Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Angelo fucks me harder, deeper. They are both moving toward orgasm, both intending to pump me full of their seed. There are no protective barriers between us, because there is no protection from them. I am open. I am vulnerable. They have made me nothing more than two holes being used.
Bobby is lustful, but Angelo is calculated.
Bobby comes first, pulling back to force me to taste his cum as he fills my mouth, his hot seed flooding my tongue.
“Swallow,” he growls. “Don’t you fucking dare spit that out.”
I obey out of some primal instinct. I am still being fucked by Angelo, and with the taste of Bobby’s seed in my mouth, the aching pounding I am taking in my ass has new intensity. Bobby lets go of his grip on my hair and I feel myself clenching involuntarily as I go prone against the bed, my clit finally grinding against something firm as Angelo pushes his advantage and slams inside me.
My world tastes like cum, smells like cum. My ass is full of cock, and my pussy is wet as hell. I have come a very long way from being a repressed agent who hadn’t got laid in years. I thought I wasn’t interested in anybody. But maybe I just hadn’t met anybody broken and cruel enough yet.
Angelo is going to orgasm, but so am I. The harder he fucks me, and the more his cock throbs inside me, the closer I get to that dark peak of pleasure. I am about to be overwhelmed by the chemistry of my own flesh. Angelo isn’t doing this to me. I am doing this to me. I am more than submitting, I am participating in my own downfall, I am grinding my hips and moaning, and I am arching back against him, inviting his cum, drawing it from his fucking balls.
He lets out a guttural growl as he pins me to the bed, forces his hand beneath my body, and pinches my clit between two of his fingers. I come hard, letting out a scream of release and relief as my entire body contorts with the force of my pleasure. Angelo unleashes himself at the same time, sinking his cock deep inside my bowels and filling me up to the brim. I hear him grunting and snarling as his body covers mine. I am completely engulfed by him, his will, his pleasure. I am surrounded by him, embraced by him and I am now filled with him as his hips jerk against my previously punished ass.
It hurts like hell when he pulls free of me, his cock still thick enough to make my ring ache and resist. I have been whimpering and moaning the entire time. I didn’t realize until now, but my throat is sore, not only from Bobby’s pounding, but also from all the crying and wailing I didn’t notice I was engaging in. Angelo and Bobby have made me the opposite of self-conscious. They’ve taken what was myself and they have obliterated it between their cocks.
I collapse between my two captors, all three of us utterly spent in illicit orgasm. I’ve never felt this good before. I’ve never felt so completely unconcerned by anything.
I fall asleep, feeling safer and more content than I ever have in my life.
8
When the morning comes, I ache.
I wake up alone in my prison bed, though the door to the room is open, and I can smell food. Toast. Croissants. Bacon.
It draws me from bed. The only clothing left to me is a shirt. It smells like Angelo, and fits like an oversized hug. This is my third day in the House of Vitali and I am padding out through the halls as though I have always lived here.
I can feel semen dried on my ass cheeks, and a little on my chin. I am a mess. I should get cleaned up. I don’t bother. I go straight to the kitchen with messy hair and even messier orifices. This is how they want me, after all. They want to strip the civilization from me. They want to obliterate all my training as an agent. I have to make them think that is happening.
So I don’t go and take a shower. I don’t clean myself up and make an effort to be presentable. Instead, I strut right into the kitchen and swipe a piece of bacon off Bobby’s plate.
“The fuck?” He curses and tries to snatch it back, but it is already in my mouth.
“Good morning, Riley,” Angelo says from the table, where he is eating a slice of brioche with his coffee. He is dressed in a white shirt like mine, but looks relaxed with the top two buttons undone, and his cuffs rolled up exposing his forearms rather than neatly closed with cuff links. They are on the table beside him, ready to be donned.