Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I gasped, whimpered, and finally sobbed as the trim but shapely thighs spread so that she could straddle me, her hips already moving to rub her most intimate places over my already shamefully wet face.
Mila’s weight settled further, her thighs bracketing my head as she lowered herself fully onto my mouth. The angle was different from before, more demanding, and I had to crane my neck to reach her properly. My tongue worked desperately, trying to bring her to climax while the restraints bit into my wrists.
“My turn,” Katya said after what felt like an eternity, and they switched places. Katya rode my face harder, grinding down until I could barely breathe, her wetness coating my chin and cheeks. When she came, she pressed down so hard I felt dizzy from lack of oxygen.
They alternated like that for what must have been twenty minutes—Mila’s gentler rhythm followed by Katya’s desperate grinding, back and forth until I lost count of how many times each had used my mouth. My jaw ached terribly, my tongue felt swollen and clumsy, and my entire face was slick with their combined arousal.
“Turn her over,” Horakovsky commanded from the darkness.
They released the restraints just long enough to flip me onto my stomach, then secured me again with my bottom raised high. I heard them moving behind me, the soft sound of buckles and straps being adjusted. When I turned my head, I saw them both wearing obscene black harnesses, vibrating phalluses jutting from between their legs.
Mila positioned herself behind me first. The buzzing started before she even pushed inside, and when she did, the vibration combined with the fullness made me cry out despite myself. She fucked me steadily, the movement making the vibrating toy press against places that had me climbing toward orgasm within minutes. But just before I could tip over that edge, she pulled out, denying me the release my body screamed for.
Katya took her place, her rhythm more punishing. The vibration was set higher, more intense, and she gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises as she thrust. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, trying not to give Horakovsky the satisfaction of hearing me beg. But when she started circling her hips, making the vibrating cock hit that spot inside me just right, I couldn’t hold back the desperate whimper that escaped.
They switched again, and again, each taking their pleasure while keeping me suspended in that space of almost-but-not-quite. When Mila finally came with a shuddering gasp, followed moments later by Katya’s louder cry, I was sobbing with frustration, my whole body trembling with denied need.
“Excellent show,” Horakovsky said, rising from his seat. “Girls, remove her plug and take her to the fuck room. Make sure she’s properly secured for use.”
CHAPTER 21
Lorna
The plug had been in my bottom for so long that when Mila finally began to ease it out, I thought I might faint from the intensity of the sensation. My body had molded itself around the intrusion, and extracting it felt like losing a part of myself. I bit down on my lip to stifle the shameful moan that threatened to escape as the widest part stretched me one final time before sliding free.
“Can you walk?” Katya asked quietly, steadying me with a hand on my elbow.
I nodded, though my legs trembled like a newborn colt’s. They flanked me as we left the theater, supporting me when I stumbled. The corridors blurred together—more marble, more brass, more impossible luxury buried beneath tons of Arctic ice. My awareness narrowed to the burning ache between my legs and the effort required to place one foot in front of the other.
The fuck room announced itself before we even entered—masculine laughter spilling through heavy oak doors, the clink of glasses, cigar smoke creating a haze visible from the hallway. Mila pushed the door open, revealing a space that made my stomach clench with dread.
Three beds dominated the center of the room, arranged like spokes of a wheel so anyone seated on the surrounding leather chairs and sofas could observe all of them simultaneously. The beds themselves were obscene things—king-sized, with brass frames that featured numerous attachment points for restraints.
A fully stocked bar occupied one wall, bottles gleaming in the amber light from ornate sconces. Three men stood there, dressed in suits that made me think they must represent some sort of middle-management layer within Horakovsky’s criminal enterprise. Their boisterous conversation had died down at the sight of us, but as they regarded our progress into the room they exchanged remarks in Russian that made me blush despite not understanding a word of what they’d said.
“The middle one,” Katya whispered, guiding me toward the bed directly facing the room’s main seating area.
As they began securing my wrists to the brass frame with evident skill, something shifted in my consciousness. The silver branches of Yggdrasil flickered at the edge of my vision, and suddenly I was seeing this moment from two perspectives—the present, and a flash of the immediate future.