Page 12 of Cookies and Control

One guy nods and gives me a thumbs-up. Yay! I might be blushing. Am I really going to masturbate in front of them? Based on the looks of approval—I sure will. This is my chance to shed some false beliefs.

I lift the toy, but another billionaire gives me a stern look and shakes his head.

I turn back to the shelf, my fingers hovering over the options. I’m not sure what half of these are, but I’m drawn to a sleek, black device with a slight curve and a few buttons. I pick it up, showing it to the men. More nods.

I put the toy back, my heart pounding. I’m not ready to use it, not yet. Going through a few more toys, I tease the crowd, holding one near my mouth and mocking how big I’ll have to open for it, then shake my head. Another toy goes under my skirt, where I pretend to size it up.

A grumble comes from inside the room, striking shame in me. I glance at Bull whose head lolls the other side. Still sleeping. Rocky too.

I breathe again, not realizing I’d stopped. I make another ‘Shhh’ motion at my new fans even though I can’t hear them through the glass. In case they hadn’t caught on, I motion across the room where the men are sleeping.

Does Bull have an erection? Not really a question.

Fueled by my newfound sense of empowerment, and the fact that Bull’s asleep, I size up a few dildos, comparing them to what Bull is sporting. Indicating to my audience that I want help, I get their opinion on which one is closest.

I’ve never taken such a naughty vote, and certainly not at my father’s expense, but I’m going to prepare myself.

More people gather, encouraging me with their own excitement. Couples embrace intimately. Singles rub themselves. Others wait.

I hang onto the toy they chose and return the others to the shelf before grabbing a condom and straddling the tantric chair.

Oops. Standing, I challenge myself to another bold move. I turn away from the window, my gaze solidly on Bull, and lower my panties. Given the shortness of my skirt and the way the tulle stands out, I’m certain my backside is visible when I bend over.

I love teasing the people outside of the room, but this innocent virgin is nearing overwhelm, so I don’t play long. There are only two men I really want, and I’ll settle for one.

Back onto the chair, I open the condom and attempt to stretch it over the phallus. The sheath slips out of my hand, landing on the floor with a wet, sticky slap.

Dang it. I grab another and try again. A few rolls down the shaft and my confidence grows.

Wiggling into a position that I presume will give ample visibility, although short of spreading my naked body like the porn stars do, I gather my skirt against my belly and tease the dildo over my sex.

My eyes close. Fantasy takes over. That’s the only way I can do this. It’s not how I imagined the evening going, but it’s a step toward solving my problem.

Pressing the tip against my drenched lower lips, I’m shocked at how needy I am. If only I had the weight of Bull’s body over mine. The heat of a real erection filling me. The whispers of want in my ear, feeding off Bull’s earlier miscue. ‘You’re mine.”

The fantasy plays hard. Rocky would join us, and capture my lips in a passionate kiss. I press the toy further, my sex spreading around the hardness. I’m not going to have to fake anything. It stretches me. I pause.

I push more. I moan.

I slide it back and forth. This is better than I ever dreamed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bull’s voice murmurs groggily through the fantasy.

Eight

Bull

Ripped from a wet dream about Betsy, I stumble toward the curtain as I try to stand. I’m having trouble separating dreams from reality. Either way, no one should see her. I thrust the curtain closed so hard it pulls from the rod, leaving the fabric dangling uselessly.

Fuck! I rush to Betsy, yank the dildo from her hands, and fling it across the room. The thud of its landing is promptly followed by a grumble from Rocky.

Wiping sleep from my eyes, I’m breathless at the sight of Betsy’s spread-eagle position exposing her pretty pink pussy. I drop to my knees, unable to stop myself from staring, desiring,and lowering my face… forcing my lips to her belly to stop myself from tasting her pussy.

But it’s not sleep clouding my judgment, it’s years of pent-up desires and the aphrodisiac of her scent creating a primal need. For her. To protect her. To claim her.

Struggling to control myself, I say, “Not like this, Betsy. Not in front of a crowd.” The intent of my words hits my ears. I have to stop myself. I can’t.

My strong grip holding her thighs open contradicts them.

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