Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The embrace felt different from any we’d shared before—not sexual, though our naked bodies pressed together intimately, but protective, almost cherishing. I rested my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. His arms encircled me completely, making me feel small and safe and valued.
“Audrey,” Pierre said softly, his lips against my wet hair. “Would you like to come to my chateau this weekend?”
I pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. The invitation seemed to come from nowhere. Hardly believing it could be real, I nodded, my voice barely audible over the pounding water. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’d like that very much.”
Something flashed in Pierre’s eyes—a primal hunger that hadn’t been fully sated. Without warning, he turned me around to face the shower wall, his movements swift and decisive. His hands gripped my hips, positioning me how he wanted me, bent slightly at the waist with my palms pressed against the slick tile.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded, his voice rough with renewed desire.
I obeyed instinctively, widening my stance as the warm water cascaded down my back. My body, though sore and well-used, responded immediately to his touch, a fresh surge of wetness gathering between my thighs that had nothing to do with the shower.
Pierre’s hand slid between my legs from behind, his fingers finding my swollen sex with unerring precision. “Wet already,” he murmured, sounding both pleased and slightly mocking. “Your cunt knows who it belongs to now.”
I whimpered as he traced my folds, gathering my moisture before positioning the head of his cock at my entrance. After the intense anal penetration, my pussy felt almost virginal again—as if it had forgotten the stretch of accommodating him.
Without further warning, Pierre thrust into me with brutal force, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. I cried out, my voice echoing off the shower walls as pain and pleasure collided in a dizzying rush. My inner muscles stretched to accommodate his invasion, the soreness from our earlier coupling flaring to life.
“You feel that?” Pierre growled, his fingers digging into my hips as he established a punishing rhythm. “This is how a little whore gets fucked when she pleases her master.”
His crude words should have offended me, but instead they sent a forbidden thrill racing through my veins. Each powerful thrust drove me forward against the tile, my breasts bouncing with the force of his possession. The angle allowed him to penetrate impossibly deep, hitting places inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed, my voice breaking as he pounded into me relentlessly. “Sir… Monsieur… please…”
“Take it,” Pierre insisted, one hand sliding up my wet back to tangle in my hair. He pulled gently but firmly, arching my spine and changing the angle of his penetration. “Take what I give you.”
The new position made his thrusts even more intense, each one sending jolts of almost painful pleasure through my core. I braced myself against the tile, trying to push back against him, to match his rhythm, but his pace was too frantic, too powerful for me to control.
I could feel that Pierre had lost some of his usual perfect restraint. His breathing came in harsh pants, his rhythm growing erratic.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Such a tight little cunt. Your master is going to come… so… soon.”
Then he let out a wordless shout, and I felt his rigid shaft pulse inside me. I knew somehow, as he raised me up and held me, much more gently, from behind, that he had fucked me harder than he meant to. To my shock, I felt my lips curve into a smile as I thought about it: my submission had awakened something in Pierre that he couldn’t hold back.
Am I not, in fact, powerless, then? I wondered.
CHAPTER 23
Pierre
Audrey’s apartment door opened to me the next afternoon to reveal my sweet girl, charmingly clad in her fetching blue sundress and smiling at—I felt certain—the prospect of our weekend in the country. Something about her struck me as different even from the previous day: a subtle shift in her demeanor that I couldn’t quite place but found immensely satisfying. Gone was the defensive wariness that had characterized our earlier encounters. In its place I thought I could discern a quiet confidence that seemed, paradoxically, to grow from her acceptance of my authority.
“Bonjour, Monsieur,” she greeted me, her voice soft but steady. The slight flush on her cheeks and the way her eyes dropped momentarily before meeting mine again told me that memories of our previous encounters still made her blush.
“Audrey,” I acknowledged, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind me. I took a moment to admire her—the way the blue fabric of her dress accentuated her eyes, how it clung to her small frame before flaring gently at her hips. “You look lovely.”