Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Finally, I have about ten inches buried inside, and I fully expect Ben to command me to start pounding myself with it. But instead, he’s got a crafty look to his eye.
“Good. Now that you’ve got the flute all lubed up, pull it out and bang your ass with it.”
I gasp, my mouth flying open. Oh god, can this be true? Does he really want me to do this in front of this terrifying Sim brother? But sure enough, Ben knows his role because he turns to Vladimir with a smirk on those handsome features.
“You’re about to see why I paid top dollar for this one,” he rasps. “She’s been worth every penny too.”
Oh no, oh no. It really is going to happen. Slowly, I pull the flute from my swollen folds, the silver metal dripping with honey. Then, I maneuver around so that I’m kneeling on the couch, my bottom facing the men and reach down the place the flute right at my tight anal pleats.
“Yes, baby,” Ben growls. “Sit down on it with your ass. Show us how you take it.”
I have no choice but to obey. I toss my head back and close my eyes while beginning to lower my bottom onto the instrument. Oh my God, this is so dirty and I’ve only done it once before for Ben. But evidently, he wants a replay, and I let out a low wail as my pleats begin to part, making way for the huge silver shaft. It feels cold and hard, but also intensely sensual entering my back cavern.
“Keep going,” Ben rasps from in back of me. “We want to see that ass stretch.”
Biting my lip, I sit down even further, jamming the instrument into my sensitive canal. It’s so tight that it hurts a bit, but I take a deep breath and try to relax. Slowly, the burn fades, and within a few minutes, I’ve worked the flute about eight inches into my bottom.
“Like this sir?” I gasp, turning to look at him over one slim shoulder. “Is this what you want?”
By now, both Ben and Vladimir have their shafts out, their hands coated in fluid as they rub up and down those hard lengths.
“Exactly,” my man rasps. “Now cram yourself full. Give yourself a thorough butt bang, honey, and then you can come.”
I have no choice but to obey. I lean forward so that my forehead presses against the back of the sofa, and reach down to grasp the flute with both hands. Then, I begin sawing it in and out of my bottom, crying out at the dirty sensations. OMG, I can’t believe this is happening! But the filth of the situation is very real, and to my surprise, I’m aroused. The precipice begins to approach, and my cries grow in volume.
“Master, Master,” I pant. “Can I come?”
Ben lets out a low growl behind me.
“Yes, do it sweetheart. Come for me now. Show us how you like it.”
With his words, I fly off the handle and soar through the air. My vision goes dark as I scream, my bottom contracting hard on the metal implement buried deep inside. I feel wild, unleashed, and utterly female as I play with myself for my Master’s enjoyment.
Meanwhile, Ben unleashes as well. I hear his roar of pleasure as he erupts, the sound of flesh slapping loud in the small room. Hot jolts of seed go so far as to splatter across my back and I love it, moaning with appreciation.
Finally, we come down from the high and I collapse onto the couch, panting, the flute still embedded in my behind. Ben gets himself together and walks up, gently pulling it out with a soft pop, before pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“You did wonderful, honey,” he whispers in my ear. “You were absolutely perfect.”
I only hope so because I don’t want to know what Vladimir Sim is doing at this moment. I don’t want to know what he’s looking at, or how much he enjoyed himself. No doubt that criminal saw all of my naughty show, but I want to ignore him as I surround myself in this moment with Ben. After all, I’ve fallen in love with the handsome billionaire, and I’ll do anything for Ben Culver without question.
8
Ben
This is a fucking nightmare.
It has nothing to do with Michelle, of course. My woman has delivered everything, and then some. Her little show was so potent that Vladimir’s still collapsed on the couch, panting while staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. It’s disgusting but there’s a huge pool of come soaked into the carpet between his legs. He probably just ruined the Persian carpet, but hey, he owns the place so he can do what he wants.
But now, the show’s over and we need to move on. Where’s back-up when you need them? Am I supposed to ask Michelle to dance again for us? After what she’s done already, I can’t. She’s already sacrificed too much.