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 seemed to desire him.
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, and Josh knew Liv wouldn’t kill him with vacuum-shrunk latex. But every time she sealed it over his face and powered on the motor, he feared it would be the time she miscalculated.
He labored to catch his breath. How did she measure how long he could go without air? What if she waited a heartbeat too long? And what was the purpose of this cruelty? He was supposed to hold off his body’s reactions? Wait for permission to come? If she jerked him off enough, maybe he’d run out of juice.
Fatigued lolled his muscles. Sweat drenched his skin, and the stickiness of five ejaculations dribbled into the creases of his balls, itching the crack of his backside. No way did he have the mental or physical capacity to come again.
He’d thought the same thing three orgasms ago. “Mistress, no more.”
She leaned over him, her hand working his sore, yet frustratingly swelling penis. “Your cock says otherwise.”
A growl erupted in his stomach. He licked parched lips, unsure if she registered his hunger. If she had any reaction at all, it was locked behind the damned mask. Maybe some mysteries, like if her goal was to starve him or masturbate him to death, were better left in the dark.
She stroked and stroked and stroked. He was past cringing from the effect of her touch. The familiar surge of climax tightened his gut. Unable to stop it, his release surged through his body and burst beneath the latex.
The momentary bliss lessened each time with the ache of overuse, but it was still there, owning him. Though, if he was actually ejaculating semen, he couldn’t sense it amidst the existing puddle.
When the haze of orgasm faded, he filled his lungs with air and braced for his claustrophobic punishment.
Her legs bent in a squat above him, the crotch of her panties damp and taunting. “You smell like sweaty balls and spooge, virgin boy.” She rose and lifted a bare foot backward to her hip, balancing without falter, stretching her muscles. She lowered her foot and repeated with the other leg. “I’m going to release you to use the toilet, scrub the piss from it, and take a shower.”
His body melted into the floor, and his lungs collapsed in relief.
“Then you’ll wash me.”
Maybe she wanted to shock him, but putting his hands on her might be the most pleasant thing he would experience in this room. No matter how much she disgusted him, her body aroused him. It was infuriating. “Yes, Mistress.”
She crouched beside him and rested fingertips on his hardening length, watching him through the eyeholes, allowing him to make eye contact with her.
Her inhuman stillness paired with her apparent disregard for time was hell on his blood pressure. As she squatted there, making him wait, the rest of the world went about their oblivious lives. Except his folks, but he refused to ask about them, fearing the answer.
Finally, she loosened the cinches around his neck and lowered the zipper down the side. “I’ll feed you when your tasks are complete…if you follow the eight requirements you’ve been given.”
No doubt she had an infinite supply of punishments planned if he lapsed on her perverted rules.
As she worked the zipper on the bag, he walked through the list. No sex with women. Service the Master sexually or some crap. Eyes down. No clothes. Did a latex toga count? No touching her or himself sexually. Use the title. Kneel. No orgasms. Never thought he’d welcomed that last one so eagerly.
When the zipper finished its rotation around the bag, she unfolded the cover and stepped back.
Careful not to meet her eyes, he lifted to shaky knees, debating the wisdom of knocking her off her feet. If he strangled her to death, he probably wouldn’t live to see his next meal.
He rubbed his cracked lips. Were there cameras hidden in the ceilings? Was Van watching from another room, waiting for an excuse to kill his parents? And leading his parade of insecurities was a humiliating thought. Was the fluid crusting his pubis an indication he didn’t have a chance at adhering to her damned rules?
His body was conditioned to take a beating on the field, his mind strengthened to suppress desires that didn’t align with his spirituality. He could endure her punishments as long as he made progress in unraveling the knots that bound her soul.
He held out his cuffed wrists, hoping his submission would garner her trust.
“I see through you, boy. Passivity doesn’t take root until the first weeks or months, and stems from boredom and lack of contact with the outside world.” The mask cocked. “Six orgasms in two hours does not convince me that you’re bored and lonely already.”
Ugh, she was frustrating. Deep breath. Acquiring her friendship would be a harrowing endeavor, but the first step was easy. He wouldn’t lie to her. “Mistress, talk to me. I don’t want t
o screw this up. If something happens to my folks… Just help me, and I’ll help you.”
The dainty bones in her collar and shoulders sharpened against her skin. He didn’t dare raise his eyes above her neck. Then the mask spoke. “Follow the requirements, and you’ll help us both. No more talking.”
Irritation skittered over his spine, but he remained on his knees with arms raised. Helping people was the one aspect of his career he’d looked forward to. Maybe God put him in this situation to test him with the ultimate challenge, to save the darkest of souls. “Mistress, I’d rather you restrain my arms than my voice.”
She stepped before him and gripped the cuffs she’d never removed. He expected her to whip some hidden chain from her bra and slap it on his arms. Instead, she molded his hands around the tiny circumference of her waist and squeezed in silent command. Don’t let go? Was this a softening in her armor? Please?
The velvet of her skin heated his palms. The wet crotch of her panties, in the direct line of his lowered eyes, filled his nose with a spicy aroma. Perhaps God was testing him with man’s greatest temptation. His confidence in being able to pass that trial fizzled as blood rushed below his waist.
“Requirement number nine. Slave will not speak unless spoken to.” Her nails scratched down his forearms. “Your hands will be free to perform your tasks.”
He guessed she expected him to try to overpower her and was probably prepared to subdue him like last time. He wasn’t going to give her the pleasure.
“I’m the only person who knows the code for this room. Stand and follow me.” She pushed his hands off her hips and walked to the toilet, though the way she moved couldn’t be described as walking. It was more like the uninterrupted flow of a stream, gliding forward with confident disregard.
He trailed her wake, dodging the floor hooks with much less grace. Though, he strode a little lighter with the knowledge that Van couldn’t bust in without her permission. How odd that he didn’t have access. Was it because she was in charge? Something didn’t seem right about that and the answer felt vital to understanding her. What was her relationship with that guy?