Invitation to Ruin by Ann Vremont Page A

Again, he let my greedy lips devour him until he was at
the point of ecstasy and then he withdrew, covering my face once
more with his cum.
    And then, he bid me look at my reflection in
the final mirror. “This is what you are, Veronique.”
    So softly he said it, I almost didn’t hear
him. I started to cry then and he lifted me, carried me back to the
cushions and wiped my face clean.
    “On your stomach,” he coaxed, arranging my
body to his satisfaction as he had done at his studio.
    A shameful pleasure in his treatment of me
had kept my cunt moist and he eased his erection into me, his
strokes slow and tortuously sweet. Everything was forgotten except
for where his body touched mine. The slide of his cock, the gentle
milking of my breasts whenever he leaned over me, his hands on my
hips, his thumbs rubbing against the opening to my ass.
    I was moaning and grunting on the ground
beneath him, totally enslaved, uncaring as to whether I would ever
find myself liberated.
    Reaching beneath a cushion, he pulled out one
more instrument of my humiliation—a soft tube of oiled lambskin
filled with rounded stones and tied off at the top. He pulled his
cock from me and I whimpered in protests.
    “Patience,” he said, slowly filling me with
the lambskin, letting my juices add to the sheath’s lubrication
before he pulled it from me, his sweet rod once again overfilling
my pussy.
    The tube of stones was narrower at the end
but I squeaked my protest as I felt him spread the edges of the
puckered mouth of my ass. “Christophe, please,” I begged. “Do not.
I want only your flesh.”
    “Shhh,” he said, his hand never stopping the
slow forward push of the tube up my ass. “Trust me.”
    Trust! Something that is never wisely given.
I knew this, how well I knew. So too was Christophe’s nature plain.
He was vile! Ah, but he was also talented, masterful, and he had a
cock that many women would die for. They would degrade themselves,
sell themselves…do whatever it took.
    No, trust him, never. Desire him? Always, so
I felt at that moment. Pressing my chest flat against the cushions,
I relaxed the muscles that were desperately seeking to impede the
tube’s process.
    “Good girl,” he said, shoving the rest of the
tube’s ample length into my ass before I could change my mind.
    Ecstasy! Just as the veins of his cock
delivered exquisitely textured strokes to my cunt, the ripple of
the stones as they moved against one another in the tight channel
of my ass threatened to drive me insane from the pure pleasure of
it.
    “God, yes,” I screamed, my pussy constricting
around his rod, the muscles an iron fist that refused to let him
withdraw. My pumping grew erratic, frenzied, as I approached some
physical zenith that left me calling out the name of every saint I
had learned, each name punctuated by a bone-shattering tremor of my
climax.
    Christophe came and pushed me off his cock. I
could feel the vacant yawn of my pussy and ass as they were
emptied, the muscles still contracting, searching for some
purchase.
    Half conscious, I gazed in the mirror and saw
Christophe raise his hands high in victory, some sort of seated
bow. My blood slowed and I stopped breathing as I realized just how
complete my humiliation was.
    “Gentlemen, will you not come out and
congratulate us on our performance?”
    To my horror, there was the sound of eight
latches lifting more or less simultaneously, followed by the
controlled rush of footsteps as the secret watchers gathered around
my prone body. Wildly, I looked around, finding myself completely
surrounded. With nowhere to run, I tensed, ready to claw them
should they approach too closely. One laughed at my feral position
and I looked at him, recognized him! More faces swam in front of
me, dipping to peer more closely at my flushed skin, at my wet
cunt. Ah, I knew most of these faces! They knew mine!
    One reached down and ran his fingers between
my lower lips. I lashed out, only to have Christophe