Invitation to Ruin by Ann Vremont

behind
me.
    Another moment of doubt flitted through my
mind at his churlish tone. Never had a man talked to me like this.
I have had lords at my feet, begging for just the taste of my pussy
and nothing more! How could I, who had spent a lifetime ordering
others around, be aroused by his rough and childish commands?
    “Higher, Veronique!”
    I thrust my ass higher, my knees almost
unbent, the added height forcing my mouth further onto his shaft
until my lips were pushed against its base and the head was in my
throat. I could feel the muscles in his rod begin to twitch, knew
he was ready to come and tried to hold onto him, but he pushed me
back at the last second, his seed spurting and hitting my face.
    Pushing me onto my back and standing above
me, he continued to spurt more cream into my mouth and onto my
breasts. When he was done, he forced my legs apart and slid down
until his head was cradled between my thighs.
    “Lick it up, Veronique,” he ordered, offering
stroke for stroke on my clit in exchange for what I was willing to
lick off my body.
    I swirled my tongue along the edges of my
mouth and then smoothed his cream onto my hands, licking those and
searching my breasts for more, licking when there was nothing left
to lick so that his tongue would not stop its delightful torture of
my clit and labia. But I was done too soon and his mouth abandoned
me before release claimed me!
    “I need…” I writhed on the cushions, unable
to form the words, my tongue thick with cum, my mind only
occasionally present.
    “What?” he asked. I cannot even describe the
manner in which he asked it! Bored, insouciant, quietly
sarcastic?
    “What do you need, Veronique?” he pressed,
his finger flicking my labia to spur me on.
    I bucked once at his touch. “Cum…” I moaned.
“My cum.”
    “Do you not know how to make yourself
come?”
    Arrogance! But it only made me hotter, more
desperate. I wanted his cock and he would only give it to me, I
knew, after I had utterly humiliated myself before him. Still, I
tested his resolve, my body pumping the air as my arms searched the
pillows for some purchase.
    “Please, Christophe, fuck me,” I begged. “See
how wet I am for you…have pity.”
    “Show me,” he demanded. “Show me how you make
yourself come when you are alone in that little cell at the
convent.” When I made no move to comply, he grabbed my hand and
forced it between my legs, guiding me in touching my clit, in using
my fingers to explore the slick entrance to my pussy.
    I did not notice when he pulled his hand
away, I was stroking myself too hard to notice. “Mmm, yes.” I
jerked along the makeshift mattress. Legs bent at the knees, I
spread my feet far apart and thrust my cunt into the air as I
fingered my clit. Over and over again, I would collapse and thrust,
collapse and thrust until I screamed out my climax.
    Christophe dragged me onto my feet, my body
still shaking with self-pleasure. He pushed me in front of one of
the mirrors. Standing behind me, he pullied my lower lips apart. He
dipped two fingers into my pocket and then smeared my cream across
my face as he dragged me to the next mirror. “Smell it,
Veronique!”
    I inhaled, another small climax claiming my
body.
    At the third mirror, he forced my head back
by yanking on a handful of my hair. He slapped my proud, firm
tits.
    At the fourth, he forced me onto the floor,
shoving my head and shoulders down and rubbing my ass and slit
against the mirror.
    At the fifth, he dipped into my cunt again,
rubbing my juices onto the mirror and forcing my face against
it.
    At the sixth, he merely showed me myself. I
flinched, waiting for whatever abuse or theatrics he intended, but
he merely dragged me to the seventh mirror. Here he forced my head
back again, choking me on his cock.
    As the thick gag of his manhood gentled to
soft strokes, he pulled me to the final mirror. I was sucking his
cock in earnest then, the other mirrors and what they had revealed
forgotten.