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He gives a lust-filled, “Phenomenal.”
Seeing his face makes me long for him to be here. To have him kiss and hold me. I want nothing more than for us to make up after that awkward parting when he left the castle. Where is he? I study the background but only find a standard hotel room.
Wanting to connect with him on a deeper emotional level, I ask, “How did it go with your family?—”
He holds a hand up to stop me. “No chat. All business. I can’t wait for you to see what I have for you. Go to the closet. There’s a special chair I’ve ordered from home.”
Home.
It’s strange to hear him say that word when there’s so much in limbo between us. His home? Or our home? I glance down at the beautiful ring on my finger, and staring at it only adds to my confusion.
As much as I hate biology, in this moment of anxiety, I long to be back there, by the cozy fire.
I go to the closet, bracing myself with a held breath. I throw open the doors. What. The. Heck. I just… stare.
And he watches it all from the video screen. Finally, I manage to say, “This is some kind of whacked-out Bachman Tech for sure. Is this what you men do with your time? Design torture devices for your women?”
He gives a dark laugh. “Roll it to the center of the room. Right in front of the screen. Where I have a front-row view of the action.”
It’s an office chair with a white cushy seat and back. However, the seat is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It features a white, silicone-looking plus sign, a long rectangle running vertically over the seat, and one horizontally, the material lined with small, raised bumps.
In the center is a dastardly thing.
A hot-pink silicone cock.
“Does it look familiar to you?” he asks. “Give it a good look.”
Leaning over, I look closer. Oh. God. I do know that cock. The thing is modeled after his own! I watch, partly in horror and partly in awe, as a clear shiny substance that looks a lot like lube begins to spew from the tip of the cock.
The lube runs over the sides of the dildo.
He says, “Have a seat, pretty lady.”
“No. I can’t.” I stare at the chair. If I do as he says, I’ll be stripped of the last remaining drops of dignity he’s left me with.
Yet…
“Yes, you can,” he growls.
I’m young. I am curious. The cool air hardens my nipples, the lace stretching over my skin as I move. The hunger in his gaze makes me want to see where this will go. And let’s be real—if I don’t do as he says, he’s going to make a fuss when he gets home.
Gripping the arms of the chair, I straddle the seat. The molded cock-thing looks up at me with its one now shiny eye. It’s remarkable how much it truly resembles his. Only this one is hot pink and made of silicone.
I move into position, legs parted, slightly squatting, hovering above it so my entrance is lined up with the toy’s head. The panties part with my labia as I squat, cold air teasing my entrance.
“Lower,” he demands.
My fingers tighten around the arms. My palms grow damp, my knuckles white. This is humiliating. I glance down; seeing how taut my nipples are only increases my shame. I lower myself, letting the slick top of the toy press against my opening.
“Lower,” he says again.
“Like this?” I ask.
“Lean forward more.”
I suck air between my teeth, hissing as I press on. Bending my knees, I lower myself onto the toy cock. I cry out as I attempt to sit. “Oh my god…” It’s firm, big like him, stretching my opening as it fills me. The pre-warmed lube helps. I keep going, inch by inch, until it’s fully inside of me, and I’m seated on the chair, my ass on the rubber base.
Which begins to warm beneath me.