by Dark Angel
I have to listen. I will. It matters to me more than anything in the world, I realize. I'm consumed with this need. A black spiral within me winds further and further down, and I keep sliding. Push back the waves of pleasure and force the orgasm to recede, stay on the precipice but not completely. Not until Sir says I can come. I stop begging and start breathing and I lock eyes with him.
There's a flare in those dark eyes that makes my nipples get painfully hard just looking at him. If I could have, I would have reached out and cupped his face. He's brutally fucking his fingers into me and he's touched my nude body, but right now feels like the most intimate thing that I've ever discovered. I'm thankful for this moment. I don't quite understand it, but the looks we share now are something I'll hold onto, I'll treasure. A voice in my mind whispers that no matter what, I have this. It is like a shooting star, gone as I appreciate it, and he gives me a look of pure menace. "Do not come," his voice is ragged, his breathing altered. I'm affecting him, and in return I'm not to come. This truly is punishment.
He jerks his fingers from my pussy. Sir no longer brushes my clit over with his thumb. Instead, his mouth is hovering over my pussy."You are not to come," Damien commands me. I realize what he's going to do. I shouldn't have a well of shame or embarrassment to pull from, but I do. His mouth sinks down on my pussy, tongue lapping over my clit and through my folds, and I'm alive with sensation. I'm crying harder, rolling my hips into his mouth with greed, and the waves are getting harder and harder to push back. He shakes his face around me, even nips his teeth at the swollen lips of my pussy so desperate for him to let me finish what he's started. But still, he keeps going. His hands reach up and undo my gag and I'm terrified. I can't stop with my long moans. His fingers wipe away my tears while he meets my rolling hips and presses my pussy against his mouth. He's kissing my pussy roughly, then fucking it with his tongue, and I'm so overwhelmed and trying not to talk so I squeeze my eyes shut.
"Open your eyes," Sir growls against my pussy.
The vibrations make me whimper, but I obey. I feel like any second now, I will come, and then I will be punished. I'm not allowed to come. Only days ago I barely knew anything about orgasm, and now he's about to tear one from my body and punish me because it isn't allowed. My desperate need to please him is all that I cling to. In one final push back of my orgasm's tide, that's when he looks me in the eyes, visible over the top of my pussy. "Ask permission to come, and I might let you," and he sinks his mouth back on my clit and slides several of his fingers, I can't even tell how many, into my aching, needy pussy.
"Please, please, Sir, let me come for you," I beg, sharply cringing at my words but so desperate for the orgasm no matter how embarrassed I am to be asking for it.
"No," Sir says. He pulls his fingers out of my pussy and brings his mouth up from my clit, and he sucks every drop of my arousal from his fingers.
Then, while I tremble with need, he gets closer to me, his face close enough to mine that our noses are pressed together.
"Please, please let me come for you," I whimper.
He presses two of his fingers into my mouth and I taste my arousal, tangy yet sweet, so taboo, on his fingers. I suck like they are the air I breathe.
"No," he says.
I'm so desperate to come. I don't know what to do. He is torturing me. Why won't he let me come?
When his fingers slide out of my mouth, I try to breathe. I want to ask him again, but something in his face makes me wait.
"Now, look me in the eyes and come for me," he finally says and his eyes capture mine.
I get shivers all over my entire body, watching his eyes as the waves finally roll over me and I give into everything my body aches for. I'm screaming, moaning, writhing in my bondage, but I never look away from him as I fall completely apart in the most shattering consummation of sensations that I have ever experienced. I'm never going to be able to go back from this, something in my mind whispers. I look into his dark eyes and the gushing arousal dripping down my thighs is sexy as hell to me. This beautiful man played my body like an instrument and I was full of some dark magic rushing through my veins. "Thank you, Sir," I say when I'm trembling in the aftershocks of my orgasms.
He reaches down behind my back and undoes the restraints, rubbing my wrists and ankles where I have little lines from being bound. "You did very well, Sarah." His praise in this moment, after everything, is somehow just as good as an orgasm. And that orgasm was so incredible. He makes me feel in ways that I don't know how they are possible; he's certainly a sorcerer, the way he conjures demonic depths of pleasure that contort not just my face, but my soul. Damien, and Sir, have twisted me up in a way I don't understand, but I'm not sure that I want or need to understand. He's too complex for me to fully grasp. Particularly when I don't understand his intentions, or the full extent of his desires. I'm exhausted and exhilarated.
The only way I parse my understanding, how I translate and explain my own feelings for Damien are to see him as the two men he is; Damien is both Damien and Sir. I think he is just as lost as I am. When I feel the need color the air, I feel the heat strong as any summer’s humidity and know I’m right.
If I'm two people when I am with Damien, then so is he. Somehow, while it should horrify me or just leave me numb, this idea makes me sad.
Damien
I feel like some kind of bitch. I have a hot, virginal girl that’s living in my house. She belongs to me. I own her. I want to fuck her.
And here I am, locked in my study, trying not to think about what her pussy tastes like. About how much my cock fucking hurts from not finding out how that warm wet hole would feel if it squeezed my cock.
For a moment I’m a goddamn teenage boy trapped in the study of a man, my cock in my hand while I furiously jerk it. I’m dishonoring my wingback chair to be jerking off in here while a hot, eager, willing, sexy girl awaits me.
Fuck, I know that I shouldn’t fuck her because of the situation with her father. I know that I should probably sell her on the Virgin Market. I know that she can probably do very goddamn well for me and help recover quite a bit of what was lost to me…
But those are all the logical, coherent thoughts I should be having. I’m not fucking logical right now. I’m a goddamn caveman fisting my cock and leaning back against the leather of that once dignified wingback chair telling myself that I should cum on her if not in her. The past few times I have touched her were goddamn electric with the frenetic lust between us. Our chemistry is off any fucking charts. How Sarah can stay so strong, after everything she’s been through and is going through, and those dark desires within her keep blossoming…fuck if I know. I’m a fucking bastard and Sarah so clearly wants to fuck me. She’s afraid of me.
But that doesn’t keep her from being the girl who got so fucking soaking wet from sitting on my lap that she got my suit trousers wet. God, I have to fist my cock at that. It's painful to think about not just what touching her felt like, or what stopping touching her before I went too far felt like. It's so damn painful thinking about all those times like now where I’m dying to touch her and the energy of all that lust has nowhere to go.
Sarah could be masturbating right now. The idea of her fingers in her wet little pussy makes me jam my cock back into my pants. I'm not jerking off. I can’t fucking stand the idea of doing anything but marching to her goddamn room and slamming my cock into her until she screams.
Sarah doesn’t have permission to speak, you see. If she did, then I’d have to focus even more on her sweet pink lips and how I want to fuck her mouth hard before I fuck her pussy. That’s not the goal here, despite what my body seems to think. So here I am, a grown man hiding in my study and I’m not jerking off. I’m not going to sit in here and go mad, either.
I know what to do. I will text the only person privy to this whole situation. The only person I trust to help unravel my tormented mine.
TD, the Trevor Davries that I have shared countless pussy with and the mark for Sarah’s auc
tion bids, should I go through with selling her on the Virgin Market. Trevor knows more about the Virgin Market than me, having been a repeat customer, and I know he’s said that he wants to be a future one as well. Maybe for something more permanent.
There is something really fucking odd in wanting my buddy to buy the girl I want to fuck, right? But it’s not. We’ve shared girls before. After we do, we reaffirm that the girls mean nothing to us.
Trevor and I can share Sarah once and I’ll get her out of my system. Even if my cock screams at me that I need to fuck Sarah every day until our bodies give out, my mind tells me that I need to leave that poor girl alone.
Would that I could.
I’m not that good of a person. I know that.
And so do you.
I text Trevor, and he says he’ll be over in a few.
I try to feel a sense of relief from knowing that I’ll have an actual sane, level-headed person on the way and one that can actually help me out with this situation.
There won’t be any real need to hide my plan and desire to share Sarah. I’ve been giving him peeks. I know he’s enjoyed them. Not just from the affirmative reactions in his texts. I know that her tight little body is too damn perfect to not have his cock jerking to attention in every picture that I send. I know that despite being a man who’s nearly damn greedy in all aspects of his life, he’ll fucking get off on sharing her body with me. Of course, knowing that he’s coming over…part of me wants to forget the money or my reputation and just fucking ruin Sarah with him.
Take her virginity, take her desires, and fuck her so much that we all goddamn blackout afterward and wake up more dehydrated than if we’d been on a desert island. That’s how much cum we should load her up with. Sarah’s got a wet pussy that will weep cum when we fuck her.
If.
If we fuck her.
Damn.
This is a risky move. I need to get some goddamn control over myself before Trevor gets here. I told him I wanted his advice on the asset. He’s level headed almost to a fault. He’ll tell me what I'm supposed to hear.
I hear the door and know that Trevor is here. For a second I wonder if Sarah will leave her room and see Trevor. She won’t know he’s TD, though I know she must be curious. Still, I know that despite the arousal evident in her every breath—no matter how hard she tries to fight it, fuck I so get it because that’s my situation too—I don’t think that Sarah is going to leave her room. In fact, the idea that someone else is here may make her try to hide in the bathroom since I took the door off the hinges. I don’t want her to feel safe. The idea has been to terrify her. I didn’t think she’d be able to be aroused by me if she was terrified.
Fuck, though, I know the truth now is that she’s both.
Goddamn it.
“Trevor, thanks for coming,” I say in my calmest voice that I can muster.
Of course, the ever observant fuck that he is, Trevor’s eyes go wide and he laughs, coming toward me. I lead him back to the study.
Advice.
Don’t turn and take him to Sarah’s room. No matter how good it would be to spear her on our cocks and tug her tight little body between us.
Trevor
I've never seen Damien this fucked up over a girl before.
Come to think of it, I've never seen Damien this fucked up before at all. "Damn, I can't tell if you need to hit the scotch or if you need to stay away."
I saw those texts. I'm still shocked at how strongly I immediately reacted to those pictures. I see tons of pussy, so why does that bubblegum pink pussy still weigh heavy on my mind? I see plenty of pairs of tits, so how come all I care about are the two handfuls he shares with me?
Fuck, we're both hopelessly lost over this little girl. She's too goddamn sweet for words. I exhale and laugh. That's the only thing I can think to do. I pat Damien's back, a little too hard I realize as I'm so distracted. "You know, I don't think there's a better return on investment possible than with that sweet piece of ass," I say. I stop, ready to gauge Damien's reaction.
He's torn. I can tell he's conflicted from how he's breathing raggedly and not responding.
I continue. "Seriously, the buyers on the Virgin Market, they'd pay way fucking more money than you'd ever think possible on one night, but you know she's prime permanent, or permanent stock."
Damien's eyes light up.
Aha. I thought as much.
Damien is a nice fucking guy, I mean, as nice as anyone ruthless and rich as we fuckers are.
"Well," Damien starts. "You have more goddamn money than most everyone we know. As much as those Virgin Market buyers. You said you thought you wanted something permanent." Damien looks into the distance. He's got a faraway look and his volume gets lower, though I'm not sure he realizes it. "That's why I've given you such a heads up about her. Sarah is...special. I thought, only the best for Trevor Davries." Damien lets out a laugh, but he's too fucking distracted. Most people wouldn't hear it, but I completely here the nerves and tension shaking in his voice. It's just a millimeter of quivering in his voice, but my attention to goddamn detail is one of my finest qualities.
He can't let himself have this girl, Sarah. He wants me to buy her. Damien's not wrong. I've wanted to get someone more long term. I have wanted something as young, untouched, and flawless as this creature. Damien's a grown goddamn man and if he wants her, he should keep her. But he isn't. So I don't know what to fucking make of that. If I thought I could just ask Damien, then I would pounce right on this moment and get the words out of him. But this isn't a business deal. At least, this isn't a business deal yet. But Damien is a grown fucking man. If he wants it to be a business deal, well so goddamn be it.
Fuck, this is one of those goddamn moments where I'm supposed to know better than to act on what I see in front of me. I'm supposed to take the fact that I read all this conflict and tension on Damien and urge him to do the right fucking thing.
Well, too goddamn bad.
"You sell her on the Virgin Market for sure. She's worth every penny I will pay for her." I can't tell if now I want to drive in the knife or test the waters, but I know that I'm trying Damien and being my own shithead self right now. "But you know I am going to want more special privileges. You've given me the preview, but next up, I'll want a tasting."
Damien clenches his fist. Based on that faraway look, I'm certain that he has no idea that he's done it. Still, he doesn't say anything. Grown man. Dealing with his own shit. I'm not his goddamn father, certainly not his mother. I'm an opportunist and this is a prime fucking opportunity.
I'm not a total heartless monster. Okay, I am but I like sharing pussy and ass with Damien. "And you know, we always have a good time when we share," I say.
Damien's fist unclenches and he releases a breath, a fast exhale that startles him just a fraction. Shit only I see; shit Damien doesn't realize he's doing because that's how fucking twisted up over her that he is.
I am going to buy Sarah. I already fucking know this. I am glad because I guess some small drop of me knows that while the 'virgin' part of the Virgin Market is a honor system more than anything else, my dark little heart wants to be the one that buys a pussy and ass that have been thoroughly owned already.
Tasted. That's what we're going to do. My cock is rock fucking hard. My big fucking monster doesn't give a damn about the emotions or reading people. The honor of fucking a girl being sold as a virgin.
My cock says? She's being sold to me. She's mine. Sarah is going to get fucked by me—and poor fucking Damien torturing himself with keeping her—and I'm going to buy her.
That little voice I squash down whenever it deigns to return is trying to pipe up and say that shit can most certainly go wrong. I know some of why Damien has Sarah in the first place.
But, my cock and I? We don't give a shit.
I'm a fly headfirst, cock out, with bad decisions kind of fucker. Apologize never, blaze forward, get what I fucking want. This is no fucking different. I am going to own
Sarah's naughty ass, her pretty little mouth, her sweet virgin pussy.
"Damien!" I practically shout.
He's finally got his shit together. A man hung up on a pussy feels a lot goddamn clearer headed when he gets to fuck said pussy.
"Good deal man," Damien says. "Let's grab some burgers, I want some greasy shit right now."
"Yeah," I say, nodding. Let's eat burgers now.
Later, I get to touch what Damien keeps showing me. But I'm not just showing up and fucking her in private.
Did I mention that I'm not just an asshole, but a perverted one.
"Let's tease all those assholes who aren't really getting a shot at Sarah. Organize a showing. We'll figure out some details over lunch."
Damien gets a wicked glint in his eye. Strung up and twisted in knots over pussy or not, Damien is still like a damn brother to me. He likes this idea. Good. My cock is already twitching in agreement.
Trevor
“TD is watching,” Damien informs Sarah.
The virgin is nude, and utterly magnificent. She’s splayed against a table and tied up in some fine shibari rope bondage.
Damien is a picture of restraint on the outside, but I know the truth. I know it as sure as I know that he can’t be blamed for that predicament. He’s got the most perfect pussy in front of me, the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, at his absolute mercy, and he’s not fucking her. Sure, I told him to keep her a virgin so that she could be shared on the Virgin Market.
But Damien and I both have other things on our minds. I know he wants me to fucking buy her, and fuck this is the kind of sales pitch that sells that really fucking well.
