“I can’t,” I cry. “It all hurts so bad.”
“The jealousy hurts worse than your sweet pussy, Magpie, trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Always,” I sob. “Always, Master.”
“Then take it for me,” he says. “Look me in the eyes and take it for me.”
Cynthia is grunting with exertion, and my pussy is stretched full around her big black cock. It hurts and she’s loving it, jamming it inside without mercy, but I’m going there, to that beautiful place. I stop wishing for it to end.
My eyes meet Vincent’s and I submit to him.
“Good girl,” he says. “That’s my perfect girl.”
“Harder,” I hiss. “Please, harder.”
Oh how Cynthia fucking hates it. She takes it all the way out and ploughs it back in, and I hiss out all my breath, but I’m still smiling.
“More!” I say. “Harder! Fuck me!”
I’m still crying, but I’m smiling, too. Smiling and delirious and lost in this place. It feels good here, it feels free. I no longer care about anything, and it’s so beautiful my heart sings.
“You are a dirty girl.” Vincent smiles, and his cock is in his hand. “Kiss my feet.”
I kiss his feet, licking at the soles of his shoes, and I don’t care if they’re dirty, I don’t care if they’re soiled. I lick his shoes and I moan and beg and cry for more as the Emperor burns my cunt.
Vincent rolls me onto my side, and he loves me so much, I can tell. He pulls out a massager and holds it to my tender clit, and I can’t stop my body, my nerves have gone crazy, and I’m bucking and crying as the orgasms rack through me. Cynthia’s pounding my cunt so hard she’s hissing in pain at her own muscle cramps, but I’m wet, so wet I can hear the squelching. I come again and again and a fucking gain, and I love it, I fucking love it.
When Vincent comes he gives it to me. I’m joyous as he pushes Cynthia away, rolling me back onto my front to spill his seed on my ass and pussy. I hope he’s going to rub it inside me, and he does, but not in the way I expected.
Vincent dribbles his cream onto my tight little asshole. It’s warm, and I clench my muscles, winking my dirty little ring at him. He sighs with pleasure and it makes me smile. He spits onto the cream for extra wetness, then pokes it inside and massages my asshole with his fingers. He’s stretching me, and I gasp at the heat.
“Now, my beautiful bird,” he whispers. “Let’s give the emperor a new home.”
I feel the thick head of it thump against my asshole, and my heart stutters.
Oh my fucking God. Oh my fucking God. Oh my fucking God.
“Don’t be scared,” he breathes into my ear. “Give yourself to me, and I promise you, my sweet bird, I’ll make this feel really fucking good.”
I’m already wincing. Already whimpering with nerves.
“Oh fuck, Magpie, yes,” he groans. “This might just hurt a little.”
He’d follow me wherever I went. Bailing this time around would be a fool’s errand.
I indulged myself in a pitiful cry, pathetic tears of woe that I really had no business spilling. I thought back to a poster I had on my wall in my teens, a typically melodramatic piece of art bearing the words ‘all hail the queen of self-inflicted drama’ in swirly font. I wondered if it was still up in my old bedroom. Probably. Maybe I’d find out. But not today.
I took a deep breath and wiped my tears with my sleeve. It smelled of Andy and Topaz and sex. At least life wasn’t all bad.
Fuck this shit.
I smoothed down my dress, and coerced my messy bun into some kind of order using the reflection of a shop window, and then little Princess Drama sucked it up and went back to sort her mess out.
No more running. Not today.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Andy
“You’re not getting me, are you? You don’t understand.” Topaz looked disappointed. She gave a pitiful little sigh and shrugged her slender little shoulders. “I’m not very good at explaining.”
“Maybe stop showering me in flouncy, flowery bullshit-speak and spit it out in words that actually make sense.”
“I’m trying to make sense!”
But she wasn’t making sense at all. Not to me. Her flurry of enthusiastic author-speak was like a foreign fucking language. I stared at her. I stared through her. “Cut the crap. I want it straight, no garbled emotional nonsense, I just don’t have the time for it.”
“That’s partly where your issue is,” she said, then blushed. “Faye is… passionate… deep… she wants, more…”
“More what exactly? Don’t tell me. Faye wants things her own way, right now, or she’s going to throw her toys out of the pram and bail, right?”