by Lizzy Bequin
“Oh, but I do,” he growls. “Prisoners commit suicide all the time, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll try to do it by neglecting your needs. I have to make sure. I need visual confirmation.”
My skin is now scalding hot with shame and embarrassment. To be manipulated by this man, to be brought to a thundering climax by his strong, skillful fingers was one thing. But to play with myself while he looks on just seems too shameful to bear.
I’ve always felt ashamed about masturbating. Even though I know it’s perfectly natural, I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I’m doing something naughty. I think it started when I was a little girl, maybe twelve years old, and I discovered, quite by accident, that rubbing myself against certain angles of the furniture in our home felt good. Really good.
In fact, it quickly became almost like an illicit obsession. But when Dad caught me, he was terribly upset. Come to think of it, that must have been around the time that I started taking my medication.
“I’ve got all evening,” Conway says as I hesitate.
“Shut the door,” I say with a nod in the direction of the open door.
“There’s no one else here.”
Just as I suspected. The other man, Kruger, has gone somewhere else. He’s noisy, and I figured I would have heard him if he was still around.
“What if your friend comes back?” I ask. “I don’t want him to see me, you know…”
I glance down at my crotch so that I don’t have to finish the sentence.
A faint grin touches his lips. There’s that fucking dimple again. I hate that damn thing. Without getting up from his chair, Conway stretches out his long leg and toes the door shut.
“I don’t want you to see me either,” I say, just to make things clear. “But if someone has to watch, I’d rather it be just one person instead of two.”
His eyes are not roving over my newly voluptuous body. His eyes are latched tightly to my own. He’s staring straight through me.
“That’s not true, and you know it,” he growls.
The deep, dark timbre of his gravelly voice rumbles through my body like a little earthquake, and it shakes loose the realization that I’ve been unwilling to admit. That hot flush searing my cheeks and the tips of my ears—it’s not embarrassment. It’s excitement.
He’s right. I want him to watch me be naughty. I want a man to see the real me, raw and unhidden. And I don’t just want any man to watch. I want it to be this strange, terrifying man who growls and smells like a wild predator.
But still, I’m nervous.
Slowly, apprehensively, I spread my kneeling thighs, keeping my body angled so that Conway is looking at me from the side, so he can’t see between my legs. With my panties gone, I am totally exposed. Totally vulnerable.
Keeping one arm clutching my enlarged breasts, desperately trying to hide my erect, poking nipples, I slide my other hand between my legs to touch my moist, tender sex. I have to hike my short skirt up to get access, and Conway licks his lips as he gazes at the plump curve of my exposed rump.
I can feel his eyes on my body like a physical touch. A fresh pulse of desire surges between my legs, and I gasp as I touch myself, not realizing until now, just how sensitive I am down there.
It’s as if my senses are heightened. The faint buzz of the overhead light becomes a loud drone. Every detail of the ragged, brick walls stands out in high-definition. And from across the room I can see Conway’s pupils dilate as he watches me intently.
“Show it to me,” he commands.
I shake my head as I stifle another gasp, struggling to keep the sound jammed deep down my throat. I can’t let him see any sign that I’m enjoying myself. But my body is so raw and sensitive I can barely stand it. Each stroke of my fingertips over my wet slit sends waves of pleasure vibrating through my body.
Forgetting myself, I inhale a deep breath, and Conway’s scent fills my senses. I can taste him in the back of my throat. My skin erupts in goosebumps that are impossible to conceal.
“Show it to me,” he says again, his voice frayed and raspy.
Slowly, I cock the leg that his closest to him farther open, spreading my legs wider. My short skirt scooches further up my hips until it’s basically just a band around my waist, leaving my entire lower body exposed.
“More.”
Conway chokes on the word, barely able to get the single short syllable out of his tightening throat. His weight is shifted forward. His muscles are tense. Popped veins line his forearms, and another ticks lightly at his temple. A sheen of sweat covers his brow and neck.
“More…”
I blame my body for the way it obeys him rather than me. My legs spread so wide that the tendons of my inner thighs ache with the stretching. My hips turn until everything between my legs is exposed to him. He can see every inch of me. Nothing is hidden. And he can see the way I’m touching myself, my fingers sliding between my wet petals of flesh.
“Like this?” I ask.
In my mind, I form the question with a bitter, sarcastic intent. But somewhere on their trip out of my mouth, the words warm and soften, rolling off my lips with a sultry tone that surprises even me.
“Good,” Conway groans as if in a trance.
But he doesn’t have to say a word. I know full well he likes what he sees by the long, thick bulge that strains against the crotch of his pants. His cock is getting harder by the moment. The same enormous cock that I felt pressed against my backside when he pleasured me before.
The sight of it makes my pussy thump with a pulse of need. My clit stiffens in a tiny imitation of his gigantic member.
I move both hands between my legs now, one drawing back my little cowl of flesh, and the other petting and swirling the aching pink pearl that is now exposed. Without an arm to cover them, the outline of my equally stiff nipples are on full display through the fabric of my top.
This is so wrong. I’m this man’s prisoner. His captive. This shouldn’t feel good to bare myself to him this way.
As if he senses my internal struggle, he forces me to admit it.
“Does that feel good?”
I bite my lip, stifling the needy sounds welling in my chest. I can’t let him know. I can’t let this bad man know that I’m enjoying this perverse little game of his.
But there’s no hiding the wetness that flows out of me, dripping down my crack and soaking into the mattress beneath my butt.
“Does that feel good, touching yourself there?”
His own legs are spread wide too, giving me a clear view of his erection pushing hard against the front of his pants. The hard cylinder of his shaft is clearly outlined through the cloth, as well as the blunt, round bulb of his head. His hand moves between his legs, stroking his length through his clothing.
My mouth waters, and my sex clenches with need.
“Do you like it when I watch you play with yourself?”
“Mm-hm,” I whine, unable to keep it inside any longer.
I can’t help myself. My skin cries out for his touch. My body yearns to be enveloped in his scent as he gathers me in his powerful arms.
“Take it out,” I whisper, gazing at his tented pants. “I want to see it.”
I’ve never seen a man’s penis before. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of course. Dirty movies on the internet. But I’ve never seen one in real life, let alone a hard erection. Even though it’s too pervy and dirty, I need to see Conway now. I need him to expose himself to me the way that I’m exposed to him.
Without a word, he stands and works his arms out of his leather shoulder holster, which he hangs on the back of his chair. For the briefest instant, my eyes flick to his gun. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I consider the possibly of lunging for the gun, but I know there’s no way Conway would let me get my hands on it. I’ve seen him in action, and he’s way too quick.
My eyes shift back to his crotch as he unbuckles his belt. I moan as my clit tingles and throbs under my fingers.
“Take it out.” My voice is way too
demanding considering my situation.
He unfastens the clasp of his slacks and lowers his zipper before shoving both his pants and his boxers down his thick, muscular thighs.
I gasp on an inhale as his erection swings free, flicking a drop of precum from his slit.
Seeing it naked, it looks even bigger. The long, thick shaft has a gentle upward curve, and it is ribbed with softly bulging veins. His plump head is pink and glistening smooth, slick with a thin film of moisture.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp again, my hips bucking at the sight of him.
I try to look away, but I can’t. I try to tell myself I don’t want to touch his hard cock—to feel it planted deep in my core—but my body disagrees. My pussy squeezes, and more of my warm lubrication leaks from within.
“You look so sexy, spread out like that,” Conway growls
He steps forward, gripping his shaft and stroking it. I realize that I’m smiling, unable to suppress my enjoyment of the way the skin of his shaft shifts over the hard inner core as he jerks himself in front of me.
As he kneels on the end of the mattress, more precum wells at his tip, dripping between my spread knees.
“I want you to come with me,” I breathe, unable to believe the words that are coming out of my mouth.
He walks on his knees until the fronts of his thighs are pressed against my spread legs. His cock drools more precum which falls onto my fingers that are strumming my clit toward a climax.
“Careful, little one,” Conway rumbles.
I don’t know if it’s a warning or a threat, but the thunder in his voice shivers my body.
“Arms up,” he commands.
As much as I don’t want to, I take my hands away from my pulsating sex and raise them over my head. Conway’s free hand clutches my top and pulls it over my head. I shake my tousled hair from my face as my heavy breasts bounce free of the constraining fabric.
“Conway!” I stammer as he now tangles his fingers through my loose hair and clenches a tight fistful, prickling my scalp with tension.
He wrenches my head back as his other hand wildly tugs his massive erection over me. My hands return to my crotch. I rub furiously at my tender nubbin while simultaneously slipping a finger inside my wet, hot opening. It feels so fucking good, even though my smaller fingers can’t go as deep as Conway’s went before.
“Are you going to come for me, little mate?” he snarls.
His voice is totally animalistic now. The air is thick with his scent.
“You first,” I gasp, straining to hold back my climax
His lips curl back, revealing those sharp white canines. The fangs that bit into my flesh last time. One thing’s for sure, I know he’s not afraid to use them on me.
“You’re playing a dangerous game with me,” he grunts, his hips twitching as he stops jerking himself and instead starts fucking his cock into his fist with hard thrusts.
I should be terrified of him. He could tear me to pieces if he wanted. I’m naked. I’m captured. My hair is caught in his powerful fist.
I’m totally at his mercy.
So why do I feel like I have power of him now? Why do I feel like he needs me every bit as much as I need him? Why is his desire for me driving him to break his own rules?
Conway grunts. His cock pulses in his fist, and a thick stream fluid of stripes my bare breast, followed instantly by another and another. His semen is hot, and it seems to sear my naked flesh. I cry out as he continues to come, coating me with his sticky desire.
It should feel degrading to have this man unloading his cum on me like this, but it’s not. And what he says next makes everything clear.
“Mine,” he growls.
He’s marking me with his seed. Marking me as his territory.
Unable to hold back any longer, my own release surges through me a moment later. Wave after wave of orgasmic bliss washes through my body as my limbs rhythmically tense and contract. As I lose control of my muscles, the only thing that keeps me from collapsing in a shivering heap on the mattress is Conway’s strong hand, which is still clutched tightly behind my head.
“Yes,” I exhale, “Oh fuck yes…”
Before I can say any more, he has claimed my gasping mouth in a savage kiss. His lips crush against mine so hard it stings. The hot searing pain is delicious. I throw my arms around his neck and pull my face against his even harder. I want to meld into him.
At last we break our kiss, and Conway lets me fall back bouncing on the mattress gasping and gulping for air like a drowning woman pulled from the sea.
I squirm on my back and gaze up at Conway kneeling over me, his eyes dilated to near solid blackness, only a wire-thin circle of steel-gray iris rimming the pupil.
“Mine,” he groans again.
Nibbling my knuckle, I study every feature of his wild and handsome face. As fucked up as it sounds, in this moment I feel an undeniable bond with him. His scent soaks into my pores, and I swear that it is a smell that was crafted just for me and me alone.
“Conway,” I whisper again.
His jaw drops and his eyes flare with amazement as he watches my hand trail down my tummy. He can’t believe what it’s doing, and honestly neither can I. It’s like my little hand has taken on a life of its own.
Looking down the length of my stained nakedness, I watch as my fingers swipe some of the warm, sticky fluid down into my tuft of closely cropped curls, then lower, glazing Conway’s cream along my dripping wet slit.
My fingers, coated with his cum, work their way into my entrance, pushing his seed inside me.
“Oh fuck,” he groans as drops of sweat tremble from his nose and chin. “That’s so hot.”
I know it’s crazy. I know it’s dangerous as hell. But I need to have his seed inside me.
And it seems that Conway needs it too. His broad, sweat-slick shoulders heave as he catches his breath. His hand smears his cum over my body, wiping it down toward the juncture of my spread legs where his fingers push more of it inside me.
Then he tenderly cups his hand over my slit.
He lowers himself down onto me, not seeming to care that he is staining his undershirt with the glaze of cum still on my skin. He brushes his lips against mine. His hot breath ghosts inside my mouth.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, little one.”
As he enfolds me in his arms, I cast one last glance at that pistol where he left it hanging in its holster on the back of the chair. I’m sort of amazed at the way that he seems to have totally let his guard down around me—the way that he instinctively seems to trust me to behave.
Then again there’s no way I could get my hands on the pistol anyway—not with Conway holding me tightly. Besides, as messed up as it sounds, I don’t want to get away from him. I want to stay right here with him, enveloped by his protective arms.
I let myself relax into his warm embrace, and before long I fall asleep listening to the steady drumbeat of his heart.
CHAPTER 12: CONWAY
“Amrita, wake up,” I say as I give her shoulder a light jostle.
She smiles faintly as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. Then her face drops as she remembers where she is. Watching that quick transformation damn near breaks my heart.
I immediately tamp that feeling down. My protective impulses toward this girl are useful up to a point. Although I still don’t know what this mission is all about, I do know that I need to make sure she gets through it alive and unharmed.
But whatever I do, I can’t let this get personal.
As Amrita crosses her arms to cover her bare breasts, still stained with my seed, which is now dried to her skin, I fear that it’s already too late for that.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” I tell her, as I rise to my knees beside her.
“I’m not,” she mutters, the blush on her soft cheek betraying the lie. “It’s just…”
When it’s clear that she isn’t going to finish the thought, I stand up and help her to her feet.
I already put my pants back on while she was still sleeping. I also slipped the 10 mm Glock out of the shoulder holster draped over the back of the metal chair and tucked the bulky pistol in the back of my trousers.
Amrita, however, is still basically naked, except for the skirt bunched up around her waist. She pulls it down, and the fabric stretches, barely able to cover her backside, which has grown noticeably over the past day.
There’s much more to her condition than that cryptic piece of paper let on. So much more.
“How long were we asleep?” she asks.
“About two hours,” I answer.
I don’t bother to tell her that she was the only one sleeping. I remained alert the whole time, half expecting Kruger to return. He never did.
“It’s evening,” I tell her guiding her toward the door. “You really do need to eat now. I’ll heat up another meal for you, okay? But first I want you to get yourself cleaned up.”
She nods silently, her hair hanging like a curtain in front of her face to hide her shame.
I resist the urge to tell her once again that she has no reason to be ashamed of what we did. I don’t think less of her. In fact, the sight of her beautiful, voluptuous flesh marked with my seed excites me in ways I can barely understand. All I know is that it takes every ounce of will power to keep from throwing her down on the mattress and having my way with her here and now.
“Follow me.”
As I guide her across the large main room of the loft, she looks around, taking in the surroundings. It’s dark outside, and a soft rain is pattering against the large window at one end of the room. When Amrita turns in that direction, she clasps her free arm more tightly over her bare breasts, feeling self conscious about her nakedness.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “No one can see you.”
I left the lights off just for this purpose. But there’s no one out there anyway. The only thing outside is an empty rooftop over a row of boarded-up windows on the abandoned warehouse across the street.
I can sense the gears turning in Amrita’s mind. Now she at least knows we’re in a city. Maybe she’s even guessed that it’s the New York area. And what else? Is she contemplating possible escape routes?