Page 67 of Mafia Captor

My stomach drops. I take a choppy inhale, my breath caught in a gasp. “You can’t be serious.”

“And make sure you get your asshole too, because I’ll be eating that as well.”

He’s got to be joking. Or testing me. The room’s suddenly a hundred degrees, heat flushing my chest. My hand flutters to my throat.

“Wha—what… no… no, you’re not.”

“Yes. I. Am. Now, bend those knees, babygirl.”

Am I going to do what he says? Can I do what he asks? Am I even capable?

I bend my knees, squatting down, spreading my legs, till I’m hovering just over the cake.

“You know what,” he says. “I think you’d get more coating kneeling. Get on your knees.”

I’m fighting to keep my balance as it is. To get on my knees… it’s going to get more awkward, more embarrassing.

I take a moment to plan it out, to figure out how to pull this off without falling on my face. I inch forward so I’m at the front of the plate. I lean forward, pressing my hands into the floor. One knee at a time, I press them to the floor. I push myself back up, now kneeling in front of the cake. If I was taller… but I’m not. The only way to coat myself in this icing is to scoot back, bit by bit, sliding my parts over the top of the cake.

He’s losing patience. “You know what to do. Let’s see it.”

I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I take a deep breath to still my nerves. I start to move. Inching backward.

My ass hits the cake first. The icing is cold and wet and feels squishy as I move my body over the cake, the icing spreading over my ass, my pussy.

“Good, good girl. You’re making me so hard it hurts, watching you do what I tell you. Now, sit down, right on top, get good and covered. I want to taste my cake.”

I settle down, letting the icing and cake cover me. Humiliating. Strange. Sensual. It’s cold and wet and squishy. It feels super weird but kinda good. I’m confused by the feelings of arousal that come. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

Now that I’ve done the hard part, I start to look forward to his promise, his hot tongue against my cake covered pussy…. and… other areas.

My knees are starting to hurt but I know I have to wait for his permission to rise. I can tell by the set of his angled jaw, it’s just that kinda night.

Finally, his voice fills the room. “Come here, baby. Let me lick you clean.”

I go to stand, chunks of cake falling as I move. I have to press my hands back into the floor to steady myself as I rise. I stand there, cake everywhere, and look around the room. There’s only us, the table, and what’s left of the cake. If you can even call the mangled confection by that name at this point.

My voice is shakier than I want it to be. “Where do you want me to go?”

“Where does one eat dessert?”

“The table?”

“Yup. Climb aboard and lay down on your back.”

I stare at the polished wood tabletop. I’m going to destroy it. “Oh my God. Are you going to at least put down a towel or a cloth or something?”

“No way. I find the cold, hard feel of wood a turn on. You will too. Come on. Up you go.” He pats the table. “Now.”

My knees feel like jelly still. I take a timid step forward. The memory of his promise that he’ll be eating—all of me—rattles my brain and makes my stomach flip.

Ashe, where are you, you sexy goddess?

I’m going to need you for this.

ChapterTwenty-One

Boston

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