Page 114 of He Should Be Mine
“Get a real good closeup of this toy sliding in and out of my hole. I want Daddy to see. I want him to wank off to it,” I pant breathlessly.
Dario groans. Another beautiful sound. He is just as depraved as me. The idea of Rick unknowingly jacking off to me taking a replica of Dario’s cock, is doing it for him.
It is a fucking fantastic,fuck you. A revenge of the sweetest kind.
I work the dildo faster. Dario is so close I swear I can feel his hot breath on the tender skin of my inner thighs.
He grunts. He sounds like he is cumming. Just from watching me.
And just the very fucking idea of that is enough to blow my mind. Fireworks erupt in my soul. My back arches. My muscles all clench and lock. My achingly hard cock pumps cum onto my belly.
I scream my way helplessly through the most intense orgasm of my life. The pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.
It rolls on and on. And on some more. It feels like it is never going to end.
A pained sob escapes me. Then I collapse, boneless against the sofa. Lungs heaving like oxygen is going out of fashion.
Oh my god. If it was that good with just a dildo, and Dario watching, the real thing is going to kill me. It’s going to be death by sex.
And honestly, I can think of no better way to go.
Chapter thirty-two
Molly
The apartment is too quiet. Even though jazz music is playing softly.
That’s the first thing I notice as I step out of my bedroom. The kind of silence that isn’t empty, but staged. Heavy. Waiting. Like the hush in a theater just before the curtain rises, and I already know I’m not going to like the show.
The air tastes ominous. Oppressive and heavy. Rick’s presence has changed everything. Yesterday, while I fucked myself on the sofa while Dario watched, life felt good. It felt like hope was lurking nearby, just out of sight, but about to make her entrance.
Today, it feels as if hope never existed.
Cautiously, I step into the living area. There are candles everywhere. Tall, white pillars glowing from every flat surface, flickering in shallow pools of melted wax. They throw strange shadows across the walls, making the whole place feel like some gothic dinner party. A table has been set in the center of the living room, clothed in black linen. Two place settings. Silver cutlery. Red wine breathing in crystal glasses.
Rick is sitting at the table, glass in hand, watching me.
His eyes are glittering. His inner darkness is barely hidden. This parody of refinement is deeply unsettling. Rick is not classy. He is brash and loud. He idolizes modern things and thinks art is boring.
I have no idea why he is acting like this and it is really fucking unsettling.
His smile is all teeth. “You’re late.”
I’m not. He never gave me a time. I was in my room perfecting my makeup. He never said to hurry.
“Sorry.”
I’m wearing what he had couriered over. A frigging school girl outfit with an extremely short skirt. I’m not one to kink shame, or yuck someone’s yum, but Rick is making this feel creepy.
“You look lovely.” He gestures for me to sit. “Come, eat. I had it catered from that place you like. The one with the little lemon tarts.”
I sit. The chair is plush, but the gravity is sharp. Claustrophobic.
He pours me wine without asking if I want it. I wrap my fingers around the stem just to have something to do with my hands. He’s watching me too closely. Always, always watching.
“I thought we could have a night together,” he says. “Just us. No guards. No distractions.”
No Dario.
