Page 32 of Bully

Like I was something special.

“Mmh,” I hummed in anticipation inside of my dark captivity as it built.

A faint noise from the room caught my attention, and I held my breath, trying to hear through the thick cushion lining the headrest. I knew from experience that I could hear a man speak when he was next to the bench, but not much past that.

Still, I tried to listen intently, like I’d get some clues from the noises about what was going to happen to me.

I felt him. I couldn’t see him or hear him, but I could feel his presence in the room. Spread-eagled before a stranger, I felt no shame; my body had always been my own.

The urge to speak struck me, to fill the void with conversation, which wasn’t my normal routine. The man paid for a real-life sex doll, and that was what he’d get from me. I was a professional, after all.

I flinched slightly when something touched the arch of my foot before I steeled my body from the unnerving sensation of being touched without knowing where it was going next.

Hands. Big hands with rough calluses teasingly caressed my feet and then my ankles before testing the tightness of the fabric wrapped around them. Was he checking to make sure I was firmly secured, or that I was comfortable?

How did a man rich enough to spend fifty grand plus for a night with a hooker get callouses on his hands? What could he do for work that would leave those worn spots on his fingertips.

Tamen worked with his hands even though he was disgustingly rich. He tore walls out and carried materials around Prism every day.

Did this man do something like that? What were the chances of two rich hard-working men having a similar taste in lingerie?

I flexed my fingers, forcing my body to relax again as his hands drifted up my calves and to the inside of my knees. If I wasn’t careful, my imagination was going to convince me that the mysterious man was my boss after all, even though I knew that wasn’t possible.

Would he speak? Would he have an accent if he did? Did I want him to?

Normally, no. Yet this time, the silence felt insufferable. Perhaps having the last few weeks consumed with business work and no sex work was why I was so on edge, like I was out of practice.

A deep growl emanated through the padded box as the man’s hands slowly traveled over my inner thighs, down to the exposed wetness between them. Wet lips touched the inside of my knee, and I jumped before arching into it, pressing into his touch. Slowly, one rough finger traced circles around my clit, but avoided the pleasurable spot just enough to create a need inside of me.

I rolled my hips, wordlessly begging the mysterious man above me. I thought perhaps he chuckled lightly, like he was enjoying my torment, but past the sound of my own panting, I couldn’t be sure.

Then, that same teasing finger pressed into my body, inch by inch, slowly sliding inside of me.

“Fuck.” I hissed, arching again, and rolling my hips to take him deeper, quicker. He withdrew it and did it again, giving me only a little bit at a time. A cold breeze flowed across my chest before warmth replaced it as the man laid slow kisses up my chest between my breasts. I could feel the fabric of his clothes against the back of my thighs as he leaned over me. His pants were soft and my fingers stretched from their pinned position to bury themselves in the material, pulling him in more.

His tongue ran a trail across the mesh fabric of the body suit over my already hard nipple and I moaned, desperate to feel more of him. Using his free hand, he grabbed my other breast and started toying with my nipple, finally pulling the fabric aside to suck it into his mouth.

Without the ability to see or hear him clearly, sensations became so much more heightened. The scrape of his stubbled jaw contrasted with the softness of his lips and tongue as he slowly sucked on each of my nipples. Never once distracted, his hands moved with practiced precision, completing each task with an impeccable attention to detail. Adding another finger to my needy pussy, he stretched me with them, scissoring them and hooking them inside of me to drive me wild.

I was no longer sure who was supposed to be deriving pleasure from the interaction. Sometimes Johns got off on enjoying themselves, regardless of pleasuring their partner. Sometimes they simply gave and never received.

With the way tonight was booked, I had no idea what his plans were, and it was unnerving because I was afraid to hope for pleasure with how badly I was desperate for it already.

If he edged me, I’d die.

Sometimes Johns were evil like that.

I closed my eyes and prayed to the divine sex goddesses that he was a giver and wouldn’t force either of us to go without pleasure.

Biting my lip to stifle another moan, he bit one of my nipples, pulling on it with his teeth as his palm rubbed against my clit finally. God, the man knew how to make a woman feel good.

The pressure, rhythm, and locations were on point.

He was a giver, after all.

And I was eager to take.

“Come for me.” His low, deep voice barely penetrated my cozy coffin and hazy brain, but they still hit their mark. So did the fact that there was no familiar British accent in the command. Disappointment couldn’t take root though because seconds later, his lips latched onto my clit, and I came off the bench, pushing my needy body against his face as he curled his fingers upward inside of me as he sucked deeply.

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