Page 61 of All Saints Day
I kick one foot out onto the spreader bar, hooking my heel for stability, and placing my pussy—barely covered by my thin black lace panties—directly in front of Rook's face, just out of his reach.
"How are those suppressant melters treating you, Rooky-boy?" I baby talk, looking down at him with pursed lips as he strains against his bindings to get closer to my cunt—his tongue darting out over his lips involuntarily as he struggles.
"Bring that sweet little pussy over here and I'll show you," he growls, rocking against the chair again, forcing Q to lift up his foot to brace the milking chair from behind.
"Ah, ah, ah—I told you I wanted to talk to Frank, not you," I scold. Watching out of my peripheral vision, Quentin prepares to tap his toe on the little pink plastic button at the end of the conspicuous cord leading from beneath Rook's ass, planted to the wooden seat.
"Well, if you give me what I want, I can give you what you want—a little you scratch my back, I scratch yours," Rook attempts tobargain.
"No," Quentin answers coldly, stomping down on the pink button once.
"Ungh," an involuntary moan bubbles up from Rook, his whole chest slamming against the back of the wooden chair with a loud smack as he jolts forward—a faintly audible buzz now coming from the ovular vibrator lodged against Rook's prostate, deep in his ass.
"You're going to start feeling the effects of going into rut touch-starved, Rooky sweetie," I taunt in my pitchy baby voice—the corded muscles of his neck standing out as his face continues to push toward my sodden panties.
"Just give me a little taste of it—," he snarls as I kick back off of the spreader bar.
He lets out a tiny whimper as Quentin reaches down and gives Rook's balls a good swat.
I reach up beneath the hem of my skirt and pull down my panties, carefully kicking one leg then another out of the flimsy, black lace.
"Ooh, harder," Rook goads Q, but before he can give Quentin any more lip—I ball up the panties and shove them into Rook's mouth.
"I'm not going to ask you again," I growl, Quentin circling around back, lifting his foot into the air before stomping on the pink button a second time.
"Mmmmph!" Rook rocks backward so hard that he nearly topples the chair over before I grip the empty spaces of the spreader bar—between his chin and either wrist—slamming all four legs of the milking chair back down on the floor.
"I want to talk to Frank!"
I see his cock begin a series of thrumming twitches and give Q the signal to cut the vibe.
Quentin jams the button down, holding it until the dull muffled vibration falls silent and Rook lets out a devastated cry around the wadded panties in his mouth as his ruined orgasmdrips from the tip of his cock down his knot to his swollen, bound balls.
I can feel the intensity of his aura and perfume ratchet upward after only one ruined cum; his alpha body chemistry working overtime to entice my body to respond to him. In this artificial rut, he must knot me or Quentin as many times as he can as part of his biological imperative; failing to do so will induce touch starvation, then heat sickness, and if untreated… ultimately death.
Luckily for us, it seems that the first foiled orgasm has caused his system to shift; Rook's eyes roll back into his head as he gasps for air.
I dart forward and pull the panties from his mouth; Frank—his eyes clearer, more lucid. He struggles to catch his breath; his cock jumps against the wooden board that his cock, knot, and balls are threaded through.
"That's better," I purr, leaning forward to run my fingers in feather-light strokes from the base of his balls to the weeping tip of his cock. "This will be so much easier if you just cooperate, Frank."
"Fuck!" he whines.
"Why didn't you tell Compton and the others the whole truth?" I begin, changing form from gingerly touching to a firm grip that pumps from his root, over his knot, up and over his cockhead, and back again.
"I wanted to save you, to get you out of there," he bleats, finally weakened.
"Why didn't you just let me be free in the first place?" I signal to Quentin, who switches on the vibrator again.
"Because I was already in too deep with the Windmill. You and Q know about Castle Security," Frank lets out a guttural grunt as he struggles against building orgasm. "She took me in as a teen—raised me, I knew how strong they were, I knew if I ran with you—" Frank whines desperately, his voice failing him, hisfeet scrabbling against the floor as I milk his cock and Q cranks up the stimulation on his prostate.
I let go of his cock as Q pushes the vibrator above the halfway power mark.
"Why not just tell us the truth and run with us? You already knew we were fated mates," Q barks.
"I knew I couldn't protect you from the Windmill, and I didn't know if I could protect you from Rook—or if you would want me!" Frank yelps out as his cock begins that electric chain of spasms that makes me signal to Q to kill the power.
"Please!" Frank screams as another ruined orgasm bubbles up—a creamy burbling mess dripping from his twitching cockhead.
