Page 33 of Sinful Lord

My fingers are pressed against my clit. My panties are drenched. My pussy is soaking wet.

My heart pounds as a strike of shame flashes through me. But something else quickly muffles the intensity of that embarrassment.

Curiosity.

Curiosity and arousal.

Both are more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before, and together, they send my damp fingers flying across the laptop keyboard.

Send me a picture of you, I type, only hesitating a second before I hit send.

The moment the deed is done, I regret it. My arousal is already starting to fade. My curiosity is being replaced by fear.

Then my phone pings again and every sensation returns with a vengeance.

No. You won’t see me until it’s in person, the new email reads. Paint landscapes, princess. Start slow. You’re not ready for me yet.

A warm shiver runs down my spine.

What the hell is going on?

My fingers hover over the keyboard. But I don’t know how I could possibly respond. I don’t think that I should respond. But something keeps me tied in place.

It’s hard to tell how long I’m staring at the message on the screen before I finally manage to rip myself away. Shutting the laptop, I throw myself into bed and rip the covers over my head.

But the curiosity and the arousal and the fear and the shame don’t leave me. My hand drifts back beneath my legs, but instead of satisfying my cruel urges, I try to suffocate my horny fingers with my thighs.

The pressure in my core doesn’t seem to care. It remains, begging to be dealt with.

No, I scream internally. This is insane.

Every reasonable part of me wants to take a step back and acknowledge how crazy this all is, but I’ve been shrouded in a haze of heat and lust and I know full well that there’s only one way to end it.

My thighs unclench. I start to rub. The pressure builds. I try to keep my mind blank, but every time I whimper or close my eyes, I picture him.

“Fuck,” I groan. “Tytus…”

The slow buildup reaches its pinnacle. My body writhes beneath the covers. I burst.

Shoving my face into my pillow, I whine and rip my hand out from between my legs. But the pleasure still throbs. It’s a warm throb. A satisfying one. A stark contrast to the pain I’ve endured recently.

I let it wash over me like morphine. For the first time since I escaped my gilded cage, I feel satisfied.

It’s that satisfaction that helps rest.

When I open my eyes again, I feel rested. Truly rested. Not like what the medication does to me. This is deeper than that.

Pulling the covers off my head, I look towards my window. The slit between the drapes is still there, but it’s not dark anymore.

I’ve slept through the night and reached morning.

“… How?”

Before I can get too comfortable, a gentle knock comes at my door. Every nerve in my body jumps at the sound, but I don’t allow myself to move an inch.

All I can do is stare ahead and wait for another knock.

It never comes.