Page 49 of Tricked By Jack
Wetness forms, easing the friction of my fingers. My breathing quickens—no longer performance, but genuine response. This wasn’t part of the plan. I’m supposed to be in control.
“Wider,” Jack growls, stroking himself with long, measured pulls. “Let me see what I own.”
I shake my head.
“Keep pretending, and I’ll fuck the truth out of you,” he snarls. “You’re dripping for the man who caged you. For your husband.”
The words should disgust me. Should make me recoil. Instead, they send a jolt of heat through my core, and I find myself obeying—pulling my knees back further, opening myself completely to his gaze. My fingers find my clit, and the first real spark of pleasure makes me gasp.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his pace matching mine. “Show me how that pretty cunt gets off.”
My strategy is slipping away, dissolving under the unexpected surge of sensation. The cage feels smaller now, not because of the bars, but because every inch of me is pulled toward the place where my fingers meet my skin, where his eyes meet mine.
I’ve underestimated the power of touch after days of deprivation, the way my body would betray me at the first real stimulation. My hips rise to meet my hand, no longer a calculated movement but an instinctive seeking.
“You’re so fucking wet,” Jack observes, voice dropping lower. “Pinch your clit. I want to see you make yourself come.”
I follow his instruction without thinking, applying pressure that sends a sharp bolt of pleasure-pain up my spine. A moan escapes me—unplanned, unbidden. My head falls back against the bars, eyes closing as my fingers work faster, deeper.
“Look at me,” he demands. “I want to see youreyes when you come. I want you to know exactly who you’re performing for.”
My eyes snap open, meeting his dark gaze. He’s fully hard now, the piercings rising and falling with each stroke of his hand. Pre-cum beads at the tip, catching the light. His lips are parted, breath coming faster, but his eyes remain focused.
“Say my name,” he commands. “Tell me who’s making you feel this.”
“Jack,” I gasp, the word torn from my throat as pleasure builds toward an inevitable peak. No longer pretending, no longer calculating. Just raw need consuming strategy like fire through paper. “Jack, please—”
“Please what?” His hand moves faster now, his cock slick and rigid in his grip. “Tell me what you need.”
“Let me come,” I beg, the words spilling out unbidden. “Let me—”
“Show me,” he growls. “Come for me like a good little wife. Let me see exactly what kind of filthy thing I’ve locked in my cage.”
The command triggers something primal in me, something beyond thought or plan. My back arches off the bars as pleasure crests and breaks, washing through me in violent waves. I cry out his name, fingers working desperately as my thighs shake with the force of my release.
It’s messy, undignified—nothing like the controlled performance I had planned.
Through the haze of my orgasm, I see Jack moving closer, his hand still working his cock with brutal efficiency. He reaches the bars just as I’m coming down, still trembling with aftershocks.
“Come here,” he says, voice tight with impending release. “I want you against the bars.”
I move forward on shaking limbs, pressing my breasts against the cold metal.
Jack groans low and dark, his release hitting my chest in heated, claiming streaks. He keeps stroking, slower now—rubbing the last of his cum between my breasts with the head of his cock, smearing it like war paint.
His eyes stay locked on mine while he paints me, like the act itself is a language I’m supposed to learn. Each stroke feelsdeliberate, not just marking skin but staking territory.
“Mine,” he breathes, the word barely audible as the last pulses subside. It doesn’t sound like a claim; it sounds like a truth he’s always known. “Fucking mine.”
I don’t know why that primal word makes my insides turn to liquid, but it does. It slides under my skin like heat and possession all at once. He doesn’t want me, and I don’t want him to want me. But my body is a traitor, reacting to his voice as if it’s tuned to the same frequency.
That orgasm was one of the best I’ve had in my life, and it was all because of his filthy commands and the lust written all over his face.
Jack reaches between the bars, swiping his thumb through his cum on my chest, then smears it across my lips like he’s anointing me. “Stick your tongue out,” he demands in a low tone. “And lick my cum from your manipulative lips, Little Bride.”
My jaw obeys before my pride can catch up. My tongue flicks out, and I lick the taste of him from my lips like it’s mine to crave. Jesus, I have no idea what just possessed me to do that, but judging by the glint in his green eyes, he’s pleased.
We stay frozen like that, both panting, both sticky with the evidence of what just happened. The remainder of his jizz cools on my skin like a seal—tacky, pungent, obscene. More binding than the ring still strangling my finger.
