get it over with.
In the tepid air, my nipples were already firm. I saw myself, wished I didn't. "Your tits are fantastic," he murmured. Chewing my lip, I spotted the shape of his erection in his pants. The knowledge I was exciting him, it sank its fangs into my core and melted my thighs.
I guess he was right. I do get turned on seeing men react to me. That didn't sound like me, though. Had I always been this way? I'm playing pretend. It's all pretend. Blaming my surge of arousal on the role I was playing was easier on my psyche.
Bending deep, I pushed my underwear down. Instantly, the problem was clear. "They won't come off with these cuffs," I said.
Crouching, his face far too close to my newly-shaved pussy, Leonide reached in his pocket. I would have scurried away; the knife, flashing in the light, locked me on the spot. Cloth tore like tissue paper. The remnants of my panties were scooped up, tossed aside to be forgotten. "There," he said, tucking the knife away. "Problem solved. Now stop clutching that dress like it's your safety blanket. That's the opposite of sexy."
Pushing my legs together, I tried to hide as much of myself as I could while sliding the dress over my head. It slithered along, choking where it went. As revealing as it was, I felt confined by the thing. Because he told me to wear it. Tugging the hem low, I studied Leonide's eyes in the reflection. He commanded it. It's the same as the cuffs on my ankles.
Everything he did to me just trapped me further.
The blue material hung to mid thigh, the slit exposing creamy skin. There was no question that I wore no undergarments. Nothing could work with such an outfit. The ravine between my breasts, my spine exposed to the top of my ass... it was inappropriate for the public.
Leonide's stare was glued to me. "You wear it well."
My hands covered my chest, pressing the brail of my nipples. "I look like a stripper."
"Strippers are often blonde, busty American sluts."
Fuming, I wrapped my fingers in the slippery fabric. "I'm not a slut, sir ."
"Again with that!" Strangely, he didn't look mad. A heat flooded his gaze, black becoming fiery charcoal. Pushing me against the mirror, he forced my hands away. His strength was immense, overtaking me. In one fist he pinned my wrists, the other pawing over my hard nipples. "Tell me again what you're not, my little American whore."
Grinding my molars, I jammed a knee at his balls. The cuffs gave me no leverage, the attack was telegraphed. Whipping me around, Leonide left me dizzy. I stumbled, but how lucky I was. He was there to hold me steady.
Pressed against his chest, I was facing the mirror. "Look at yourself," he said to my ear. I felt the edges of his teeth. They slid into my lungs, stole my voice. "Tell me what you see in front of you."
His arm curled around my belly, fondled my chest. He'd yanked my arms behind, crushing them in his vice like fingers. With my shoulders pulled back, breasts thrust high and lips parted as I panted... I knew exactly what I looked like.
I'm not a whore!
Through the thin dress, I felt his hard-on rubbing my thigh. My world was made from Leonide, his smell cloying and leaving me uncertain. He was magnetic, a pull that drew me in no matter how I wanted to claw up his smiling face.
"Slut," he whispered, roughly thumbing a nipple.
"No." Closing my eyes couldn't save me.
"My pretty whore." His tongue ran up the shell of my ear, and fuck it, I moaned.
I'm not, I told myself, hips rocking against him. It's pretend.
It's all pretend.
Moving with me, he swayed gently against the curve of my ass. "Open your eyes, Celeste."
My head moved side to side.
"Open." If my rejection to his commands excited him, it showed in how his heart beat. Through my shoulder blades, as if he were trying to shove it out and into me, his blood was doing jumping jacks.
Fluttering my lashes, I gazed fearfully into the mirror. I knew what I would see. It still cut me deep, left a mark on my soul that
In the tepid air, my nipples were already firm. I saw myself, wished I didn't. "Your tits are fantastic," he murmured. Chewing my lip, I spotted the shape of his erection in his pants. The knowledge I was exciting him, it sank its fangs into my core and melted my thighs.
I guess he was right. I do get turned on seeing men react to me. That didn't sound like me, though. Had I always been this way? I'm playing pretend. It's all pretend. Blaming my surge of arousal on the role I was playing was easier on my psyche.
Bending deep, I pushed my underwear down. Instantly, the problem was clear. "They won't come off with these cuffs," I said.
Crouching, his face far too close to my newly-shaved pussy, Leonide reached in his pocket. I would have scurried away; the knife, flashing in the light, locked me on the spot. Cloth tore like tissue paper. The remnants of my panties were scooped up, tossed aside to be forgotten. "There," he said, tucking the knife away. "Problem solved. Now stop clutching that dress like it's your safety blanket. That's the opposite of sexy."
Pushing my legs together, I tried to hide as much of myself as I could while sliding the dress over my head. It slithered along, choking where it went. As revealing as it was, I felt confined by the thing. Because he told me to wear it. Tugging the hem low, I studied Leonide's eyes in the reflection. He commanded it. It's the same as the cuffs on my ankles.
Everything he did to me just trapped me further.
The blue material hung to mid thigh, the slit exposing creamy skin. There was no question that I wore no undergarments. Nothing could work with such an outfit. The ravine between my breasts, my spine exposed to the top of my ass... it was inappropriate for the public.
Leonide's stare was glued to me. "You wear it well."
My hands covered my chest, pressing the brail of my nipples. "I look like a stripper."
"Strippers are often blonde, busty American sluts."
Fuming, I wrapped my fingers in the slippery fabric. "I'm not a slut, sir ."
"Again with that!" Strangely, he didn't look mad. A heat flooded his gaze, black becoming fiery charcoal. Pushing me against the mirror, he forced my hands away. His strength was immense, overtaking me. In one fist he pinned my wrists, the other pawing over my hard nipples. "Tell me again what you're not, my little American whore."
Grinding my molars, I jammed a knee at his balls. The cuffs gave me no leverage, the attack was telegraphed. Whipping me around, Leonide left me dizzy. I stumbled, but how lucky I was. He was there to hold me steady.
Pressed against his chest, I was facing the mirror. "Look at yourself," he said to my ear. I felt the edges of his teeth. They slid into my lungs, stole my voice. "Tell me what you see in front of you."
His arm curled around my belly, fondled my chest. He'd yanked my arms behind, crushing them in his vice like fingers. With my shoulders pulled back, breasts thrust high and lips parted as I panted... I knew exactly what I looked like.
I'm not a whore!
Through the thin dress, I felt his hard-on rubbing my thigh. My world was made from Leonide, his smell cloying and leaving me uncertain. He was magnetic, a pull that drew me in no matter how I wanted to claw up his smiling face.
"Slut," he whispered, roughly thumbing a nipple.
"No." Closing my eyes couldn't save me.
"My pretty whore." His tongue ran up the shell of my ear, and fuck it, I moaned.
I'm not, I told myself, hips rocking against him. It's pretend.
It's all pretend.
Moving with me, he swayed gently against the curve of my ass. "Open your eyes, Celeste."
My head moved side to side.
"Open." If my rejection to his commands excited him, it showed in how his heart beat. Through my shoulder blades, as if he were trying to shove it out and into me, his blood was doing jumping jacks.
Fluttering my lashes, I gazed fearfully into the mirror. I knew what I would see. It still cut me deep, left a mark on my soul that
Similar Books
