Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Josh pumps his donkey-dick harder inside me while the vibe does its thing.
“Oh fuck,” he says, his voice ragged. “Fuck.”
Yeah. My thoughts exactly.
One of his hands gropes my breast and pinches my nipple so hard, I shriek, and just like that, my body spasms violently with pleasure so intense, I dry heave. Oh shit, I’ve never done that before. Oh God. I do it again. I’m losing complete control of my bodily functions. I feel like I’m gonna barf. Or pee. Or crap myself. Or all of the above. I’ve never felt this much intense pleasure all at once. My body can’t handle it. It’s going completely haywire. My insides are twisting violently. It’s like the pleasure is literally tying me into knots. I make a strangled, gagging sound, followed by a whimper. And then another shriek. But Josh doesn’t stop. In fact, he fucks me harder.
I jerk pathetically, trying to escape the clenching pleasure that’s brutalizing me, but my bindings hold me firmly in place.
“No more,” I yell. “I can’t do it. Stop.” I have never in the history of my life said these words during sex. But this extreme pleasure—or is it pain?—is just too much for me to endure. I can’t function. I can’t survive it. “Stop,” I say. “Stop.”
But Josh doesn’t stop. In fact, his thrusts are becoming even deeper, if that were possible, and even more passionate.
He bites my shoulder so hard, I’m sure he’s broken the skin.
I shriek again and convulse like he’s electrocuted me.
“You’re mine,” he breathes.
Warm liquid suddenly (and shockingly) gushes out of me in a torrent. I convulse again and again, enraptured and tormented in equal measure, crying out for relief but getting none. I dry heave again. And then finally, mercifully, my body goes completely slack. I hang my head and a drop of sweat—or is that a tear?—falls down the tip of my nose and to the ground. Holy crap.
Josh quickly unties my wrists and I crumple into his arms, shaking and twitching.
His lips press against my ear. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“Did it feel good?”
I nod.
He picks me up and carries me into a small bathroom with red walls and gold fixtures. He sets me down gently. “Can you hold onto the counter for a second?” he asks.
I nod.
He turns on the water in the shower and then guides me under the warm stream.
“You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?” he asks. “I think I got carried away.”
I shake my head.
“You told me to stop, but you didn’t use the safe word.”
“I didn’t want you to stop. I’m glad you didn’t stop. Only stop if I use the safe word.”
He kisses my mouth and pulls me into him gently, letting the warm water rain down on us. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“It was amazing.”
He washes me from head to toe, and when he’s done, guides me out of the shower and dries me off. “Stay here,” he commands. “I have something for you.”
I nod and wait. I’m shaking like I’ve just run a marathon.
He’s gone quite a while, it seems, and when he returns, he’s fully dressed and holding up a white satin nightie. “Lift up your arms,” he commands.
I do as I’m told and he slips the nightie over my head and onto my body. I’m confused as to why he’s dressing me rather than keeping me naked, but I’m too fried to give it much thought.
“Come.” He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the bathroom and back into the dungeon. Everything’s been cleaned—there’s no sign of my messy orgasm and absolutely nothing out of place. He guides me to a bed in the corner, lays me onto my back, and wordlessly secures bindings around my wrists and ankles.
“You don’t have to tie me up anymore,” I say, pulling against my bindings. “I won’t try to escape.”
“No. I can’t risk losing you,” he says simply.
A wave of glee washes over me. I know he’s simply following my script, but those words make my skin buzz, nonetheless.
“I’m not tricking you,” I coo. “I didn’t run when you left me alone in the bathroom, did I? You can trust me.”
He pauses, mulling that over. “No,” he finally says. “I can’t risk it. You’re a unicorn.” He shoots me a snarky look, obviously proud of himself for deftly inserting that little gem into our scene. “I can’t risk it.”
“Please.”
He sets his jaw. “No. Now that I know what it’s like to have you, I don’t think I can live without you.”
My heart stops. Was that in the script? Or did Josh say that in real life?
“What’s your name?” I ask.
He makes a face like I’ve just asked him to spell antideluvian. “Um,” he says, apparently pondering the question. “Joshua Faraday,” he finally says.
That’s not at all what I expected him to say. I thought he’d come up with some exotic sex-slave-master name like Magnusson Carmichael III. For my part, I’ve certainly planned a sexy name and backstory—I’m an heiress named Chantel Giodissimo—but, jeez, if Josh is going to be himself for our role-plays, then I should do the same. And, in fact, now that I’m thinking about it, it’s probably better if we just “be ourselves,” just like the song says.