"Please, sir," I beg, the words torn from my throat. "Please."
He looks up at me, his eyes dark and possessive. He likes me like this. Begging. Desperate.
He slides two fingers inside me, and his tongue returns to my clit, flicking against the sensitive nub with a relentless rhythm.
It's too much. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to consume me.
But just before I can fall over the edge, just before the pleasure can crest and break, he pulls back. Again.
A sob of pure frustration escapes my lips. My body is a trembling, aching mess, my skin flushed and damp with sweat. I'm so close I can taste it, but he won't let me have it.
He kneels between my legs, his gaze sweeping over me. He’s enjoying this, enjoying my desperation, my helplessness. My surrender.
"Tell me who you belong to," he says, his voice a low, dark purr.
My mind is a haze of pleasure and frustration. I can't think straight, can't form a coherent thought, let alone a coherent sentence.
"You," I whisper.
"Louder," he commands.
"You, sir," I say, my voice a little stronger, a little more certain.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" The crude words in his silky voice make me flinch.
My cheeks burn hotter. I've never talked like this, never had anyone talk to me like this. It’s degrading. Humiliating.
And it turns me on more than anything I’ve ever experienced.
"I—" But I can't make myself finish the sentence
He leans down; his lips close to my ear. "Tell me you want me to fuck you, Erica."
My breath hitches. My body trembles.
"Please, sir," I say instead, getting desperate.
"That's not what I asked," he says, his voice low, patient. He's going to make me say it. He's going to make me beg for it in the most explicit terms.
He's going to make me own my own desire, own my own degradation.
His thumb is still rubbing gentle circles on my clit, just enough to keep me on the edge, but not enough to push me over.
I take a shaky breath, the words a lump in my throat. I close my eyes, a futile attempt to hide from him, from myself.
"I want you to... to fuck me, sir," I say, the words quiet.
"Good. Now open your eyes and say it to me," he commands.
My lids flutter open, and I force my gaze to meet his. His eyes are dark, possessive, a deep, endless ocean of lust.
"I want you to fuck me, sir," I say, my voice stronger this time, clearer.
"Beg me to take your virginity." His voice is still that calm, silky voice as he takes me apart little by little.
My stomach drops. Beg him. He's not just going to take it; he wants me to ask him to. To plead with him to rip away the last shred of my innocence.
He waits, a predator patiently stalking its prey. He knows I'll break. He knows I want it.
