Page 74 of Brat Baby
What the hell does he expect me to do when he has a knife to my throat, my legs so far apart that if I lift one, I’ll fall, and his hand gripping my hair like a goddamn clamp?
“Fuck. You,” I reply through gritted teeth. I try to twist in position, but that just causes a flare of pain in my scalp and for the point of pain to turn into a line along my throat.
“You, Emery Nichols, have a filthy mouth for a girl who only turned eighteen a few weeks ago. I can’t wait for it to be sucking down my cock again. Kneel.”
The grip on my hair drags me down, whether I’m ready or not, my forehead and cheek sliding down the tile, hitting every sharp edge, until I’m forced to awkwardly squat with my ass pressing into his hard dick.
“Turn around.”
Managing to drop to both knees, I force myself to turn, putting distance between me and the wall, hands held up by my face like I’m the bad guy and he the good. I’m protected from the spray of water, his body blocking it from me.
Through my wet lashes, I come face-to-face with his fully hard dick as it bobs right in front of my face, the glint of the piercinga real fucking tease. Slowly, I shift my gaze up, tracing over those fucking amazing abs, over his chest and up to his face. The random drops of water from his upper body onto my face make it hard to keep my eyes open, but I fucking try.
My vision has adjusted somewhat to the dark, and I can see him but no real details, and fuck, I wish I could see his eyes. Maybe they would tell me what is going to happen now. Kink or something else entirely.
But all I have is a dark outline of him, his wet curls hanging around his face as he peers down at me. My vulnerability meter is in the “escape now” zone, but this position is messing with my head.
Last time, even though I didn’t know it until the end, one of the others had been with him. But I highly doubt that is the case tonight. Not with how he has been sneaking into my room each night. We are alone. It’s just me, him, and his blade.
I…I think I might actually like this. The fear, tinged with the beginnings of desire. Is this a thing? Being held hostage, at the mercy of another, while sex occurs, in a slightly less than consensual way?
The knife followed me to my kneeling position, and now his hand flexes beneath my jaw as he guides the pointed tip up to press into the hollow on the underside of my jaw behind my chin, tipping my head back even farther.
Mouth really fucking dry, I swallow, but that only causes the knife to bob up and down.
“Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out.”
With my head tipped back as far as it can possibly go, I slowly open my mouth, forcing the point of the knife to press more firmly into my skin. I pause, lips barely parted, and glare up at him.
I swear that asshole smirks at me before he reduces the pressure, allowing me to get my mouth open the whole way without giving me a new hole to drink with.
“Lace your fingers behind your head.”
My core heats as I think about where this is going.
Blow job at knifepoint? I think I might need a trip to a wellness retreat after this, because holy shit, I am unwell for thinking this is hot.
I do as I’m told, bringing my hands to where his hand is still gripped in my hair, and lace my fingers over his. But with one hand on the knife and the other in my hair, how is his dick going to get into my mouth at this angle? Is it going to be like a reverse dunking for apples? I just suck on his balls?
My question is answered not even a second later when the knife is removed from beneath my chin and held up in front of my face. For something so scary, it’s small. The blade isn’t even two inches long, but the edges look fucking sharp. The handle is completely flat.
It’s the weirdest knife I’ve ever seen. Kind of looks like something a spy would carry, tucked into the hem of a jacket or something.
Then it slowly descends toward my tongue.
A spike of fear causes me to flinch, but his grip on my hair tightens and the flat of the blade slides along my tongue.
“Unghh,” I try to protest, but he is applying enough pressure that I can’t move my tongue, or I run the risk of getting cut.
The knife isn’t quite deep enough that it is triggering my gag reflex, but it’s close. Breathing through my nose is the only thing that saves me. With his thumb on the blade, he uses the rest of his hand to grip my chin and pinches the whole thing together in a viselike grip.
He takes a step closer, until his dick is right by my face and dripping with water. The tension on my hair releases, and hepulls that hand free, knowing I’m trapped with the grip of one hand.
Finally, fucking finally, he grabs his dick, lines it up with the handle of the blade, then slides all the way fucking in until my nose is buried in his skin and my throat constricts as the piercing thrusts past my tonsils.
I’m caught completely off guard, having just exhaled, and now with him blocking off my throat, panic signals from my lungs shoot up to my brain. Some of those signals get confused, and my clit starts to throb.
My eyes feel huge, like they are as wide as they can possibly go. From the gagging, from the shock, from the oh-shit-I-can’t-breathe. Pulse pounding in my ears, I try to fight through the fear, knowing he won’t let me suffocate.
