Page 66 of Nightmare

“Will it hurt?” I ask.

“Sometimes.”

Sometimes?

Oh my.

My heart flutters against my chest, but a few deep breaths has it calming down. He won’t hurt me to the point of no return, that much I believe. I can’t say I’m not curious as to what it is he has planned for me. Whatever it is, I know one thing is for certain, I won’t forget it. My eyes not once leaving him, I watch as he moves away from the bed and begins opening some drawers in my room.

“What are you looking for?” I question.

“Toys.”

Toys? As in, sex toys?

Cheeks flushing, I want to curl up and die. I don’t have sex toys. I know, it’s sad, but I have never gotten around to buying any. The shower head in the bathroom does a fantastic job and honestly, so do my hands.

“I, ah, don’t have any.”

He pauses, mid-way through pulling out a drawer and turns, staring at me with narrowed eyes.

“What do you use?”

“The shower head,” I squeak.

That has those eyes flashing.

“I’ll make note.”

With that, he turns and walks out of the room. For the longest moments, I wait, wondering what in the hell he’s going to come back with. When he returns with an ice-cold beer from my fridge, my eyes widen. He wants to drink right now. I mean sure, I love a good beer, but right now?

Pursing my lips and keeping my eyes trained on him, I watch as he opens the beer top with his mouth and spits the lid onto the ground. Tipping his head back, he takes a long drink before walking towards me. Stopping in between my spread legs, he lowers the bottle and tips it, pouring cold liquid right onto my pussy. Gasping, I squirm, the freezing sensation almost too much to handle.

His mouth is there before I can say a single word, and his warm tongue is gliding up between my legs, lapping up every drop as he lashes my flesh. Arching my back, I moan at the extraordinary sensations. Placing the open beer just above him, he slowly tips, continuing his devouring of my pussy as the cold liquid flows down. The pleasure is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I can’t stop the ragged moans that escape my lips as an orgasm builds.

Over and over, he does this, a little cool, a lot of warm, until I’m pulsing beneath his lips, my pussy clenching, my body arching, my moans filling the room. The orgasm is better than the last, which I thought was completely impossible, but I was wrong. Very wrong. Pulling away from me, Western stands and I can see the bulge in his jeans as he finishes off the last of the beer, his head tipped back, his muscles flexing as he drinks it down. God, he’s stunning. I want him inside me.

“Ever been fucked with a bottle?” he murmurs.

My eyes widen.

I stare at the bottle in his hands. Sleek, lengthening at the end where his mouth was just curled around. Surely no one has been fucked by a bottle. Right?

“I’m not entirely sure if you’re joking or not,” I say, my voice a little shaky.

“Smooth edges,” he takes a step forward, “cool, rounded, the perfect shape really.”

Is it?

I can’t say I’ve ever looked at a beer bottle in that particular manner.

“I...I don’t know.”

“Stop,” he reminds me. “Say it, and I do it.”

Reaching down, he runs his finger through my smooth flesh, coating it with my arousal. Then, he lowers the bottle, rubbing it up and down, over my clit and against my opening. The bottle is cool and firm, not quite a sensation I’m familiar with. Pressing it against me, I automatically clench, scared of how it might feel. Squeezing my thigh, Western encourages me to relax without using a single word.

Then he slides the bottle inside, just a little.

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