My pussy’s aching and empty and I’m so very thankful for the buttplug’s sweet pressure that I let out a high, needy sound.
“Shit.” A quick slap to one breast makes me gasp. The first man did it, I think. Maybe? I don’t know. I can’t tell. I don’t know.
“Check out her pussy.” Okay, that’s definitely Zion. “Bet she’s soaking.”
I hold my breath. Someone rubs me, quick, businesslike. This isn’t for my pleasure. It’s for them.
It’s awful. Wonderful. So scary I want to stop it, but I need what they’re giving me too badly to do anything but take it, hungrily. After a second, they pull away and I hear the wet slurp of what has to be someone sucking me from their finger.
Oh my god, they’re filthy. I mean, I knew it. Most folks here are sexually open in a way I’ve never experienced, but this…this…do they have limits? Do I? Did I give limits on my form?
I can’t remember. I don’t know.
I don’tknow.
“Fuck, she tastes good. Little slut’s so goddamn horny for it, bro. Think two of us are enough?”
I whimper.
They both laugh, the sound so mean it feels real. Real. Is it real? I don’t know.
“Come on. Show of good faith, we said.” A slap to my breast makes me flinch. Whatever’s keeping the hood around my neck disappears.
I’m so excited at the prospect of seeing my attackers that I feel light and grateful. I’m smiling when the hood’s lifted.
Too soon, though.
“See? She likes it.”
My eyes remain hidden. Only my mouth’s free. It feels good to breathe fresh air. New smells assail me—cleaning products and wood and cologne. Something else. Plastic or rubber, maybe.
“See how she likes this.”
Within seconds, someone’s got my head in their grip, the other person shoves something cold in my mouth and now I can’t close it. A gag. They attach it behind my head, leaving me with a metal ring in my mouth, my lips forced wide open. I…don’t like it.
I want to see them. I want to undo my arms and…I want to…
As they pull me higher from where I’ve settled back on my haunches, the bell I’m holding in my hand falls, tinkling quietly onto the wood floor. I don’t do it on purpose, but still, in the split second that follows, relief washes through me.
The next second, everything changes. The gag’s off, the hood’s pulled up. Zion—oh my god, Zion—squats and holds my face while the other person undoes the cuffs. “Baby.” Zion talks to me, quick and urgent, his voice gentle. “Baby, you okay? We hurt you? We’ll stop. Right this second. Come ’ere.” I’m up and on his lap, my arms around his neck. He’s holding me tight, so tight against his chest and the world is warm and soft and, no I don’t want to stop the scene, but I also need this. I need it like air.
“You good?” Max calls from outside.
“Yes,” replies Zion. “Taking a break.”
I squeeze harder and snuggle in deep. The sides of my dress flap open, covering me, but leaving my front to press naked against Zion. Footsteps move away, giving us space or privacy. I hear water running, footsteps again.
“Thanks. Here, baby. Twy. Here. Drink this.”
I don’t want to move, but I force myself back, look up and accept the glass of water he’s offering. Drinking it down feels amazing and, before I know it, I’ve finished the whole thing.
“More?”
I shake my head and snuggle back in to his body.
“Tell me what you need, sweetheart, okay?” He shifts, lowers himself farther to the floor, and gathers more of me in so I’m latched onto him like a monkey on a branch.
“Want me to go?” The other voice asks.
