Page 99 of The Naughty List

“Do it. Don’t be a pussy.”

“A pussy?” His voice is so low. “You really think I’m a fucking pussy?”

“I’ll think whatever I think, until you show me otherwise.”

His gloves are off and cast aside in seconds, and he slaps my tits like I deserve it. I stare him in the eyes with every slap, my whimpers turning to moans as the tingles turn to burns. The cold is burning me along with his palms. The contrast between ice and fire is a dream.

I’m still staring him in the eyes as he hitches my skirt up. I don’t fight him as he does it. I don’t make a sound as he tears my tights away and tugs my panties down my legs, just let him battle with each of my legs until he has them off me and my pussy is bare for him.

A bare wet treat, waiting to serve.

He plunges two fingers all the way in and I cry out for him.

“You have one soaking wet cunt, you know that?” he says, his breath fogging the air.

“I always do.”

“Say it, then. Say you’re a slut who wants dick, no matter where it comes from.” I hesitate too long, and he pins me by my throat, his mask right up in my face. “SAY IT!”

The dynamic between us is serpentine, twisting. And weirdly addictive.

“I’m a slut who wants dick, no matter where it comes from,” my voice is trembling just as much as my body is.

“And where do you fucking want it, huh?”

“Wherever you want to put it.”

My pussy is squelching as he pumps me, and he’s not hitting anything tender, just a slopping wet hole, ready to belong to him. He adds a finger, and that makes me whimper. He brushes a thumb against my clit, and the pleasure is enough that I moan.

“Dirty fucking whore.”

He keeps playing, and my breaths quicken, my ice-cold tits heaving in the night. He pumps faster, and I shift my legs apart, squatting a little for the thrill.

“You’re a dirty bitch with a dirty cunt,” he says. “You’re a lucky girl, since I’ll make you come before I use it.”

Another finger and I’m lost to him, still sore from the strain a few days ago. My G-spot is too tender to resist, and his thumb on my clit has a rhythm, and I’m done for. I’m a hostage in the middle of nowhere, with a masked man using me like a cheap little bitch, and I’m going to come for him.

It’s so much easier to feel the wetness dripping down my thighs as I come in the cold December night. It’s hot against prickling flesh, and makes it feel even more fucking filthy as he uses me. I pant without giving a fuck for the hitch of his masked breaths in my face, or the way he slams his weight against me to keep me still, or my bare feet, cold on the muddy cobbles.

I don’t give a fuck as he pulls his fingers free of my pussy and forces them into my mouth, just suck like a whore and take what I’m given.

He unzips his jeans, and I’m ready for it.

He grabs my hand and pushes it against his hard cock. It’s thick. Thick enough to make my pussy clench.

“Think you can take it, slut?” he asks, his masked face right in mine.

I almost sayyes, no fucking problem. But no, I play the game.

“No,” I tell him, “please don’t, you’re too big.”

He likes that, I can see it in his eyes, piercing mine.

“Want me to stop, do you?” he says and I know he’s giving me a chance to say the safe word.

The safe word I’m never going to use.

“Yes, please stop, please let me go. I want to go home.” I’m trembling so much my shaky words sound so genuine. “Please,” I repeat. “Don’t do this.”

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