Wargasm (Payne Brothers Romance Book 3)

by Sosie Frost

  “I knew it.” She accepted the applause of the audience. “Nate, you owe me a hundred dollars.”

  Nate groaned. “I really thought she’d be a honey-girl.”

  I panted. They bet on my taste?

  I covered my face, trying to roll away. Anthony’s gaze paralyzed me.

  He wasn’t done showing me off. Simone coo’ed as he spread me wide, flicking my aching clit with his finger.

  “So dark…” Simone’s voice laced with a gloating praise. “But look at the little hint of pink inside. Just begging for more, Anthony.”

  “She’s so tiny,” he breathed.

  “A little virgin like her? She’ll break before you can stuff just half of your cock into her.”

  “Not if I’m gentle.”

  Simone shook her head, her smile wicked. “Oh, poor thing. Her first time, and she’ll be mounted by a beast. That tiny pussy will be absolutely ravished by such a thick cock. It’s almost too unbearable to watch.” Her eyebrow arched. “Almost. But…then again, I’m a sadist.”

  I tensed, but Anthony shushed Simone. Too little, too late.

  The idea already filled his mind, strengthened his muscles, coursed through his veins. An animalistic desire carved into his features. He studied the frantic rise and fall of my chest. My head still swirled, body limp from the orgasm.

  He didn’t care.

  This was how he wanted me.

  Spent. Helpless.

  Begging for more.

  He kissed me. I tasted myself on his lips. Groaned.

  All of this aroused him. The audience. My nudity. My responsiveness.

  He stared at me, a raging aggression threading his movements.

  “Do you trust me, pet?”

  I nodded. Tried to form the words. Failed.

  “It’s time, Morgan.”

  “T—time?”

  My words wavered. The audience liked that. A chorus of awws patronized me into silence.

  “Do you know what happens now?” he asked. “What will happen once I take you?”

  I had my guesses, but I assumed they’d all be wrong, lost to a desire I didn’t yet understand.

  His voice drew into a hungering, possessive growl that challenged the last thread of my resolve.

  “I’m going to take you, pet. Fully. My cock will fill every part of you. No matter how tiny. No matter how innocent. By the end of tonight, I’ll have come inside your pussy, and you will forever belong to me.”

  He undid the buttons of his vest, flicking them open. It fell away, as did the dress shirt underneath.

  Then he reached for his belt.

  I understood, but I didn’t. I didn’t believe it. Hadn’t expected it.

  Hadn’t hoped I’d be so goddamned lucky.

  Anthony was going to fuck me. He’d take me here, while the entire world watched me surrender my virginity to a man I’d call my master.

  The vision of a warm bed and tangled sheets evaporated from my mind, crushed into dust, and blew away with my gasp. He tossed the belt. Simone caught it, taking the opportunity to grip my hands, stretch my arms over my head, and bind my wrists within the leather.

  I shivered, but the thread of fear dissolved in my lust. I hadn’t been bound before.

  How else would he have taken me?

  The room went silent.

  I stared only at Anthony.

  “I need to hear it, pet,” he whispered.

  So did I, or I’d never believe I’d done something so terrible. So illicit.

  So amazing.

  What was it I’d ask for? I laid back, bound under a woman’s hands, my legs parted for a man I’d only just begun to understand. For as dark as the thoughts were shadowing my mind, my body came to life.

  The wetness coated between my legs, not just my slit. My desire spread to my thighs, my bottom. It probably puddled on the table. Anthony stood too far from me, allowing a brush of cool air to tickle over my body. I flinched, scorched hot and chilled. My insides clenched and released, desperately seeking that unknowable hardness to grip.

  “Please, sir.”

  “Please, what?”

  “Please…take me.”

  “Tell me what you want, Morgan.”

  “Be my first time…” It was too innocent for Duchess, but I meant every word. “Please…I want you to be my first. Show me. Teach me. Just…” I arched. “Just take me.”

  “Of course, pet…”

  He worked quickly, releasing his hardened, massive cock from his pants. He kicked the slacks away, and the sheer size of him silenced the few giggling subs.

  He stood naked, without a care, absolutely gorgeous in his power and control. But what did he have to fear?

  I was the virgin sacrifice, bound to an altar in praise of him.

  His belt tightened over my hands, held firm by Simone. He moved between my legs. I tensed.

  “Easy, pet.” Anthony gently caressed my heated slit, rubbing the head of his cock against my folds. “Take all the time you need. They aren’t going anywhere.”

  Neither was I, paralyzed as I waited for the moment everything in my life would change.

  Every stroke of his cock dizzied me. He pressed hard against my clit, forcing a gasp. My body trembled, so wet every quiver nearly drove him within me before I was ready.

  I’d never be ready. My stomach twisted, and the pressure built in both my body and soul.

  “Please…” My mouth dried. “Now.”

  Before I change my mind.

  Before I exploded on the spot.

  Before I begged any louder for all to hear.

  The room silenced until only my breathy mews echoed from the walls. Every stare focused on me. Waiting. Wondering.

  Anthony pushed against me, his cock intimidatingly large. I held my breath. My body quivered, tensed, refusing him entry.

  “Pet…” The warmth in his voice amazed me. “Submit to me. This is what you were meant to do. Give yourself to me.”

  And I did.

  His cock edged in as far as my body permitted, a mere inch. The strain stole my breath. That was good. I might have cried out if I had the air.

  “Look at me.” His order was easy to follow. I lost myself in his gaze, shaking against the sheer size of him. “I promise—this is how you submit.”

  He thrusted.

  A brief, blinding pinch that tore through me. Anthony buried himself in me only a few inches, but it was done.

  He’d taken it.

  Broken through.

  My moan betrayed me, revealing the exact moment Anthony claimed me as his.

  The crowd cheered, excited whistles and applause quickly shushed by a stern Simone.

  I didn’t hear them.

  I couldn’t see them.

  I couldn’t think of anything.

  Except him.

  The breath fled from my lungs in a silent sigh. I stretched for him to the breaking point, and still he demanded more from me.

  His hands cupped my waist, holding me still as I twitched and arched.

  One inch. Then another. I whined. He opened me wider, stepped closer.

  I couldn’t fight it. He watched me, petting my clit with a gentle swirl of his finger.

  My body surrendered. He forced forward.

  And he filled me completely.

  My body came alive. His cock pulsed, harder and bigger than anything I had a right to expect.

  I stretched over him, clenched as he rolled my clit between his thumb and forefinger. And still he waited. I arched and breathed and gripped at the belt binding my hands for a way to escape the overwhelming conquest. My gasps turned ragged, rushed breaths struggling to speak his name. I twisted my hips. The movement only drove him deeper.

  “How does my cock feel, pet?” His victorious whisper struck me harder than his cock. “Is it stretching you? Forcing you open?”

  Yes, I couldn’t wait to feel more. The pain had faded, but I had no idea if I could handle his size. I groaned.

  The room wat
ched me struggle to take my first cock.

  And they loved my every helpless whimper and frightened twisting.

  They watched me, flat on my back, Anthony sliding inside me. I mewed. They knew why. I shifted, searching for relief. They chuckled, loving my body’s resistance to a man stronger and more powerful than me.

  And I couldn’t hide how good it felt.

  I’d tumbled over my own limits, and I had nothing left to offer or hide.

  I was his now. Not a woman, but a pet. A slave getting fucked. A hot, wet pussy offered to fulfill the needs of her master.

  I moaned. Anthony rubbed my clit a little harder. I flinched, wetting even more, clenching over the hardness impaling me. He controlled me too easily—so thoroughly I bucked and begged and fought against the restraints just to offer more of myself to him.

  Anthony hadn’t begun to move yet. He simply filled me, stuffed me with his cock and forced me to endure the pressure of his invasion while he played with my body.

  And it worked.

  My embarrassment faded. The audience dissolved into the rush of blood in my ears.

  I ground my hips. Anthony slapped my stomach, pressing hard. Pushing on him from the outside.

  “No, pet,” he warned. “Lay still and take this cock. Don’t misbehave.”

  Misbehave?

  Oh God.

  Another test. Another series of rituals and rules.

  Anthony pulled his cock from me with an agonizing slowness, making sure I felt every last inch of him drag from my tightness.

  “Good girl…”

  He pushed inside. I yelped.

  He repeated the motion. Faster.

  Out so slowly I thought I’d lose my mind with anticipation. Then crashed back into my secret, deep and unrelenting.

  My body adjusted to his demands. Pull out almost completely. Cry with emptiness. Push in fully. Moan and shift under him.

  Again and again.

  He seized a rhythm that drove my body into a haze of confusion, but it wasn’t meant for pleasure. He had a purpose.

  Anthony ensured I felt his every thrust.

  That I understood why he forced himself into my virgin slit in a solid rhythm of dominance.

  He pinned me to the table and earned a whimpered cry with each push inside.

  This was fucking.

  Not love-making. Not fooling around.

  He fucked me because I was his pet, and my body, mind, and pleasure belonged solely to him. He owned my body and every mewing, humiliating reaction that came with it.

  Simone soothed me this time, though her gaze met Anthony’s, enjoying their conquest. “That’s it, Morgan. Spread your legs a little wider. Let everyone see how much of his cock you can take in that virgin cunt.”

  The word shocked me.

  The heat suffocated me.

  And just imagining how it looked to them nearly sent me over the edge.

  Anthony loomed over me, his hips bucking into my dripping slit. I offered my body, and he seized my wetness.

  In and out.

  Filling me.

  Claiming me.

  The pleasure blinded me. His movements were degrading and horrible and natural and perfect. He was no lover. He was master of my body. He was the one who understood my needs. Who fucked me. Owned me. Mounted me with such a possessive jealousy I cried out, promising I belonged to him and him only.

  My body shuddered and rolled. My voice dissolved into shrill cries with each thrust. I didn’t care who could hear. His stride broke. No longer fucking to prove his dominance. That lesson was learned, absolutely incontestable and thoroughly understood.

  Now he took me because I belonged to him.

  And the need darkened his features.

  I opened my hips, offering more to him. I wanted to feel it. His cock. His hardness. His excitement.

  Such a confusing empowerment. I was at his mercy, but I brought him to the point where his fingers dug into my waist. He controlled me, but my tightness nearly broke him.

  He hauled my body down, impaling me with every thrust. My cries became an endless moan, each sound punctuated by his rough actions.

  I came, without warning, without thinking.

  Just came.

  I sweated, trembled, and turned to stone. The pleasure pulsed wild and shook me to my core. I had no choice. No warning. My body had acted without my mind because it didn’t understand what this was, how intense it’d be, how thoroughly he’d control me.

  I had no time to recover or breathe. Anthony fucked me. Used me. Stretched me upon his thickness for his own pleasure, and I was helpless to refuse. He pounded against the table, our bodies grinding together.

  The moment lasted forever—me acting as his willing and desperate pet, taking all he could offer just to please him.

  While they watched.

  While I came.

  While Anthony grunted in pleasure.

  He gripped my hips hard. I knew what would happen next. I braced myself as his movements turned feral. He took what he needed. His cock hardened. My insides tightened.

  “I’m going to claim you…” He spoke not to me but to any of the men in all of Duchess who would dare to challenge his possession of me. “I’ll come inside you, pet. Coat you with my seed. Mark you as mine.”

  “Please…” My words blended with a moan. “Sir, please.”

  “You belong to me, pet.” Three punishing stabs and he roared, pushing inside me as far as my abused body allowed. “You are mine.”

  His cum filled me to the brim.

  Primitive. Deliberate. So carnal I’d have panicked if it hadn’t felt so right.

  Heat rushed within me, triggering yet another orgasm that tore through my bruised and broken body. He stayed deep within me, pinning me against him, drowning me in his searing seed. I arched, bumbling, rising, panting. Head to toe, inside out, I shuddered and cried.

  I didn’t come with him.

  I came because of him.

  Because of his scent and the hardness of his cock stretching me open.

  I came because of the slickness he left behind.

  My orgasm hadn’t subsided. I shook in his arms as he pulled out. The shivers followed.

  So did the mess.

  His cum soaked me.

  He moved away so everyone could see.

  Like a work of art. Like a freshly fucked slut.

  His seed coated my pussy, and everyone complimented how beautiful his seed looked trickling from my once-virgin slit.

  Anthony’s lips found mine. He nibbled, though his breathless kiss broke into a smile. He ran a hand through his loose hair, his chest and arms straining in sweaty muscle.

  “You did very well, pet.” His voice rumbled in my stomach. “Very well.”

  I did well?

  The world crashed back around me. The music returned first—the pulsing dance beat. Then the shifting of bodies and creaking of chairs. Giggling. Conversations.

  I did well?

  Oh God.

  What the hell did I just do?

  14

  The world hadn’t imploded.

  But my heart couldn’t stop racing.

  They’d wrapped me in a soft, fluffy robe—the kind found in luxury hotels with gold tubs and those holographic TVs built into the mirrors.

  Except the robe wasn’t white. It was light pink. I looked like a freshly fucked Easter egg, and everything under the robe scrambled.

  Duchess had supplied everything brazen submissives could want. The best liquors. Imported furniture. They even built a separate dressing room for those naïve enough to participate in the games.

  The mirror spanned most of the wall, framed by a large vanity covered with a variety of lotions, perfumes, and makeups. Warm lighting and muted colors gave it a cozy, parlor feel, and a thick rug tickled the bottom of my feet. The red velvet seat was styled like one of the old-fashioned fainting couches. Was it a statement against the fragility of the historical woman…

  Or a legitimate
purchase for the antics of the club?

  I stared into the mirror. The girl peering back looked like me. Mocha skin. Wide eyes. Generally overwhelmed by life.

  Despite surrendering my virginity in a room full of people, the girl in the mirror hadn’t sprouted devil horns.

  Worse.

  I hadn’t changed. I was nothing new. Nothing changed in the time before or after Anthony’s claiming.

  The anxiety remained. The shame of my past.

  I was still me, just buried in a fuzzy robe and tucked cross-legged in a chair that probably held more prone women this year than in all the decades it’d served as a fainting couch.

  But the thoughts racing in my mind were a disjointed, hysterical mess of panic and guilt that screamed unintelligibly about my failures and life decisions. More than the usual burdens I carried.

  This time something darker lurked. I had no idea what had happened to me.

  And in some sick, twisted way, I liked it.

  It was the greatest experience of my life. Anthony was everything I’d imagined him to be.

  Skilled. Attentive. Ridiculously endowed.

  His presence not only commanded my body, he controlled everyone in the room.

  He was the master, I was the slave, and he dominated those who watched as much as the girl he fucked. The invisible devil-horned part of me shivered, but the properly horrified virgin ignored the pulse between her legs.

  Anthony wasn’t a prince charming. He was every dark and twisted fantasy unspoken in polite society. He derived his pleasure by exposing the darkness in others.

  And he took a great delight in corrupting me.

  How long had I hid in the dressing room?

  Long enough to recover from my stunned pleasure and take the few mortifying moments to clean myself up. I’d expected more blood, fearing a Carrie-like-prom-scene in the middle of Duchess. This wasn’t so bad. Even the slight ache was manageable.

  I wrapped myself deeper in the robe, the material large enough to cover me twice. The silence helped, but wasn’t I supposed to purr after sex? Relax my limp, well-fucked muscles?

  Duchess didn’t give me a place to recover. No bed to cuddle in, no private place to giggle and kiss and sink into his arms. The dressing room was submissives only, and I hid inside.

  The music blasted from the other room. The main event was over. Duchess returned to its normal, Saturday night party.