Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
The dual stimulation of his fingers on my clit and the teasing pressure against my anus quickly became too much to bear. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring wound to its breaking point. And then, with a particularly clever twist of his fingers, everything shattered.
The orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, more intense than anything I had ever experienced, alone in the shower. My body convulsed, muscles clenching and unclenching as surges of pleasure radiated outward from my core. I screamed into the gag, tears of ecstasy mingling with those of shame and confusion.
Through it all, Professor Hallstrom’s fingers never stopped their relentless assault. He worked me through the peak of my pleasure and beyond, until I was a trembling, oversensitive mess across his lap. Only then did his touch gentle, becoming almost soothing as he stroked my quivering flesh.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and despite everything, I felt a surge of pride at his praise. “That’s only the beginning of what you’re going to experience as my thrall.”
As the aftershocks of my climax faded, my body still trembling with residual pleasure, I heard a sharp knock at the door. Before I could process what was happening, even as far as to remember what a thrall was, I felt Professor Hallstrom’s strong hands grip my waist. With shocking ease, he lifted me as if I weighed no more than a feather, tossing me over his broad shoulder in one fluid motion.
To my absolute horror and my burning shame I felt a fresh surge of arousal course through me at being so effortlessly manhandled. My still-sensitive pussy throbbed, pressed against his muscular shoulder. I could feel the warmth of his body through my thin blouse, smell the intoxicating mix of his cologne and the musky scent of his skin. It was primal, animalistic, and it spoke to some deep, hidden part of me I had never known existed.
I heard the door open, the creak of hinges impossibly loud in the tension-filled silence. Then Professor Hallstrom’s voice rang out, but not in English. The words flowed like honey, lilting and musical even with the authoritative tone. It was the same language he had used on the phone earlier—Icelandic? Danish? I had no idea.
Two male voices responded, their tones equally confident and casual, as if finding a bound and gagged girl slung over their colleague’s shoulder represented an everyday occurrence. I strained to make out individual words, to glean some understanding of what was happening, but it was useless. The unfamiliar syllables washed over me, beautiful but incomprehensible.
I felt utterly helpless, completely at the mercy of these men. The rational part of my mind screamed in terror, urging me to fight, to struggle, to do something. But my traitorous body had other ideas. Each shift of Professor Hallstrom’s shoulder sent little jolts of pleasure rocketing through my womb to my overstimulated clit. The sheer strength he displayed in holding me so effortlessly made me feel small, feminine—and mortifyingly needy.
The conversation continued, the three men speaking in that mysterious Scandinavian tongue. I caught what sounded like my name, again—‘Mary,’ accented in a way that to my distress felt swoon-worthy—amidst the foreign words several times, sending fresh thrills of fear and excitement through me. What had they said about me? What plans had they made for my future?
I felt Professor Hallstrom’s hand come to rest on my bottom, which was still stinging from the spanking he had delivered. His touch was possessive but also almost casual, as if I were nothing more than a piece of property to be discussed and handled at will. And despite my fear and confusion, I found myself helplessly arching into his touch, seeking more of that forbidden contact—as if this all constituted some kind of game, rather than the dangerous, even maybe deadly reality of a kidnapping.
Professor Hallstrom carried me swiftly down the hallway. I could feel how his long strides ate up the distance, and I heard the sounds of his feet, and those of his companions, come faintly through the fabric of the hood. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against my bare thighs, a constant reminder of my exposed state. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and unwanted arousal making me dizzy.
As we emerged from the building, the cool night air hit my skin, raising goosebumps across my exposed flesh. The sounds of the city assaulted my ears—distant traffic, the rustle of leaves, the echo of footsteps on pavement. I prayed desperately that someone, anyone would notice my plight.
With renewed determination, I screamed into the gag. The sound came out muffled and weak, barely audible even to my own ears. Still, I tried again and again, my throat growing raw with the effort. Surely someone would hear, would realize something was wrong?