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)
The words stuck in my throat, pride warring with desire. I had already surrendered so much of myself tonight—my virginity, my dignity, my independence. Could I really debase myself further by begging for this?
But my body betrayed me, as it had all night. My hips moved involuntarily, seeking the friction his now-motionless fingers denied me. The plug shifted inside me with each movement, making rational thought nearly impossible.
“Please,” I finally gasped, the word torn from somewhere deep inside me. “Please, Monsieur, may I… may I touch myself while you… while you…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bring myself to use the crude language he seemed to prefer.
Pierre chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest against my back. “While I what, Audrey? Be specific.”
“While you fuck my ass with the plug,” I whispered, the words burning my lips as they escaped. My face felt hotter than the surface of the sun, shame and arousal battling within me.
“Good girl,” Pierre praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Yes, you may touch that needy little cunt while I train your virgin ass. But I have a condition.”
I froze, my hand already halfway to its destination between my thighs. “A condition?” I echoed, my voice small and uncertain.
Pierre leaned forward, his chest pressing against my back, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Tomorrow, you will wear this plug all day,” he murmured, giving the toy a gentle twist that made me gasp. “You will go to the Jardins de Luxembourg in the morning, and then to the cinema in the afternoon. And you will wear nothing—absolutely nothing—under your skirt except this plug.”
I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped me at the thought. “But… people might see…”
“That’s the point,” Pierre replied, his voice hardening slightly as he pushed the plug deeper. “You’ll walk among them, outwardly respectable, while secretly carrying my mark inside you. And you are not to touch your cunt tomorrow except to keep it clean for me. No pleasuring yourself, no matter how desperate you become. Do you understand?”
The proposition was so outrageous, so humiliating, that I should have refused immediately. Instead, I found myself considering it, my body responding with a fresh surge of wetness between my thighs. The thought of walking through public spaces with the plug inside me, of sitting in a darkened theater knowing that only a thin layer of fabric separated my naked sex from the seat beneath me—it shouldn’t have aroused me. It absolutely shouldn’t have.
But it did.
“I… I can’t,” I protested weakly, even as my hips rocked back against the plug, betraying my words.
“Then you may not touch yourself,” Pierre said simply, his hand stilling on the base of the plug. “The choice is yours.”
I whimpered, caught in an impossible decision. The need at least to rub my desperately needy clit, to find relief from the building pressure within me, had become almost unbearable. Yet the price he demanded seemed so high, so terribly degrading.
Pierre began to move the plug again, working it in and out of my sensitive passage with deliberate slowness. His other hand returned to my clit, circling it with maddening lightness, never providing enough pressure to satisfy. I felt myself climbing toward a peak I couldn’t quite reach, desperate for more stimulation.
“Please,” I gasped, my resolve crumbling under the onslaught of sensation. “Please, I’ll do it. I’ll wear the plug tomorrow. Just… please let me…”
“Say it properly,” Pierre insisted, his fingers still teasing my swollen clit. “Make the commitment clear.”
I swallowed hard, forcing the words out through a throat tight with embarrassment. “I promise to wear the plug all day tomorrow, Monsieur. I’ll go to the Jardins and to the cinema wearing it, with nothing else under my skirt. And I won’t touch my… my pussy except to keep it clean.”
“Clean for whom?” he asked sharply, the question drawing a little whimper from my chest.
“For you, Monsieur,” I sobbed, my hips jerking at the thrill of arousal the words brought.
“Good girl,” Pierre purred, increasing the pressure of his fingers against my clit. “You may touch yourself now.”
With trembling hands, I reached between my legs, my fingers finding the slick, swollen flesh there. The first touch almost undid me completely—my body had been hovering on the edge for so long that even this light contact sent shockwaves of pleasure through me.
“That’s it,” Pierre encouraged, his voice thick with arousal. “Show me how badly you need to come while I fuck this tight little hole.”
He began to work the plug more vigorously now, pulling it almost completely out before pushing it back in, establishing a rhythm that mimicked what he meant to do to me tomorrow. The fullness, the stretch, the forbidden nature of it all combined with my own fingers on my clit to create a raging storm of sensation.
I circled the tiny bud frantically, my hips moving of their own accord, caught between pushing back against the plug and pressing forward into my own touch. The twin stimulation was overwhelming, building toward a crescendo I couldn’t fight.