Page 11 of A Night of Indulgence and Sloth
“I don’t think it’ll fit,” I pant, my limbs shaking as Wes pushes his monster cock in further.
“We’ll make it fit, baby. This pretty pussy is about to be stretched out and filled with my cum. Relax and focus on Fitz.”
Fitz, who had been planting soft kisses along my thighs, switches direction and heads toward my swollen nub. He’s gentle, lapping against me softly, like he knows just how tender I am. I feel like a prized possession as he treats me like a queen, and the moment I relax, Wes sinks deeper.
“So tight,” he groans, grabbing hold of my hips and shifting further. My walls spasm around him, and he shudders. “Choke my cock with your cunt, Petal. Just like that.”
He thrusts faster at the same moment that Fitz puts more pressure on my clit. His fingers spread me wide, and I can’t do anything but take every ounce of pleasure they offer me. Tension coils tightly inside me, almost painfully, but it only urges me higher.
Wes pulls me up, curling his hand around my throat as he whispers, “Who owns this pussy?”
“You,” I whimper as his thrusts turn savage, and I swear I can hear angels sing.
“And Fitz?”
“Yes. Both.” I can barely speak, barely breathe as my pleasure mounts to uncontrollable heights.
“That’s right, Petal. We do. Now come for us one more time. Show us how well we own you.”
Fitz sucks on my clit, his fingers moving toward my cunt where Wes’ cock fills me entirely, and as his finger presses against my opening, I shatter.
I am nothing, no longer a person at all and instead, only pure feeling. Tears stream down my cheeks as my bliss ebbs and flows like the ocean, rising higher and higher like a tidal wave before crashing me against the shore.
In that moment, life and death merge into one, and I wonder if maybe I have died. Maybe this is what heaven feels like, cherished and loved beyond anything I could have ever dreamed.
Liliana
Sounds filter in through my mind, but nothing seems real.
Someone places a warm, wet cloth against my skin, and beside me, water drips into a bucket as someone rinses another cloth.
Club Rapture.
I open my eyes only to find that the blindfold still hinders my view.
“Not yet, Blossom,” Fitz says, grabbing hold of my wrist to stop me from removing it. “You’ve been through a lot. Just relax, and let us take care of you.” He kisses my knuckles and continues to clean me.
“You were so good tonight. So, so good.” Wes brushes the hair from my face as he trails the cloth over my neck and up to my cheeks. Likely wiping away my tears from earlier.
“Thank you. Both of you,” I whisper, my lip wobbling.
Tonight was a revelation. Before coming here, I had only been an empty shell of a person, content to live out my days in complete and utter safety. But now, I see that I wasn’t livingat all. My heart might have been beating, pumping blood to my organs, but that was the extent of my life.
I don’t want to go on that way. I want more of this feeling. Of pleasure, yes, but I want to return it. To find someone who makes me feel the way Wes and Fitz did and to lavish them with just as much attention as they did me.
“It was our absolute pleasure. Now rest, Liliana. Enjoy our last few moments together.”
Calantha was right. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes. It doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person or that I can’t set boundaries, but I don’t always have to put others first. And I can finally understand that the only one who will ever put me first is me.
I walked into Club Rapture as a scared, terrified woman stuck in her past, but I’d be walking out as someone else. Someone strong and sure of herself.
A brand-new Liliana Sinclair.
“Do I smell crepes?”
Calantha stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes while I pour her a hot cup of coffee. Her shirt says, ‘If you love me, let me sleep’ and I know for a fact that’s exactly how she really feels. Before our parents died, we always had matching pjs. Our parents usually chose ones with cute flowers and garden puns on it – if their daughters’ combined nickname of Calla Lily didn’t give away their love of plants, our clothes would. Now that we were older, we still bought matching sets whenever we could and dubbed Sunday afternoons as Sister Sunday. We’d throw on our most ridiculous pair of pjs, slap on a face mask, and watch a romantic comedy.
I have a feeling today might be a little different.
