Dirty Bad Secrets(66)

“Why are you crying?” Vincent asks, but I have no answer for him. “Magpie, why are you crying?”

I shake my head. “I’m sad.”

“Why are you sad? What do you have to be sad about? You had a test and you failed. Be happy and grateful that you were given the opportunity.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now, watch Cynthia’s pretty cunt milk my dick. She feels so good, you know.”

I force my eyes onto them, and more tears spill as I watch her mount his lap. She moans like a whore as she lowers herself, arching her back against his chest and wriggling her hips. “Yes, fuck, sir, you feel so fucking big inside me.” He kisses her neck and watches me over her shoulder, and it’s too much. I writhe in frustration, trying to turn away.

“No,” he snaps. “Jealousy has no place in our lives, Magpie, you know this.”

Oh God, oh fuck. Jealousy fucking burns. I have to force my eyes back, and my mouth curls upwards. “Yes, Vincent, Master. I know.”

“Ask me to kiss her, ask me to touch her beautiful ripe tits, ask me to squeeze them, love them. Ask me to make her come.”

My stomach is on fire. “Please, Vincent, Master, please do all those things.”

“Say them, pretty bird.”

My breath is ragged. “Please kiss her.”

“And?”

“Please touch her beautiful tits, Vincent, please touch them. Squeeze them.”

“And?”

“Love her, Master, make her come.”

She’s riding him hard now, the slap of her flesh against his makes me feel sick. I can see his balls bouncing up against her ass, his cock slick with her juices, her dirty cunt sucking outwards like an elasticated sock. God how I hate her. “Beg me, pretty bird. Beg!”

“Please, Master!” I cry. “Please love her, please, please kiss her pretty mouth, please squeeze her beautiful tits! Please!”

“Good girl. Fuck, her cunt feels so tight, Magpie. She almost makes me happy you failed.” His laughter cuts deep, and I’m lost. Silent tears stream, and my spirit is broken. I listen to the noises, soak in the expression on his face, on her face, the glee as his tongue finds her mouth. She flicks hers back at his, her eyes on mine. How she fucking rides him, she rides him like he’s hers, and he lets her. He wants it. Bastard.

He comes inside her, bucking and hissing and grabbing at her hair, and she comes too, squealing like a pig and gripping her hands to her bouncing fucking tits. She dismounts, and his cream spills out of her. She smiles at me. “My gift,” she says, scooping it from her filthy cunt with a finger. She sucks it off. “I’m so lucky. Don’t worry, slut, you’ll get what’s owed.”

“Please, Master,” I say. “I am not worthy, I need no gift.”

“On the contrary,” he replies. “You are very worthy of this gift, pretty bird. I can’t wait to see you receive it.” He gestures Cynthia to the back wall, and my insides twist at the prospect of what she will choose.

“This one,” she says, but I don’t look around. Vincent nods his approval, and I wait for it. I wait. But even I don’t expect what comes.

It burns like hot coals, spitting embers inside me, red hot pain, like razorblade kisses. She tuts in annoyance when she can’t force the thing all the way inside me, as she jams and twists it again against my pussy lips. I know which one it is. The big black strap-on. They call it the Emperor. I’ve never been given the Emperor, not until now. It’s always scared me and I’ve managed to fall lucky with people’s choices. She’s not wearing it, I can tell. She’s holding it in her hands, both of them at once, slamming it against my sore cunt. It thumps. Oh God, it’s so weighty it fucking thumps.

“Ow!” I squeal. “It hurts.”

“Don’t be pathetic,” she cackles. “It’s only a fucking dildo.”

When she manages to force entry, she pushes so hard that I lurch forward and my tits burn against the floorboards, closing that horrible fucking distance between my face and Vincent’s feet. It hurts so bad I’m groaning, horrible low noises that sound little like me. My pussy is raw and bruised, the dildo grinding in dry. It feels horrible. It feels dirty. I feel dirty, and cheap, and humiliated.

I cry. Hard.

“Don’t be like this, pretty bird,” Vincent soothes. “Remember the beauty in surrender? Remember that?”

I nod.

“You know what to do, my sweet. Stop thinking about this being over. Stop waiting for the end. There is no end, only now. Only this moment. Accept the pain, accept the suffering, and give yourself to me. Give yourself to Cynthia. Give yourself to this wonderful experience.”