Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I lost track of time. I dozed off, waking sometime later to find my hand still between my thighs, my fingers slick with sweat and need. My nipples ached from how hard I’d squeezed them, and I could feel the wetness leaking from the little hole at the base of my labia.
I lay there, trying to calm myself, to find sleep again. I thought I was done—I’d come so hard, so many times, that my hand was exhausted and my thighs ached from pressing together. The plug in my bottom felt enormous now, its presence a kind of molten ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. My breasts throbbed from overstimulation, and my thighs were slick with the evidence of my own need, my own shame.
But the moment I shifted on the sheet, the sensation of raw soreness against the soft cotton made me gasp, and a fresh wave of arousal rolled through me, just as intense as before. My hand slid down again almost involuntarily, drawn by the instinct that had driven me all night, the one that refused to let me rest even when my whole body screamed for mercy.
I pressed my palm flat against the seal, the way I’d done in the shower, and rocked my hips. The frictionless pressure was so hot, so urgent, it made me want to scream. In my mind, Mike’s voice echoed: “Remember, sweetheart, you only get to feel this because I let you. You’re sealed until I say otherwise. All that desperation is for my pleasure, not yours.”
My other hand grasped behind me, twisting the plug, and the feeling shot through me, overwhelming and immediate. I imagined Mike standing over me, watching through the camera, his phone in hand, reading the real-time spikes on the sensor with a little smile on his face. He’d know exactly how much I needed him, how badly I wanted the thing I could never have until he said I could have it.
I came again, this time crying out helplessly, the sound muffled by the pillow I’d pulled over my face. It was so intense that my vision went black for a second, the world reduced to the pounding of my heart and the relentless clenching of my core. I felt something wet on my cheek, realized I was crying for real now, sobbing into the pillow as I worked myself through the aftershocks.
But another layer of fantasy rose up to meet me, darker and deeper than before. I imagined Mike finally deciding I was ready, unlocking the seal with a little vial of solvent, peeling it open with his own hands while I whimpered and begged him to be gentle. In my mind, he didn’t wait—he pushed me back on the bed and drove into me, hard and deep, splitting me open with the cock I’d already learned to worship. I could feel the pain, the stretch, the impossible fullness, and I screamed, both in the fantasy and in the real world, feeling my whole body seize up around the plug.
And then the orgasm hit me, wave after brutal wave. I clawed at the sheets, my legs thrashing, my voice gone hoarse from crying out. The plug in my ass seemed to anchor the feeling, to amplify it, turning my whole body into a single trembling muscle of pleasure and shame.
When it was over, I curled into a ball, my hands between my thighs, my face turned to the wall. Tears kept coming, but now they felt clean, like I’d finally wrung out every last drop of need. My mind floated free, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 19
Mike
The video the SA app curated for me, of Laura’s naughty night, moved me a good deal more deeply than I had expected. For better or worse, and to my great surprise, I found I couldn’t get my mind off of her despite the extremely interesting, and potentially lucrative, meetings I was having in New York.
On my way back to San Francisco Friday morning, I decided I had to make my next time with Laura as special as it could possibly be. From the air I sent her a message in the app.
I have a surprise for you. Pack for the weekend. Bring a bathing suit or two. I’m going to give you a $1000 shopping budget. I want you to spend all of it today.
The instant I hit send, a surge of nervous anticipation ignited in my chest, which was a ridiculous reaction for a man who’d closed three nine-figure deals in the last fiscal quarter. Still, I found myself checking the app’s video channel as soon as Laura’s notification pinged on my wrist. She’d read the message immediately—her eyes had gone wide, her lips parted, and she’d clapped a hand over her mouth in a gesture so raw and girlish it made my pulse skip.