Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“Which means you tell it to the camera,” he goes on.
I swallow, trembling. “T-tell what?”
His eyes flash. “How wet you are for me.”
My breath hitches and I glance to the phone once again. “To the… camera?”
“Uh-huh. You wanna put on a show for me, don’t you?” I nod with absolute certainty, and he goes on. “You want to give me something to watch, to remember. Well, this is how you do it. You look into the camera, and you tell me all your secrets. Every single one of them. So when you’re gone, I can watch it over and over and remember how it was.”
Maybe I should take a stock of his words, be worried about them. Because somehow, they feel so final. They feel like bad news. Secrets. I have so many of them and no matter what, I can never ever tell him. But that’s not what’s happening here. This is something else. This is about him and me. Our connection, this crazy cosmic thing that we feel for each other. That made me watch him through his window that first time and that made him watch me in my green t-shirt and purple barrette years later.
I won’t let anything else come between us tonight. No parents, not even the girl he loves and the reason why we’re doing this. It’s just us.
So I do what I want to do, preen and show him more of my body, all the little dips and curves. And as my heart takes flight in my chest, I glance over to the camera. “I-I’m wet.” His fingers flex on my throat but I keep going. “I’m so, so wet right now.”
There’s a spasm in my lower belly at this, and my pussy pulses. My entire body blushes and burns with both shame and arousal. And how natural this feels. Like I’ve done this before. Like I’ve posed in front of a camera a million times before this moment, and I know exactly what to do.
I know exactly how to bite my lip, how to blink and stare at the lens and whisper all my secrets. “I’m so wet, I’m dripping,” I continue and I feel him stiffen in my periphery. “I can feel it too.”
“Feel what?” I hear him say.
I lick my lips and answer to the camera, “My p-pussy pulsing.”
“Yeah?”
I nod, digging my nails into his thighs. “And when you… put pressure on my throat and don’t let me b-breathe, I think I,”—I lick my lips again—“come a little bit.”
He does it then, flexing his grip on my throat, making it hard for me to breathe and I jerk. My thighs shake and my channel contracts so hard all I can do is flutter my eyes closed and moan.
“Like this?” he asks then.
Panting, I open my eyes and look at the camera. “Yeah.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“So good.”
He hums. “Yeah, you look so good too. Gasping for breath, choking under my fingers. Like I could do anything to you and you’d let me.”
“Yes, anything. You could do anything to me, whatever you want.”
He exhales sharply and squeezes my throat again. I gasp, moaning, my hands flying away from his thighs and coming to grip his wrist, his forearm. I feel his coarse hair under my palms. I feel the veins pulsing and I think about how I must look right now.
How I must look all flushed and stoned, turned on out of my mind. My eyes all wide and my mouth parted. And how my neck is arched and clutched by brutal fingers of a man, off camera. How his fingers pulse every few seconds and how every time that happens, my belly quivers and my juices ooze out of my channel. As if he’s literally squeezing the juice out of me. Out of my strawberry pussy.
And then that man rasps, a crack in his voice because it’s not as if he’s unaffected by all this, “Tell me why.”
“Why?”
He moves closer then, leans over me a little bit, tightening his grip on my throat and making me arch my back even more. “Tell me why you like this so much. You know, don’t you?”
I nod, as if hypnotized by him, his voice, his touch. “Because I’m… I’m a whore.”
He digs his thumb in my pulse so hard I cry out in pain. I cry out in pleasure. Then, “That’s not the answer we’re looking for, are we?”
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“Try again,” he commands. “Think really hard and tell me why you love me choking you out. Why you love my fingers around your throat. Why does your pussy juice up when I don’t let you breathe?”
And it comes to me, the answer. “Because I’m… I’m your whore.”
His chest moves with a satisfied breath and I can breathe too. As in, to the extent he allows me and my heart settles in my chest at pleasing him.