Sweat beads at my brow as the breath whooshes out of me. I’m bent over, arms dangling down. Beneath me, the most delicious, hardest length I’ve ever felt presses into my mound. I want to rock against it.
I can’t move.
He won’t let me.
He keeps me like this, draped over his lap, immobile.
The sound of a strike reverberates throughout the room, but silence remains. No noise. It isn’t allowed.
Moisture drips from my every pore, and yet, I’m focused on this one drop as it gathers at the center of my forehead. Becomes bigger.
Everything’s out of control.
Hyper-awareness consumes my every breath.
I count to ten and it falls to the ground.
A small splat no one will ever hear. And yet, I do. The sound as it hits the floor causes my breathing to stutter and skin to prickle with goose bumps.
“The last ten, love,” Noah whispers, his hand massaging the heated flesh beneath his fingertips. It hurts, but the pain is replaced by a yearning so strong that I whimper in his lap.
Like a bitch in heat I arch and ask for more.
To make this burning within my veins stop.
With one hand he gathers the hair at my nape and forces my head back. A harsh tug—I’m in his control—forces my eyes to his. Hooded dark blue eyes look at me with concern, but behind their depths I see another emotion burning.
His want mirrors my own. This perversion is awakening something darker from within. It grows—chokes us, because behind it all we were meant to end up like this. My body at his hands. In his control.
Those hungry eyes look at me. Silent communication. Are you okay?
I blink back a please and the asshole smirks. Aware of what I need even as my mind fights the sins I have laid bare to his eyes.
My release is so close. A fresh round of arousal drips from my core and onto his boxers.
I’m positioned over his lap, ass up, and the very tip of his cock is against my hip. He’s hard. Jerks against me when I gyrate against his length.
“Please,” I beg aloud this time and his hold on my hair tightens. The hand kneading my ass cheek spreads me open to look at my depravity. At what his own hands have caused.
That thong, that minuscule piece of fabric, can’t hide what this game is doing to me. The evidence, slick and inviting, is on his lap.
I shift against his cock and he hisses. “Be still!”
A crackle follows his command and we both shiver. Each time it appears, things change, become more.
“Very good my pets, but the audience wants more. Lose the panties, but without her standing up. Be creative, and there will be a reward.”
I exhale shakily. “Do it.”
“Are you sure?” As the word leave his lips, those same fingers that a minute ago exposed me to his eyes, now hold my panties in his grip. He doesn’t wait for a reply. A tug follows his question, the sound of fabric stretching meets my ears, and I nod.
Another pull and I feel every welt that forms on my skin from the rough treatment. The sole sounds in the room are his harsh breathing and mine. Loud exertion, but at the same time desperate for more.
What else could I say? No. Please don’t?
It would’ve been a bullshit lie and we both know it. The voice commands and we follow. It asks and we accept our fate.
There’s a sick part of me that relishes in this madness. Craves him. My Noah.
We have been dealt our cards; there is no escape. We must accept our fate.
Either we fuck each other, or we die.