Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
When I close my eyes, I can see it. Her white, creamy ass bent over the edge of the table. Her hands clawing at the surface. I can hear her high-pitched whimpers, pain dancing with fear. I can even feel her fighting against me—or at least her best attempt at fighting, which I don’t think would be much of anything. Not against me.
So tight. She would be, too, as small and inexperienced as she is. Tightening my grip isn’t the same as the real thing. It can’t be.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt a little frustration while I was in the middle of jerking off, remembering what happened last week. Because it’s not the same. I can jerk off all day, every day, but it wouldn’t come close to the electricity of Tamson’s touch. She didn’t even know what she was doing—it was obvious, almost funny how she fumbled at first. That wasn’t nerves. It was inexperience.
And as good as her touch was, I know her pussy would be even better. I can’t help groaning when I imagine forcing my way into her. Maybe playing with her tiny clit beforehand, to get her good and wet. Not for her sake, but for mine. There’s nothing worse than a dry fuck.
But once she was wet and swollen and ready, I would part her lips and fill her up with every last inch of what I’m now working with my fist. It’s a blur, filling the room with squelching sounds that get louder the faster I go.
This isn’t going to be enough soon. I’m going to need more.
That’s the last thought that races through my brain before I empty my balls with a deep groan. How many times has it been since the library? Even if I kept count, I would’ve lost it by now. I can’t think straight anymore. I’m too busy wanting her.
Now that I’ve had a taste, I’m hooked. I am no better than one of the pathetic junkies who make their way back to The Archer’s Den time and time again. I’ve seen enough of them to know they walk in looking like they would rather be anywhere else. Like they hate themselves for their weakness. It doesn’t stop them, that hatred. Their need is much greater.
Like the way I need her.
Getting out of bed, I understand why the time with her was so special. It was the first time I had any kind of contact with a girl not provided to me by Dad. I mean, he did send her to me in a roundabout way, but normally he sends them straight to me with only one purpose.
As fucked up as it was back in the library, and as fucked up as it makes me to talk about choice when I didn’t give her one, it was the first time I made a decision about who was going to touch me. She wasn’t just some anonymous way to get off. This is a girl whose name I know. A girl whose life I’ve taken a good, long look at.
I guess it makes sense, fixating the way I am.
Just like it makes sense that I can’t help trying to figure out ways to mix pleasure with what I know Dad wants me to do. I have to break her. That’s my entire job, that is my purpose right now. Sure, the line has blurred, and I might have lost sight once or twice of what this is really about, but the ultimate goal of making her dad suffer for breaking the agreement with my dad is still there. I can’t afford to forget it.
That doesn’t mean I can’t play by my own rules. Indulge my dark needs. Dad never said how I had to break her down, right? There are all sorts of ways, and he left it up to me to figure it out.
Making her jerk me off didn’t crush her, but it was the first step. The first of many. Do I tie her up? Fuck her face until she cries, and then paint it with jizz? Take pictures, send them around to everyone at school?
That idea is one of the front runners, one I keep coming back to whenever my thoughts turn to her. And they do that a lot. To the point where I can barely think about anything else. I zoned out at a red light yesterday, imagining her sucking my cock then and there. Imagining how I would keep her head pressed close to my base with one hand and steer with the other. It took two cars honking at me to pull me out of the fantasy. I was rock hard, dripping with anticipation.
And more pissed off than ever because it was all in my head. That’s not enough.
I need to taste her tears. To hear her choked sobs as I strip her bare of choice and dignity. My fists curl whenever I imagine forcing her to satisfy my every whim, because imagining isn’t enough.