Hostile Takeover Hill, W (thriller books to read .txt) 📖

Shifting in front of her again, he curled his fingers into the strap on the top of the head mask, a replacement handhold with the hair trapped beneath it. Releasing the chain, he brought her up to her knees, wobbling precariously with that spreader between them, but he held her upright. Unhooking her wrist restraints to bring her arms behind her, he arched her back to attach them that to the spreader bar between her knees. Now she was dependent on her stomach muscles, her own unsteady balance and his hand to stay upright. But in another second that didn’t matter.

Her lips parted as she smelled the heat and musk of his cock. She hadn’t heard him remove any clothes, but she had a feeling he was still fully dressed, had just opened his slacks to have her service him.

He pushed against her mouth, and she had to adjust fast, because he didn’t take his time as he had before. He was already hard and huge, sliding into the back of her throat. She reveled in it, knowing her submission, having her so helpless, was making him hot. So hot he stretched her lips cruelly, bumped against her throat. She flicked her tongue on him, sucked, teased, stroked, doing everything to convey how much she loved doing this for him. With her standing on her knees, that arousal was rolling down the insides of her legs.

She could come just from doing this. His other hand captured her breast, tugged on the nipple piercing, a sharp pain that made her cry out against him. He slapped the breast in reproof, making her gasp again. He did it to the other breast, a rough tweak and pull, followed by that sharp slap that made the breast wobble in reaction.

He was tearing her up inside, pulling her between cruel pain and pleasure, training her to respond to both the same way. She might know that rationally, but it was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It was frightening, feeling it all spin out of control, but at some visceral level, she understood. He wanted her to let go of everything. Identity, mind, everything but being his slave, because anything else was an attempt to control, and he wouldn’t tolerate that. He held all the control. Whatever she’d imagined, it hadn’t gone this far, but if she wanted him, she had to be willing to fall out of the boat and watch it float away, sink to the bottom of his ocean.

Now he’d let go of her head, leaving her to work him with her mouth while he grasped both breasts, pinched the nipples, rolled the barbells until she was trying so hard to focus, caught between ecstasy and flinching as he mixed pleasurable squeezes with sudden flicks that sent shards of pain through her nipples. Her back was starting to ache from her position, her jaw screaming, but she didn’t care. He held her up with his cock impaling her mouth and his hands holding her breasts. As far as she was concerned, it was exactly where she wanted to be.

Taking hold of the headmask strap, he pulled her off him. Moving behind her, he freed her bound wrists from the spreader bar, and each other, but held onto them as he shifted his other hand to the back of her neck, pushed her face to the floor again. Her arms were brought back above her again so her elbows pressed into the wood. The way he took her to the floor was swift, a harrowing descent, blind and with nothing to control her speed but him, but again, she got the message. He was demanding her absolute trust. That was the kind of Dom he was, but she knew it was more than that as well.

She’d told him he sought his sub’s vulnerability but withheld his own. He always played on the edge, but because he didn’t like the truth she’d put in front of him, he’d take it even closer to that perilous drop because he wanted to scare the shit out of her, send her running back to her playground.

He was in for a surprise. She was scared, but she was also totally-out-of-control immersed in the world he was creating, and she’d never been so sexually stimulated in her life. They probably weren’t even a fourth of the way through Ben’s version of foreplay. A prayer for strength would probably not be out of line at this point, with an additional caveat for forgiveness for all the sins she was willing to commit for her Master.

He was being rough, but not violent. His touch was firm, strong, implacable. This wasn’t romance. This was a hardcore Master out and out driving her to the upper level of madness, where her body was going to come completely to pieces before he was done. Cruel, but she craved his brand of cruelty.

She was moved forward, his arms briefly wrapped around her waist and chest. He pulled her arms out straighter, and directed her to wrap her fingers around what felt like the leg of that heavy piece of furniture before he chained her there, the links winding over her knuckles. Her forehead stayed pressed to the floor until he gripped her hips, bringing her to her feet, her head still down toward the ground, arms low and stretched before her, a modified Down Dog yoga position.

It strained her muscles in a new way. He wasn’t keeping her in any pose long enough to become painful; just enough to stress the body, like a particularly stringent workout. Maybe he’d been going to Rachel’s classes.

The desperate humor was gone in an instant as his hand made contact with her ass, a powerful slap. He followed it up with several more, warming her flesh. She was making soft cries in her throat, pleas of alarm, because if he so much as touched her pussy, she was going