Page 57 of The Professor
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Chelsea
A woman with blonde hair had two men fucking her, one in the pussy and one in the ass. She appeared to be in ecstasy already, but when another slotted his cock into her mouth, she arched her spine and a mewling, satisfied groan vibrated through her chest.
“Fuck yeah,” one of the guys said, clamping his hands on her breasts. “Take us all.”
My pussy was wet, leaking onto my inner thighs. If I thought I could get away with it I would have stripped and slid onto the huge bed, taken some of the cock on offer. But that would end badly. There was no way Andrew would consider me being fucked by strangers as a bit of fun. I’d be spanked into next week. Hell, I wouldn’t sit down for a month.
My ass tingled at the memory of the spanking. He’d been so stern and dominant and had reddened my bum in a way that told me it wasn’t his first time bending a woman over and disciplining an ass.
What had he done here, at this club? Had he writhed on this very bed, women straddling his cock at the same time as straddling his face? Did it bother him if other bloke’s cocks touched him? Was double penetration his thing?
“Keep fucking still if you know what’s good for you.”
I gasped as something solid was rammed into my side, my ribs, and a big dark presence loomed down on me.
“What the…?”
“Do exactly what you’re told and I’ll make this quick.” Thick breath, stale and coffee-scented. “And maybe I won’t shoot you.”
“Who are you?” Panic seared through me as I glanced at the hooked nose and weak chin of the man who, from what I gathered, had the end of a gun shoved against me.
“This way.” He slid his arm around my waist and dragged me backward, away from the orgy, away from the overhead lights that were dim anyway.
I searched frantically for Andrew, for Mitch or Cillian. Where were they?
“I’ve seen you,” he said, hate heavy in his voice. “With one of the Irish bastards who thought it was okay to fuck me up last week. I’ve seen you in here with him…tonight.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now I knew it was him. Brian Dix, the murderer we’d come here in search of.
Murderer. Oh fuck. “Whatever you’re planning, you won’t get away with it.” Adrenaline swarmed through my system. I felt sick. “Cillian, and…and his friends will be here any moment.”
“We’ll see. I’m getting good at this. That’s what practice does.” He stopped at the emergency exit, glanced around, andthen leaned onto it. The damn thing opened up into a dark alley, no alarm, no lights, nothing.
Fuck!
The cool night air hit me, and the door shut again with a resounding slam. The silence of night surrounded me.
“Handy knowing where to cut wires,” he said, the gun now on show. “Even handier when clubs are full of dumbass security guys who mainly like to watch the punters fucking rather than protecting them.”
“My…my boyfriend will be here any second. He’ll kill you for this. So will Cillian.”
“As I said, this won’t take long.”
He lunged toward me. I dodged and rushed forward. I ran straight into a large bin on wheels. It moved. I staggered. I re-found my footing and ran around it.
But I didn’t get far. He was taller and faster than me. His arms locked around my waist, and I de-accelerated. Next thing I knew, the air was forced from my lungs and I crashed into the wall. “Ooph!”
My head cracked on it, too, but I didn’t even register the pain.
He wore a manic smile, and I flung a punch at his face, catching his chin.
“Bitch!” His smile dropped, and he caught my wrists, pinning them in just one of his hands. He pressed up against me. “I’m going to enjoy killing you after I’ve fucked you.”
His breath was hot and rancid and blasted over my face as he yanked up my dress, exposing my pussy.
I struggled and writhed, but his weight was solid on me. “You bastard, get off.” My mind was a collision of panic and fear. I had to get out of there.
