She slid the mask to her forehead, her face angled out of view, and the heat of her breath penetrated the thin material, sweeping over his groin. He arched, straining against the compression of the bag. His legs trembled as quivering energy tingled over his thighs and tightened his balls.
This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t stop his release from building. He must’ve looked ravenous, the transparent latex adhering to his genitals, revealing every detail under her close inspection.
It was wrong. She was violating him, molesting him…
Her tongue dragged over his length from root to tip, wrenching a moan from deep within his chest. Despite the layer of latex between them, all he could feel was the concentrated heat, the soft stroke, the atrocious pleasure of it.
With an invasive grip, she adjusted his erection to lie flat between his pubic mound and the latex. “You have permission to speak. Tell me what you want me to do with this monstrous cock.”
“Mistress, release me.”
She raised up, shifting the mask to cover her face, and straddled his hips. “I’m so wet. If you weren’t wearing a full-body condom, you’d slide right in.”
She ground against him, and he thought, for a terrifying second, he might come just from the contact.
“My pussy would stretch to accommodate your girth. It would grip you like a vise and cream all over your cock as you rub in and out, sinking deeply, withdrawing reluctantly.” She leaned toward his face, her breath whispering behind the mask. “You would finish with hard, hurried fucks, punching every inch of my cunt.”
Vulgarity could be a form of torture, along with character assassination. He knew she was taunting him, trying to coax him into abandoning his beliefs and begging her like those before him. Even knowing this, he couldn’t stifle the overwhelming desire gripping his body. He’d never wanted to come so badly, but he would not beg.
She slid the red satin crotch of her panties to the side and rolled her hips up. The sight of her plump, pink creases of skin, hairless and glistening with moisture, wrestled his wildest, most insane fantasies to the forefront of his thoughts. He curled his toes and tensed against the warmth rushing to his groin. His breathing and heart rate quickened, yet he couldn’t look away from her body.
No cheerleader, no pastor’s wife compared to her beauty. She moved with the grace of a dancer, lithe and muscular, shifting over his privates as if she were floating. For a thick moment, he was convinced he’d found an angel. Then he remembered she was his captor, a rapist. The devil incarnate.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers digging into his thighs, his penis unbearably hot and uncomfortable.
“Open your eyes, boy.” Her voice was commanding, the mask adding another layer of detachment. “Watch me.”
Startled by the ease at which he followed her demand, he watched her finger as it traced her slit, up and down, gathering wetness. He couldn’t stop his mind from darting to the conclusion of sex, wanting the mystery of her flesh wrapped around him and not caring about his virginity or his parents’ promise to God. It was enlightening and reckless.
Lowering her hips, she parted her folds with the latex-protected length of him, rocking, fingers reaching to pinch his nipples through the rubber buffer. The bulges of her chest overflowed the satin, the color of the bra accentuating the red pout painted over her hidden expression.
She was a demon in the form of the most beautiful girl on earth. If he peered into her liquid brown eyes, he might’ve found the cruelest corners of the world there. But when she ground against him, the lustrous sheen of her hair swishing around her, her fingers curling against his abs, she seemed more human, less wooden. She looked like she desired him the way a girl would a boy.
The thought made him needy in a way he didn’t comprehend. He wanted her to slide her heat over him faster, longer, and hear her hypnotic voice cry out in bliss.
No. He blinked, tried to clear his head. He wanted her to stop.
Another bout of quakes tumbled through him, coaxing the climax that was teetering on a razor’s edge. What was her true intention? Was any of this real? Could she produce moisture between her legs if she didn’t want him?
If he could recognize her authenticity, he might be able to explain the meaning of her actions. “Mistress. Remove the mask.”
She threw her head back, the sinews in her slender neck straining against the skin. She moaned, and the sound transformed into a harmony of Ahh-Ahhhh-Ah. Her voice was an offering from God and a temptation from hell, a tone so potent it could corrupt a man, or save him.
Blood surged to his penis, raising his testicles, and his inhibitions fled. His heart rate skyrocketed. His lungs labored, and his thighs and butt tightened. She continued to grind on him, hitting the right spot, the right speed. He was doomed.
“Requirement number eight.” Hips flexing, she rubbed against him with the mastery to finish him. “Slave will not orgasm without permission.”
A series of contractions gripped his cock. He’d reached the point where he couldn’t stop, didn’t care about anything but the rush of pleasure barreling down on him. It was happening, and oh sweet Jesus, his body shook with the violence of a spasmodic freefall. Sensations flooded him from the waist down, pulsing against the friction of her heat, and he forgot where he was.
Her weight vanished. Latex covered his face, and the vacuum roared to life.
CHAPTER 14
Four more near-suffocations later, Josh knew Liv wouldn’t kill him with vacuum-shrunk latex. But every time she sealed it over
