of his cock tease the entrance to my sheath, without pushing any deeper. “What have you learned tonight?”
To my distress, I realized I could imagine submitting to a husband like Pierre. The thought formed with startling clarity—a life where I belonged to him, where my body was his to use, to punish, to pleasure. I imagined him coming home to find I’d left lights on unnecessarily, wasting precious energy. In my mind’s eye, I saw him frowning with stern disappointment, taking the martinet from its place on the wall.