Page 179 of Filthy Elites

Number six hums again and jerks his chin at me. “I need the cup.”

My eyes widen, and I shove it toward him. He doesn’t take it. Just shifts around until he’s positioned over the wide rim. His eyes flutter shut and his jaw slacks. I watch all of it in stunned horror as he grunts one final time and thick semen spurts into the cup.

Jesus.

I’m still processing what happened when number eleven rolls in. And eighteen. My mind shuts off as they come through, jerking off one by one. I see all kinds of dicks. Big, small, wide, narrow, curved, stubby. Some guys need the spank wall. Others have their own system—efficient, like any other consistently used muscle. Others seem to have to work at it, telling me to turn around and not be a pervert. They sit in the chair, on the floor, lean against the wall, hunch openly. There’s no comfortable way to get through this. It’s just jerk, squirt, repeat.

By the time forty-four comes in, I’m numb to the smell of sweaty, nervous boys and the sight of cocks and jizz. I think I prefer the numbness to the ever-present ember of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. The end of this little game is coming. And when it does, I have no idea what I’m going to do.

Forty-four dumps his cum into the cup and zips up his pants. He peers into the mug and says, “That shit is so nasty.”

He exits, and it’s not long before the door opens again and Miller walks in.

For the first time since I walked in, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God, I didn’t know what to do—”

“I told him I would monitor you.”

“Okay, good.” I take in a few more breaths, settling my racing heart. “So what do we do? Just… wait? Pretend?”

He chuckles. “I told you I’d make sure neither of us gets caught, but I’m not giving you a break.” He takes the cup from me and places it on the table, then sits in the chair. “You’re doing exactly what they did, getting off.”

“You’re kidding.”

He slouches in the chair, leaning back lazily, legs sprawled. He smirks up at me and adds, “You have ten minutes until that timer goes off out there. I suggest you get busy.”

The timer. I’d been so focused on what I was going to do that I’d forgotten about it. With the way things have been going, the way Royer zeroed in on me, I have no doubt I’m the one that will have to drink the cocktail. The thought propels me, and I lean against the wall and push my pants over my hips. I fumble with the boxer briefs, removing the rolled-up sock.

“You need me to hold your cock?”

“Fuck you.”

His eyebrow jolts up. “Happily.”

I throw the socks at him and ignore it when he holds them up to his nose and sniffs. The warm rush of humiliation burns against my cheeks as I push my hand down my lower belly and beneath the waistband. I reach between my legs, feeling the warm heat. I’m not wet though. Not after the last hour of being surrounded by the spank wall and a dozen unappealing cocks. I close my eyes and push aside everything else, the photos, the cum cup and Miller’s watchful gray eyes.

Well, maybe not the eyes. I think about them, how intent they are, how they spark to life when he’s fucking around. How they’re right above his sharp, slanted cheekbones and soft lips. The lips that worked me into a frenzy. The heat of his tongue.

The rush of heat surprises me, and my fingers slide easier, spreading moisture across my clit.

Come on, I think.You can do this.It’s not my first solo mission, after all.

I try to focus but I’m too aware of him, and I sense his movement from the chair. I open my eyes and he’s standing in front me.

“Let me tell you what, kitten,” he says, running his fingers down the column of my neck. “Royer is going to make you drink that cocktail, if you don’t beat the clock.” A sharp flash of pain, followed by the rush of warmth, runs through me as he tweaks my nipple. “But I’m not going to let that happen,” he continues, making a circle around the hard peak of my breast.

The slick heat builds between my legs, his touch adding fuel to my smoldering fire. I catch a rhythm, the rhythm of his touch, and thighs spread. “Why do you care?” I ask, forcing out the words. I’m close to the edge, teetering really. Inching closer with every flick of my click, every circle of my nipple. “I’d think you’d want me humiliated.”

He drops his mouth next to my ear. “The only cum going in your mouth is mine.” He nips my earlobe. “Do you understand that?”

My hips buck forward just as dark fear twists in my belly, spreading out across my nerves. It mingles with the buildup in my core, the bundle of energy in my clit. This is more than a game for Miller. It’s an obsession. A possession. If I thought he was being nice or working with me, I was foolish and wrong.

He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Do you understand?”

I stare into the molten steel of his eyes and do the only thing I can. I whisper, “I understand.”

“Repeat it.”

I swallow, hating myself, but hating the idea of the alternative worse. “The only cum going in my mouth is yours.”

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