Page 54 of The Sadist and the Brat

She yanked at her hands, making the chains rattle. “Oh, God.”

She was shaking, fine tremors making her ass jiggle and her legs wobble. Her asshole was clenching at the plug, making it dance, and just below her pussy was so wet she was all but dripping. He thought she might be coming, but when he looked at her face to confirm, he couldn’t see her through the cloud of hair.

He looked to James questioningly. His friend was watching Sadie with a small smile on his face, and when he glanced up at Jack, nodded in confirmation.

“You little slut,” Jack growled, returning his attention to the quivering, quaking woman in front of him. “You love this.”

She shuddered though the last spasms and went limp on the bed. “Do not.”

“A liar as well as a thief,” he drawled. “You think I don’t know an orgasm when I see one?”

“I think fuck you,” she managed on a gasp.

“Oh, you will,” he promised, and, leaving the plug in her ass, crouched to undo her ankle restraints.

Chapter Eight

Sadie tried to resist when he pulled her off the bed, but her arms felt like noodles and her legs didn’t want to work and every time she moved, the log in her ass made her pussy clench and scattered her wits, By the time she’d gotten it together and was ready to put up a fight, she was on her knees at the foot of the bed, her wrists shackled to her ankles, staring at Jack’s crotch.

Olivia had definitely been right, she thought hazily and shook her head. That mini orgasm had barely taken the edge off, and she wanted more. But she was supposed to be in character, so she ignored her needy pussy and her full ass and gave the restraints a yank. “Let me go.”

He laughed, a deep rumble that didn’t do anything for her concentration. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sugar.”

She rattled her chains again, wincing when her butt sang in protest. She was sitting on her feet, the edges of the open zipper cutting into her bruised flesh, and when she shifted, her bootheels knocked into the base of the plug. The plug was big, the glass slick with lube, and the neck wasn’t narrow enough to keep it from shifting. Every time it moved, her pussy clenched and her clit pulsed and she lost the script.

“I’m going to make you pay for this,” she warned, still staring at his crotch. Jesus, was he wearing a cup?

“That threat might have more punch if you weren’t drooling,” he remarked, and reached for his zipper.

“I’m not drooling, I’m sneering,” she retorted and lost the thread again when he pulled his zipper down. He hauled out his cock, stepped forward, and tapped the fat head on her lips.

“Open,” he said, and without even a pretense of resisting, she did.

He lay heavy and hot on her tongue, the tip slick with pre-come, so she licked it off. She didn’t love it—come wasn’t generally her favorite thing, at least not in her mouth—but she liked sucking cock, and it was better than the taste of latex, so she’d learned to ignore it. She swirled her tongue around the glans, then gently scraped her teeth against the thick ridge. He stiffened above her, his dick jumping in her mouth, and she did it again, just a little harder.

“Brat,” he growled, and reached down to grab her hair in his fists. “Wider.”

She dropped her jaw and sucked in a breath, anticipating him, and wasn’t disappointed when he smoothly drove his cock to the back of her throat. She gurgled when he hit her gag reflex, unable to help it, and his hands tightened in her hair.

“I like that,” he said, pulling back to rest on her tongue. “Do it again.”

“You do it again,” she mumbled around his dick, then he was pushing forward and she was gurgling again, her throat spasming when he tried to push past it.

He kept at it, pulling back and shoving forward so she gasped and gurgled and choked around him, spit dripping from her open mouth to coat her chest. He ignored it and kept fucking her face, using her hair as handles to yank her forward and back. She relaxed into it, letting him do the work, and tilted her head to get the angle right. On the next forward thrust, he slipped into her throat, and she gagged hard.

“Don’t you dare fucking puke on me,” he warned, holding her steady with his cock wedged in her throat. Her throat spasmed around him and her eyes watered, and when he finally pulled out, she sucked in a desperate breath.

“Again,” he demanded, and shoved himself into her throat again.

When he finally pulled free and took a step back, her face was streaked with tears and her throat felt raw, her neck and chest soaked with drool. She blinked to clear her vision, her eyes locked on his cock. It seemed even thicker than before, and so hard she could actually see it throb. The front of his slacks was soaked with her spit, and she wondered idly if it would stain.

“Something funny?” he asked, and she realized she’d giggled out loud at the thought of him having to explain drool stains to his dry cleaner.

“Just picturing you in jail,” she shot back, and wished she’d put on a full face of makeup for the evening. Lipstick on the front of his pants would’ve been perfect, but she hadn’t bothered with it. However, she had worn eyeshadow and mascara. Not much, just Saturday running errands level makeup, but with the amount of crying she’d been doing, maybe…

She leaned forward suddenly, and before he could move out of the way, rubbed her wet and ravaged face against the front of his slacks. He cursed and tried to yank her away, cursing again when his dick got caught in the tangle of her hair. By the time he’d worked himself free and shoved her back, most of her eye makeup decorated the front of his pants.

He looked down at himself, then scowled at her. “You’re going to pay for that.”

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