Page 100 of Buried Beneath Sin

Reaching up, I skim my fingertips over my sweaty skin, up my stomach and over my breasts. My hands shake as I tweak and roll my nipples. A sob breaks through my pinched lips, butI cut it off as I work both nipples into stiff peaks. My right hand slips away from my breast to travel over my abdomen, over my mound, and to slide through my folds. A hard shiver of disgust and denial almost causes my legs to slam together. Every inch of me is screaming that this is wrong. That this isn't the time or place. I push past my instincts and caress myself. I don't go for my clit right away. It's going to take time and perseverance to find my release.

Nothing happens. For all the touching I’m doing, I can't get myself wet even though my life seems to depend on it.

“Come on!” I hiss, frustrated with myself. “You want to live, right?”

Do I?If this will be my life, is this what I truly want?

I push away the thought and the whispered answer that follows that I refuse to entertain. Ok, just touching myself isn't working. I need something more to get me going. This punishment is because I was peeping in on a private moment between two people. Knox and Thatcher... It seems Knox has taken it very personally. What did he say just before he knocked me out? That he thought I was just placating him? Mocking him for being different? The idea that I would find Knox anything other than stunning is so absurd a strangled laugh escapes. It dies away swiftly though. The moment doesn't call for laughter.

Maybe... Maybe if IshowKnox what I really think of him, he'll see things differently?

I summon up an image of him in my head. His pretty glossy lips, striking pale blue eyes framed with long lashes that are lightly coated with mascara, and a face so lovely angels would cry in envy if they looked at him.

My fingers move through my folds again. This time a spark of desire flickers to life. I squeeze my eyes shut and continue to play with myself. I can see Knox’s smile and his bare chest as he pulled off his shirt the other night to throw it in thelaundry room. The softest moan slips past my lips. The other night, Knox had been in the middle of making pizza dough from scratch when I walked in on him. The concentration on his face was beautiful. The soft scowl left the skin between his brows puckered, and his mouth was pressed in a tight line as he kneaded the dough. A smile of success pulled at his mouth. It was a private moment he'd basked in, but I quietly watched on with joy. I hold onto that small, pleased and slightly vulnerable smile as my fingers dive into my core.

“Knox...” I whisper in awe as I find myself leaking now. My hips jerk upward and my clit begins to throb.

I picture his lips on me, skimming across my skin, leaving lip gloss and goosebumps behind in their wake. I don't know much about Knox or what he would be like without being bound like Thatcher had him, but I can imagine his hands gripping my thighs, holding them open as he dove face first between my legs as he did with Thatcher. Idoknow what his tongue feels like on me. I pull up memories of our first family game night and replay how his tongue slid through me, lapping at my pussy eagerly.

“Oh! Knox...” I can't keep his name out of my mouth as I pull my fingers free of my core to coat my clit with my arousal. A full body shiver rushes over me and, again, my hips jerk upward.

I sink into the desire and pleasure that increases. My breathing comes in soft gasps. Beads of sweat drip down over my body as it grows warmer in the coffin. The sounds of my groans and Knox's name on repeat fill the silence. My other hand kneads my breasts and continues to play with my nipples—alternating between the two.

Somehow, there in the hot confined space, six feet below the earth, where not even God can see me—I cum. My hips grind against my hand as I cry out Knox's name. I can hardly catch my breath as I shiver and shudder at the intensity. Below me, I can feel arousal gathering. As my orgasm subsides, I laythere panting hard but straining to hear the sounds of a shovel overhead. Surely that had to be enough, right?

But time ticks by and nothing happens. The desire cools in my veins as the reality of my situation comes crashing back. I'm still buried alive, and no one is coming to get me. At least not yet. Maybe... Maybe they want more? I can do more. Right? I hope so. Panic causes me to drive my hand back between my legs. I'm overstimulated yet I try to work myself back up. It’s harder than it was the first time. Still, after a while, I manage to cum again with Knox’s name on my lips.

Yet the coffin doesn’t open.

Show of a lifetime. That’s what they want. Ok, well, maybe… maybe a different position? Is that what they mean by that? Humiliation and shame don’t stop me as I flip over to my stomach and get to my knees. I sink into a child’s pose then lift my butt a little higher to give the guys watching a different view. My fingers return to between my legs. This time, I call out Sagan's name, picturing him as he consumes me wholly. And when that doesn't inspire any type of rescue, I work myself back up and call out for Thatcher as he worships my body as he had in the motel.

Still, I'm not set free.

I collapse and roll onto my back, needing a second once I cum again. I’m aware though, I might not have many to spare. The thought inspires another round of panic.

With a wail, I shove my hand back between my legs and work myself back up.

38

KNOX

Ididn’t plan on Starr Girl fucking herself for the camera.

As I settled down in the chair in the living room back up at the house and turned the television on where the camera feed is streaming to, it was the last thing I was expecting. The note I left was more a taunt than directions, as vague as it was, and I expected maybe a full on meltdown that we could view. Surely being naked, scared, and embarrassing herself while she had a fit would've been enough to teach her a lesson. The plan was to let her feel as exposed as I had upon learning I had been spied on.

But then her hand went between her legs and I... I stopped breathing. My gaze locked onto her hand, and I watched as her body grew wetter.

I’ve never watched a woman pleasure herself before. It's much moreeroticthan I expected. It's almost an art watching a woman slowly work herself up. Her fingers slide through her slit and into her body like an instrumentalist as they play for an audience. The sight of her arousal glittering beneath the fairy lights as it drips from her pussy and covers her hand is magical. When she came, it was enthralling.

“Knox...” The first time Starr Girl had whispered my name, I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.

As I watch Starr Girl slowly start back up, I lean forward to try to get a better view—as if a camera pointed directly at her wet pussy isn't enough. There's no way, with the prejudices she carries, she's getting off to me, right? Yet I hear my name for the second time, and I'm floored. Flattered too, if I'm being honest. My mouth dries as I stare. Her fingers disappear inside of her and her hips roll. Her juices drip from her core, between her butt cheeks, and down onto the floor of the coffin. Catching in the dim lighting, it's almost like liquid glitter.

“Hm, seems like you two are on the same wavelength,” Sagan drawls from behind me.

“Ah!” I jump in surprise at his sudden appearance.

It's as I let it go that I realize I've been fisting my cock and slowly stroking myself. What the hell? Flustered, I immediately tuck myself back into my pants.

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