Page 169 of Westin

Her head falls back. Her body shakes.

My cock throbs, desperate to be inside her, but the rest of me wants to savor this, to torture her until she’s so pleasured and spent, all she can do is whimper.

“Sir, I can’t,” she gasps.

I turn off the vibrator before I cross the room and crouch, looking up into her face. “What are you, Diane?” I ask.

I feel myself slipping deep into our dynamic. She’s already there, big eyes glassy.

“I don’t know, sir,” she gasps.

“You’re a toy,” I say flatly. “For me to play with.”

Her lips tremble.

“Say it,” I order, tapping my finger on the edge of the glass. “Repeat what I said. All of it.”

I rise, towering over her, and tilt her chin up. Her eyes are wet, her mouth swollen from being bitten.

“I’m a toy for you to play with,” she whispers, face flushing.

I grip her chin. “Good toys shut their little mouths and do as they’re told. If I want you to come until you pass out, you will. Understood?”

Her throat bobs. “Yes, sir.”

My thumb plays with her lower lip. “What are you good for?”

“Taking your cock, sir,” she whispers.

“Good girl,” I praise. “You’re all for me. Your mouth, your pussy, your ass… I haven’t fucked you there yet. I think I will tonight.”

Her lips part to protest, and I push my thumb between them, choking her briefly. Then, I withdraw and turn the vibrator back on, flipping it to the highest setting.

Her body twists. Her knuckles are white, straining against her bonds. I rise, ignoring her, and go back to the bed where I left the toys. She moans, whimpering and panting. I take a thin silver chain with two clamps on either end and return to the chair.

“Open your fucking mouth,” I say.

She obeys, lips shaking. Tears etch down her cheeks, dragging her makeup in gray streaks. I push two fingers into her soft, wet mouth.

“Suck while you come,” I order.

Her eyes roll back, and she moans around my fingers. Her body shudders and seizes as another orgasm rips through it. I pull my hand back and glance down between her thighs, but the chair is dry. Setting aside my glass, I loll her head back and tug her slip down to expose her breasts.

“Sir,” she gasps.

Her breasts are tight and flushed, her nipples hard. Working quickly, I fasten the clamps on them. The tips flush dark pink, and she twists against the sensation.

She’s such a beautiful whore. Perfect, wet, hungry to be used.

I lick over the clamps, sucking on her pinched nipples, one after the other. She moans like she’s broken. I stand and take a step back, picking up my glass.

“I want two more orgasms, fucktoy,” I say, voice hard. “Then you get a break from the vibrator.”

Her eyes widen. I turn the vibrator back on and sink into the armchair by the fireplace to watch. She’s so beautiful, my wife—soft body bound to the chair, hair falling down her back, a trickle of sweat between her breasts as she strains against her bonds.

I could fuck her every day and never feel like I’ve had enough.

She comes again, crying out in desperation as her orgasms hit her, one after the other. I stand, heart pounding, and drain my glass. She peels her eyes open as I stand over her, reaching between her legs to remove the harness.

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