Total pages in book: 331
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Picking up the lube, I pour it over my hard cock and slide it into her open mouth. “My pretty angel.” I grip her delicate neck. “I’m going to make you my filthy whore.” Pushing to the back of her throat, I feel my cock bulge, and her body jerks the table violently. “Fuck,” I groan, pulling out and sliding back in.
Slowly, I watch my pierced dick disappear down her throat.
“That’s it.” I pull out and hear her gasp. Then I do it again.
I set a slow and steady pace, allowing her to breathe while the vibrator in her cunt gets her off.
This isn’t a race. I want her to remember this moment. A reminder that she belongs to me forever. There is no way out.
I look up to take in her body. It’s trembling, her muscles tense as she pulls on the ropes that secure her in place. “Are you counting, angel?” I ask.
I pull out of her mouth and remove the clothespin from her right nipple at the same time.
A mumbling scream comes from her pretty lips. “It’s more painful when you remove them,” I inform her. Burying my cock back in her mouth, I clip the clothespin back on her nipple and feel her throat work on a whimper.
“Fuck, angel.” I groan, feeling my balls tighten.
Pulling out, I come all over her drool-covered face and exposed neck. I quickly remove the gag and then the clothespins on her nipples, hearing her cry out. Then I do the same with her pussy and remove the vibrator.
“Good girl,” I praise her, holding up the cum-covered egg. “That’s my girl.” I untie her and pick up her limp body and carry her upstairs.
THIRTY-EIGHT
EVERETT
He played me, and I fucking let him.
Kashton knew my next move just by reading my face. I was going to knock his ass out and run for it. Get the hell away from here. To save him. Instead, he challenged me, and I lost. Fair and square.
You’ll make the perfect dolly.
You’ll make the perfect whore. His words were like a knife to my chest. It made me angry. I had to fight. To show him that he didn’t own me. He won. I lost.
He may marry me, but I’ll be nothing more than a toy to him. I’ll never be known as a Lady in our world, and I’ll never get to be a mother in mine.
I sit on the end of my bed, gulping down a water while Kashton rushes around my house. He brought me home after he was done fucking my face and gave me a bath. I sat there in the tub in silence while he washed my hair and his cum off my trembling body.
Everything hurts, including my still burning nipples and pussy lips. I already want him to fuck me again, and it’s giving me mixed feelings. I’m not sure if that’s progress or regression.
I didn’t feel the need to vomit afterward, so maybe progress is the correct answer.
I look over the clothespins in my hand. Who knew something so small could be so powerful? Each one has one of the vows written in his handwriting.
They appear to look like any other wooden clothespin, but the ends have been dipped in something rough to cause pain when used.
“What is on these?” I call loud enough so Kashton can hear me.
He answers from my bathroom, knowing what I’m referring to. “I painted Mod Podge on the tips and then dipped them in coarse-grain sand. Once they were dry, I sprayed a clear lacquer over it to help seal them.”
He made these for me? I love how much thought he puts into making sure I feel…something. That he keeps me present when I want to curl into myself. Kashton wants me to know that he’s the one playing with me. That I’m getting off for him.
“Ready?” He exits my bathroom, pulling my Prada embroidered fabric trolley and matching duffel bag.
“Yeah,” I answer softly, getting to my feet.
While he was bathing me, he talked me into going back to Carnage with him. Well, I can’t say that—he told me we were going to Carnage, and I didn’t have the mental strength to argue with him.
If that was his plan, it worked. All Lords are calculated in how they play the game.
Taking my hand, he escorts me out to my garage and opens my passenger door. “You’re not following me?” I wonder.
“No. Leaving my bike in my garage. I’ll come get it another time.”
I fall into the car while he places my bags in the trunk before getting behind the wheel.
I look out my window. It’s still daylight. The clock tells me it’s a little after four p.m. How long were we in his basement? How many times did I come all over myself?
I can’t answer either question.