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)
I swallowed hard, feeling a rush of heat flood my cheeks and spread downward through my body. The lingerie suddenly felt constrictive, my skin hypersensitive beneath the delicate lace. The Duboises maintained their professional demeanor, but I could feel their awareness of the shift in atmosphere.
“I…” Again my voice fell into silence as my mind worked to process everything he was asking of me.
Pierre’s eyes darkened and my heart rate sped up as I sensed his renewed hunger for me on the one hand and his determination to make clear the stakes of his offer on the other.
“Show me your commitment now, Audrey,” he said. “Get on your knees under the table and take out my cock. Suck it while I have my coffee and dessert.”
My eyes widened, darting to the Duboises, who were bringing in the dessert course—some kind of elegant chocolate confection.
Pierre called my attention back to himself, though, his tone unyielding. “Your dessert will be my manhood,” he said, his eyes locked on mine as if he meant to assess my reaction with the utmost precision. “If you do well, perhaps I will share a bite of Aimee’s chocolate torte with you, afterward.”
For a moment, I froze, overwhelmed by the crudeness of his command and the presence of the servants. Then, trembling slightly, I pushed my chair back. The Duboises politely averted their eyes as I slipped under the heavy damask tablecloth, the soft carpet cushioning my knees as I positioned myself between Pierre’s spread legs.
My hands shook as I reached for his zipper, carefully drawing it down. Above me, I heard the clink of coffee cups and the murmur of conversation as Pierre thanked Madame Dubois for the dessert. The surreal normality of the exchange made my situation even more obscene.
I freed Pierre’s cock from his trousers, already hard and imposing. Taking a deep breath, I wrapped my fingers around the base and guided it to my lips. As I took him into my mouth, I heard him continue his conversation with the Duboises as if nothing unusual were happening.
“The raspberry coulis is particularly good this year, Aimee,” Pierre commented, his voice betraying only the slightest strain as I worked my tongue around the head of his huge, hard penis.
“Thank you, Monsieur. The berries came from the kitchen garden just this morning,” she replied.
I moved my head up and down, trying to take Pierre deeper with each stroke. My hands caressed what I couldn’t fit in my mouth, one cupping his balls through the fine fabric of his trousers. The taste of him was becoming familiar—that hint of salt, the naughty masculine muskiness that made my tummy flip—yet the circumstances made the act feel more degrading than ever before.
“Etienne, I’d like your opinion on the Bordeaux investment we discussed,” Pierre said, his hand casually dropping below the tablecloth to stroke my hair, guiding my rhythm.
I couldn’t make out Monsieur Dubois’ reply, too focused on my task. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as I worshipped Pierre’s manhood, my jaw beginning to ache from the strain of keeping my mouth open for so long. I could hear the occasional clink of silverware above me, the soft murmur of conversation carrying on as if I weren’t on my knees servicing my master beneath the table.
Despite the discomfort, a strange sense of peace settled over me. This was where I belonged—on my knees, serving Pierre’s pleasure, existing for his use. The realization would have horrified me mere days before, but instead it brought a profound sense of rightness that resonated through my entire being.
I lost track of time completely, focused only on the rhythm of pleasing him, the subtle cues of his breathing and the tension in his thighs that told me how close he was getting to his release. When I felt his muscles tighten and his cock swell even harder against my tongue, I prepared myself to swallow his seed.
Instead, Pierre’s hand suddenly gripped my hair, pulling me off his cock. “Come here,” he commanded, his voice husky with arousal.
Before I could fully process what was happening, he pushed his chair back and guided me up from under the table. With surprising strength, he lifted me onto his lap, positioning me so his still-rigid penis pressed against my bottom through the delicate lace of my panties.
“Taste this, ma petite,” he said, and I realized that he had a spoon in his right hand, with something divine in it: a morsel of chocolate torte with raspberry sauce. I opened my mouth eagerly, my cheeks hot at the contrast between the two ways my master had fed me.
“Oh, God,” I breathed, as my tastebuds registered the intense, sweet flavors.
“N’est-ce pas?” Pierre asked, smiling. “Another?”
“Oui, Monsieur,” I told him. “But only one more… it’s so rich.”
“As you command,” he murmured, as he raised another spoonful to my lips. “Never say I don’t listen to your desires.”