Page 41 of Devilish Debt
Every ridge of his teeth.
Allow them to sloppily gnash.
His lip to be bitten before breaking away to hear him cry out again.
“Your turn, Master…” escapes in a breathless, broken moan.
A harsher hit lifts her higher.
Presents her pussy further.
Practically on a pedestal.
“Make her moan now.”
My jaw lowers for a muddled rebuttal.
“Make her your slutty little princess.”
Which word breaks me is unknown.
Or is irrelevant.
Or both.
I would argue in an open court that it’s both.
Whatdoesmatter is the glob of spit that lands on her tiny nub.
How her breath hitches.
How her hips buck, wordlessly pleading for me to repeat the action.
Whirl the shit around.
“Fuck, Master,” Zero huskily murmurs, his skull thumping into the headboard.“She really liked that.”
So, I do it again.
Spit in the exact same spot.
Watch her torso turn.
Twitch.
Constrict.
Scribble to memory the way her stomach muscles flex on airy huffs.
“Tell him you like it,” my best friend commands, hands yanking her down his cock, forcing her clit to bump into his base, sloppily smearing my saliva across both of them like warpaint.“Tell him you like being our slutty little princess.”
Resentment noticeably battles her bliss.
Fights to be displayed rather than delight.
She’s not accustomed to surrendering.
To anything or anyone.
