Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I pin her down and rut her hard and fast, just using her tight pussy until my balls tighten and I feel myself about to come inside her bare pussy yet again. She shouldn’t really let me fuck her this way, without any protection at all, but she doesn’t even think to ask me to pull out. Instead she arches her hips, presses back, and invites me to come inside her.
“Fuck, yes, Laura. Such a good girl taking your fucking like a sweet little pet. You’re being a very good girl for me. And when I come back to town, we’re going to do this again. I’ll be coming to your apartment and using you. Just like this.”
The more I talk to her, the more I feel her pussy gripping me and getting wetter. I reach under her and rub the greedy little nub of her clit so she starts to pant and writhe. It’s so easy to make her climax, and so we come together in the midst of far too much breakfast. I fill her to the brim with my seed and pull out, breathing heavily with the exertion of swift carnal satisfaction.
“Very good, baby,” I tell her before spanking her ass again. I leave her over the table, her pussy dripping my cum. Sooner or later, she’s going to be pregnant. I cannot fucking wait.
CHAPTER 11
Laura
He’s gone. He’s left me in his wake absolutely dripping with cum. I stand up slowly, nibbling on the edge of a croissant. This is the most decadent thing I have ever done. I am in the lap of total luxury, albeit needing another shower.
I meander around the suite for a bit, snacking on endless breakfast, getting showered again, dressing myself. He told me I had to go back to school, but he didn’t tell me how and part of me just wants to stay here.
At ten in the morning, there’s a light, professional, respectful tap on the door. I open it to find a man wearing a cap.
“Ms. Brown?” he says. “I’m here to take you to the airport.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you,” I say, following him without another question. I have developed a really disturbing habit of just doing what I am told when men tell me what to do.
Except for that time I punched the principal in the face.
I get shown to a car, which sweeps me off to the airport. No need to take a bus this time. Sam takes good care of me when he knows I’m around to take care of.
Am I being spoiled by my stalker? Yes. Pretty much. I try not to feel satisfied about that. I am, after all, still being sexually controlled by an older man who is living a double life.
I expect to be dropped off at the terminal, but I find myself being driven into the actual tarmac itself, where a private jet is waiting. I don’t believe it even as I’m driven up to the little staircase.
“Is this for me?”
“Yes, madam,” the driver says.
“My god,” I say under my breath. I am dressed in my plausibly professional outfit, so I don’t look as out of place as I could, but I know I’m still very underdressed as I climb up into the plane.
I’m starting to feel like none of this could possibly be real. Me. Put on a private jet to go to school. If my mom were to see this she’d think I was fucking a real bad guy. I am fucking a real bad guy, so she’d be right.
My life has become a whirlwind of strange events. I’m acting oddly, more erratically, more violently. I don’t know if I know myself anymore.
The plane takes off. The flight isn’t very long, less than twenty minutes. We’re landing almost as quickly as we took off. My first experience in a private plane is over before it starts, and I am driven from the airport right to college.
I have to go to all my classes dressed like I think I’m a professor, which is quite funny. I try to concentrate, but it’s not easy. My head is full of sex and submission, and money and probably danger. I know this isn’t actually a good situation to be in. This man hides who he really is. He does terrible, dark things.
So why do I miss him so much when I’m at work? Why does my every thought revolve around him? And not out of fear, either. I keep thinking about how good he looked when he was naked and out of the shower. I think about how his hands feel on me. And how I feel when he takes complete control…
“Table two’s order has been at the window for five minutes,” my shift manager chides me.
“Sorry,” I say. “I must have forgotten.”
She gives me a look that I know from having seen it given to others indicates that there is a strong chance I’m going to be fired. A few weeks ago, that would have freaked me out. Now I’m not sure I care so much. This job is starting to feel like an old pair of shoes, restrictive and worn out at the same time.