“What do you miss, Frankie?” When he’d had her at the penthouse he could punish her with multiple toys. Now all he had was her mind, but he liked the challenge. He was pretty certain it could be better than toys because he was pretty certain Frankie’s mind had dark areas that if he got her to explore, would make her explode.
“I miss. I miss…” Breathing was the only sound for a few minutes, hot, husky, stuttering with uncertainty.
“Be a good girl, Frankie,” Anteros coaxed.
“The knife,” she admitted. “Like when I cut you, only…” Her sentence vanished in a sigh and a slow grin spread across his face at her confession. This was a new turn-on, and he looked forward to torturing her with it.
“Dirty girl,” he purred. “Do you have a knife with you now?”
“No, I lost my only one after…” After Big O. Anteros reached down and pulled the knife out of his boot, placing it on the table.
“I picked it up that night. I have it with me.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, and if you were here, I would teach you a lesson about teasing me.”
“What would you do?”
“I’d slide the knife along your skin.” He slid the knife on the table, making it scratch loud enough so she could hear.
“And th-then what?” she stuttered. Anteros closed his eyes and stroked his cock, letting her sighs be his soundtrack. He could practically see her little hands spreading her pussy in his mind.
“Are you touching yourself right now?” Anteros grated.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“Stop.” When the only answer Anteros received was more panting, he said, “Maybe I should hang up.”
She groaned, but whimpered, “Okay, fine, I stopped. Will you tell me what you would do next?”
“I’d put the blade at your ankle, stroking your flesh until I reached your inner thigh, stopping just short of your cunt.” Musical, halting whimpers came through the phone, making him grip his cock so hard it was almost painful. “Send me a fucking picture,” he barked. “Get on your knees and show me your ass and cunt.”
“What would you do next?” she responded instead, voice wobbly.
“Send me a goddamn picture and I’ll tell you.” Voice coarse, Anteros rubbed the grooves in the blade handle, trying to clear his head. A minute or so later, picture came through, and all hope of a clear head vanished.
“Fuck,” he hissed. Frankie was on her knees as he’d instructed her, ass and pussy glistening. He wanted nothing more than to be behind her, licking her up, making her come until she cried for him to stop.
Then he would keep going.
Fuck.
He gripped his cock harder.
“Tell me,” she begged.
“I would slide the knife handle inside your pussy until you came all over it. Until you were dripping down my wrist. Then I’d clean the blade with your cunt juices. Even if you didn’t want it, you’d get fucked.” Anteros paused as Frankie’s dulcet sighs flowed through the phone. He focused on his own breathing, needing to get control before he shot his load.
After a few moments, he continued pumping his cock and said, “When bad girls get my knives dirty with blood, they don’t get a say in how I choose to clean them. I’d slide that handle into your tight cunt and force your orgasm.”
“Please let me touch myself,” she begged. “Please.”
“You can fuck yourself,” he allowed, “but only with one finger, and don’t touch your clit.” Frankie groaned, but seconds later her fast sighs and sweet, staccato moans echoed through the line. “Is your finger deep inside your cunt?”
“Yes, but it’s not enough.” Her words were stretched thin by longing and Anteros laughed low as he imagined her fucking herself, trying to get release with just the one finger. “I want you, Anteros,” she groaned. “I feel so empty.”
His humor vanished, replaced by carnal hunger as he imagined Frankie spread out for him on the four-poster bed. Her fingers would open her glistening pussy, show how ready she was to be fucked by him. The image was enough to have him clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached.