Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I saw myself struggling against the wrist cuffs, into which I could see I would be buckled, in a very specific way, twisting my right wrist just so while Mila tightened the left. The vision showed me exactly how to position my hand so that the leather would seem secure but leave just enough give to slip free later. Without conscious thought, I found myself following the vision’s guidance, contorting my wrist at the precise angle I’d seen.
Mila frowned slightly as she checked the restraint, but it held when she tugged on it. She moved to secure my ankles, spreading my legs wide and binding them to the lower posts. I realized that the bed and its restraints were set up to allow me to be moved around and repositioned, the cuffs on my hands and feet reattached almost anywhere on the bedframe. Then, to my dismay, I saw that the men at the bar had moved into the audience area, their eyes fixed on the display of my most intimate places for their visual enjoyment.
The door burst open before Mila and Katya even finished, Horakovsky’s voice filling the room. “Ah, perfect timing. Gentlemen, our entertainment has arrived.”
He entered with Dmitri and Vassily, who greeted the three men already present in a masculine, companionable way. Takken shuffled in behind them, making straight for the bar without looking at me. I heard the splash of whiskey as he poured himself yet another drink.
“No more pleasure for the little whore’s hot cunt than absolutely necessary,” Horakovsky announced, unbuckling his belt casually, then freeing the impressive, stiff cock that had already impaled my bottom so brutally. “I want her desperate, not satisfied. Anyone who makes her come answers to me.”
The men exchanged knowing glances as they began to undress. I watched through tear-blurred vision as expensive suits were carelessly discarded, revealing bodies that ranged from Horakovsky’s brutal bulk to the leaner frames of his subordinates. My stomach churned as they approached the bed like predators circling wounded prey.
Horakovsky claimed me first, naturally. He positioned himself between my spread legs without preamble, his thick fingers testing my shameful wetness before guiding himself to my entrance. The thrust that followed was merciless, burying himself to the hilt in one motion that tore a scream from my throat.
“Still so tight,” he grunted, establishing a punishing rhythm. “Even after all that preparation.”
I turned my head, unable to bear watching his scarred face above me, only to meet Takken’s glazed stare from across the room. He’d settled into a leather chair with his whiskey, his expression unreadable as he watched another man use his wife. The indifference in his eyes made me angrier even than Horakovsky’s brutal thrusts.
After several minutes, Horakovsky pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping. “Dmitri, your turn. Remember—no climax for the whore.”
They rotated through me with mechanical efficiency. Dmitri’s technique was different from his boss’s—slower, more controlled, angling himself to drag against sensitive spots that had me clenching despite myself. When I felt myself climbing toward that edge, he would pause, sometimes pulling out entirely until my breathing calmed.
The three middle managers followed, each taking their turn while the others watched and commented in Russian. One was particularly cruel, pinching my nipples hard enough to make me cry out while he thrust into me. Another seemed almost bored, using me like I was merely expensive furniture while discussing business with Vassily.
I caught sight of Mila and Katya, on their knees in front of the men who weren’t enjoying me at that moment. Their heads bobbed as they tended to the shameful duty of preparing the cocks that would soon invade me.
“Turn her around,” Horakovsky commanded after the first round. “We’re going to fuck her face now.”
I gasped as they repositioned me roughly, Dmitri and Vassily working together to spin me around on the bed. My head hung backward over the edge, the world inverted and disorienting. The blood rushed to my head, making me dizzy, and I could see the men gathering around me from this strange upside-down angle.
“Open wide,” Horakovsky commanded, pressing his still-hard length against my lips. The taste of myself on him made my whole body flare with heat, the musky evidence of my body’s betrayal coating my tongue as he pushed deeper. From this angle, he could drive straight down my throat, and he did so without mercy.
Someone’s hands—I couldn’t tell whose—gripped my knees and pulled them back toward my chest, folding me nearly in half. I felt fingers probing at my tender bottom-hole while Horakovsky used my mouth. The dual violation made tears stream sideways across my temples.
“She’s nice and ready from the plug,” one of the managers observed in accented English, his finger pushing inside me with casual cruelty. “Perfect for use.”
They took turns with my mouth while others played with my exposed bottom, sometimes pushing fingers inside, sometimes just circling the sensitive rim while I choked on whoever was currently using my throat. The position made breathing difficult, and dark spots danced at the edges of my vision.