Page 34 of Stalking Ginevra

Humiliation burns beneath my skin, making it prickle. I can’t fight this asshole, can’t flee, and freezing will only escalate my torment. There’s only one way he’ll be appeased.

Gulping, I fumble with the fastenings of his crotch guard and lower his zipper. His thick cock springs into my face, the head swollen and slick with precum.

Warmth floods my pussy, making the muscles tighten. I wrap my fingers around the shaft, its heat pulsing against my palm. I can barely fit my hand around his girth, but I grip tight, using the slickness at the tip to lubricate my strokes.

His breath hitches, a low moan vibrating through the air as I pump him with deliberate, teasing strokes.

“Good girl,” he rumbles. “You’re milking me so well.”

The praise goes straight to my clit, which swells to the point of aching. I quicken my movements, making his cock jerk in my hand.

He breathes hard, responding to every squeeze, every twist of my wrist. All those times Samson made me practice with the dildo are paying off because I have this horny bastard shivering under my touch.

“Fuck. Dirty kitten wants her cream. You’re going to get it. All you can handle.”

My chest swells with a twisted satisfaction. For once, I have the power to affect him, to bend him to my will, if only for a moment. I glance up, taking note of the tilt of his head, the only indication he’s watching.

“You look so pretty on your knees, pumping me with those slender fingers.”

Heat pools between my thighs, and my clit pulses with the need for friction. I roll my hips in time with my strokes, desperate for release.

I hate myself for enjoying this so much. Despise the part of me that revels in feeling wanted. Pride and self-loathing battle for dominion in my psyche, yet my body still yearns for his touch.

The whole world disappears, and the cold dread gnawing at my stomach dissipates. The humiliation of being the daughter of a man who stole an entire law firm fades under the heat of the moment. I let go of my resentment toward Dad for breaking my engagement, Mom’s suicidal plan to murder Bossanova, even the ten million dollars of debt hanging over our heads.

All that matters is making this powerful man come.

His breathing quickens, his hips rocking into my fist, his thigh muscles flexing beneath his armor as he nears the edge. The shaft beneath my fingers throb, and I know he’s close to losing control.

“Naughty kitten,” he groans, his voice thickening with lust. “My filthy little girl is about to get her treat.”

My heart flutters. If I make him come, maybe he’ll spare my punishment. I move faster, my lips parting as my mind teeters over the edge between fear and submission. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pull back my shoulders, and brace myself for him to shower my face with warm fluid.

“Fuck,” he roars.

Just as he’s about to explode, he snatches back his shaft. My eyes snap open as he comes all over the floor. Thick, pearlescent streams shoot from his tip, splattering across the dark surface. The liquid glistens in the moonlight, each drop reflecting its glow with a shimmer, looking almost beautiful.

Rejection stabs me in the chest. I swallow back the sharp and bitter tang of disappointment. Inner shame trickles through the cracks of my mind, whispering why I wasn’t worthy of a pearl necklace.

A gloved hand cups my face. I turn away from the cum to find his cock still hard, still tantalizing, still glistening. A dark part of me rises to the surface, wanting him to tear off the duct tape, rip the panties from my mouth, and force me to take him down to the root.

If I’m already degraded, why not lose myself to ruin?

Leaning down, he brings the helmet to the side of my face and rasps, “Go on, little kitten. Lick your cream.”

I jerk back, my eyes wide. He wants me to do what?

Moonlight glints off his visor, and I swear he winks.

My stomach roils, the strange sensation settling in my pussy. Kneeling in front of him like a catgirl is bad enough, but licking semen off the floor? The thought makes my cheeks burn, and my throat thickens with a surge of emotion.

I hesitate, my mind racing. Do I dare defy him? Could I withstand his punishment if I refuse? The thought of what he might do terrifies me more than the act itself, but what about the consequences?

My heart clenches. One day, I’m lapping his cum off the linoleum. Next, he could make me do it before an audience of jeering men.

With a snarl, he grabs my hair, dragging me to the beginning of the stream, pushing my face into the mess. The warm, sticky fluid smears against my cheek, its scent making me moan. Gasping, I push back, but he’s too strong, too heavy, too determined to break my spirit.

“Finish your treat,” he growls. “Every last drop, you filthy little kitty.”

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