Page 58 of Tricked By Jack

His thumb drags slowly along my jaw, catching the faint trace of spit still clinging there. “You’ve got the crowd workedup,” he murmurs through the filter, his voice still rough from coming. “And you’re shaking like you’re ready to be fucked in front of every last one of them.”

My breath hitches. The thought sends my need spiking higher, but it’s not just the audience. It’s the mask. The black lenses. The way the filter turns him into something inhuman.

“Please…” My voice is small, frayed.

“Please what, wife?” The words are a taunt, each one measured like he’s trying to make me squirm. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Touch me,” I breathe.

“Where?” He moves his hand to my throat, squeezing. “Your throat? Your tits? Or maybe that pretty little cunt you’ve been clenching since I pulled my cock out of you?”

The last word leaves me trembling. “Yes. Oh, God. Yes, please play with my pussy.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “Make me come. Please, I want to come so badly.”

Jack chuckles low, the sound vibrating through the filter. “Greedy little thing.” He hauls me up, my knees trembling from the ache and the aftermath of the competition. “Come on,” he orders, steering me toward the wings.

We pass the other couples—masks off now, flushed and basking in the crowd’s approval. He keeps me moving until we reach a narrow stretch of curtain and shadow between two stages.

The audience is still close enough to hear us if we make a sound, and from certain angles they can see us. Jack drives me back into cold scaffolding, body crowding mine, the hard ridge of his cock digging into my hip.

“You want me to keep it on?” he asks, as if we didn’t already settle this. The lenses of his mask catch the stage lights as he tilts his head.

“Yes.”

“Say please.”

“Please,” I breathe, pressing my thighs together.

He grips my jaw, tilting my head up until my throat stretches. “Keep your eyes on the mask. Don’t look anywhere else. Or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I challenge.

“Stop,” he finishes while dragging his other hand up my thigh, slipping under the slit of my dress until his knuckles press into the soaked lace covering me. “Say it so I know you understand.”

“I won’t look anywhere else,” I rasp.

“Mhmm, you’re drenched,” he says, almost to himself, the words vibrating dark through the filter.

“Jack,” I moan.

“Were you imagining this while you were on your knees? Thinking about me fucking you with the mask on?”

“Yes,” I pant as my breath hitches, hips rocking forward into his touch.

“Shhh,” he warns when I start to speak. “You want my fingers? You take what I’m giving you.HowI’m giving it to you.”

He hooks the lace aside and pushes two fingers into me, knuckles deep on the first thrust. The heel of his palm grinds into my clit as he fucks me slow, deliberate, each curl of his fingers hitting that soft, brutal place that makes my knees shake.

His free hand stays at my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my head spin, the filter of the mask pulling his breaths into a slow, predatory rhythm that makes my clit pulse.

“Moan my name again.”

A burst of laughter and applause from the other stage filters through the curtain, and my cheeks burn at the thought of my own noises joining theirs—at the thought of them seeing Jack finger fuck me. But the awareness isn’t enough to stop me.

“Jack.” I gyrate my hips, desperate now. “Fuck me harder with your fingers.”

His pace quickens, thumb circling my clit with cruel precision while he grinds the thick ridge of his cock against me. “You want my hard cock in your pussy, don’t you?” he taunts. “Do you want me to bend you over and let them see the masked man split you open?”

Fuck… yes, I do want that.