Page 121 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Also, for the record, the language doesn’t bother me.
I just like to tease.
God, maybe don’t say anything else. I harden, and it’s really my own fault for leading this conversation in the direction it’s gone.
Lucky:
Tell me more…
What the fuck am I doing?
Dollancie:
I can’t… your opinion of me will change.
We are so far beyond that, and she has no fucking idea.
Lucky:
As Jane, what would you do to please Mr. Rochester?
Her reply doesn’t come instantly, giving me time for my mind to wander, following my dirty thoughts to dark places, creating a fantasy in my head.
I slip on some clothes and a mask I wear occasionally for work and stalk through the house. My unbuttoned jeans do little to help with my straining dick as I see Dollie in the reading room, wearing a pair of tiny shorts and an oversized hoodie, the kind of clothes she always prances around the house in.
She moves to the kitchen to get a snack because she always likes to snack on her favorite chocolates while reading her favorite books.
I follow.
Spinning from the refrigerator, she spots me, an intruder in dark clothes and a creepy mask, standing in the doorway. Her mouth drops open, and I signal for her to kneel down. She ignores that, as a need to run from the situation, from me, fills her. I catch her at the back door and drag her thrashing body back to the kitchen table.
Fear stops her from screaming as I pull down her shorts. My attention stalls on her pretty cunt. I want to taste her, but all I taste is cheap plastic as I lick my lips with the mask on.
I trace her shape with my finger, dipping inside her slightly.
It’s not enough, not even as I push all the way inside her.
Pulling out, I return with as many fingers as she can take. I stretch her, unable to pull my eyes away to see the pretty tears shining on her face.
It shouldn’t excite me.
It should repulse me the way anything sexual usually does.
But these feelings are new and hard to fight.
I can’t think of anything else. I can’t think of stopping, even as she tries to get a good look at me under the mask. She would realize who I am, and I’m not sure even that would stop me.
She tries bucking away from me, but I pin her to the table using my body, forcing a fourth finger inside her, forcing her body to accept me, to get ready and prepare.
Her mouth moves, and it almost looks like she’s repeating the word, no, no, no.
But I don’t hear it.
No, I hear the buzzing of my phone against my stomach.
I glance down and see it pressed to my skin, my hand on my aching, hard dick, moving up and down along my shaft, fast and vigorously.
A sickness washes over me.
