style="font-size:15px;"> ‘I … I’m wet, Connor.’ She glanced around, checking whether any of her relatives were within earshot. Only Aunt Muriel and Uncle Fred seemed to be close enough to be able to hear them, but thankfully, they gave no indication of having overheard anything they shouldn’t have.
Her words weren’t good enough for Connor, though. He wanted details, as he always did. ‘Tell me how wet you are, Emma.’
Flames erupted in her cheeks. She didn’t want to be having this conversation in public. It was too embarrassing. And yet she couldn’t deny that it was turning her on immensely, as Connor would undoubtedly have known. ‘I’m … I’m very wet, Connor.’
‘I suspected as much,’ he answered smugly. ‘Tell me, my little slut. Are you so wet your juices are running down your thighs?’
Her mouth went as dry as her pussy was wet. She couldn’t believe he was doing this to her at a family get-together. She couldn’t believe that he had the audacity to be having this conversation in front of so many people, and that she was actually indulging him. ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I … I’m so wet it’s running down my thighs, Connor.’ She whispered the last few words in a voice so low that it was barely audible.
‘Show me.’
She stared at him, not believing her ears.
‘I said: show me. Find yourself a quiet spot, stick your hand between your thighs and show me how wet you are.’
She let out an involuntary groan. ‘Connor …’
‘No remonstrations. Go touch yourself, Emma, then show me your hand. Show me what a dirty girl you are.’
Just then, she felt a trickle run down her left thigh, agonisingly slowly but surely. It was ridiculous how wet Connor’s games made her.
‘Now, Emma.’
She sighed, then took a few sips of wine for extra courage. With her heart pounding in her chest, she put down her glass and made for the toilet, brushing off the two nieces who accosted her. Once inside the small cubicle, she lifted her skirt and put her right hand between her legs. She didn’t even have to push the rope aside to feel how extraordinarily wet she was; she could feel the cool moisture pooling on her inner thigh. She ran her hand through it, then pulled her skirt down with her other hand. When she emerged from the toilet, her cheeks were aflame, burning at the thought of what she was about to do.
She walked over to Connor, relieved that he had removed himself from the crowd. He was standing at the table, helping himself to some of the finger food her mother would have spent hours preparing.
She held up her hand for him to see. With a bit of luck, she hoped, it would look from a distance like she was showing him a ring.
He inspected her hand, then her face. ‘So fucking wet,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘Go on, lick your fingers, you little tart. Clean those dirty fingers.’
Again, she couldn’t help staring at him.
‘Lick your fingers for me, Emma,’ he repeated in mock exasperation. ‘Stick your fingers in your mouth and lick them clean for me, one by one.’ She noticed with some alarm that he wasn’t even trying to keep his voice down. It was a good thing no one was within five yards of them, or they would have heard his order, loud and clear.
There was nothing for it. She stuck her index finger in her mouth and licked it, slowly and methodically. She experienced the taste of herself on her tongue, a little salty but not disagreeable. It was the taste of her submission, a taste she fully associated with Connor. No other man had ever made her taste herself. No other man had ever got her to do the things he did.
Without taking her eyes off him, she licked her middle finger, then her ring finger, lingering a little longer over her fingertips. She tried not to think of what the other people in the room might be thinking if they happened to be watching her. She tried to ignore the flood between her legs, as well.
‘Good girl,’ said Connor softly when she had withdrawn the last finger from her mouth. ‘I bet you’re twice as wet now as before you went to the loo, aren’t you?’
You have no idea, she thought. She was so wet that she could feel a steady trickle down her left thigh. If this went on much longer, her wetness would start showing under her skirt. Either that or people would start smelling her arousal from across the room.
‘Do you want me to fuck you?’ Connor whispered. ‘Do you want me to shove my hard cock between your dripping thighs?’
Her heart stopped a moment. With a flash, she realised that this was what he’d intended all along – to fuck her at the parents’, after getting her all worked up without anyone even being aware of it. She also realised she’d never needed to be fucked more badly. She needed his cock, pounding her into submission. She needed it now.
‘Yes, please, Connor,’ she whispered. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.
He lifted her chin with a fingertip, forcing her to look up at him. ‘Beg me for it,’ he commanded. ‘Beg me to fuck you, you dirty little slut.’
Her mind went blank. She was reduced to nothing but the throb between her legs, an ache that urgently needed a release.
‘Please fuck me,’ she whispered. ‘Please give me your cock, Connor. I need it.’
He grinned. ‘Go upstairs, to your old room. Bend over your desk and lift your skirt. Part your legs. Wait for me.’
She did as he told her. As she climbed the stairs, the rope between her legs dug into her cunt, making her clit pulse like a sore tooth. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but she’d never been randier in her life.
Her childhood room hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d seen it. The only difference she noticed at first glance was a pair of suitcases in the corner next to her bed and the stacks of books her parents had placed on her desk. They seemed to have decided to turn her room into a storage space for things that didn’t fit elsewhere in the house.
She placed half of the books on the floor beside the desk, and pushed the others to the side. Then she bent over the desk, wincing as the rope grew even tauter between her thighs. There’d be some abrasions there the next day, she suspected. Her nipples, too, began to throb even more furiously, as they always did when she bent forwards while clamped. No doubt that was part of the reason why Connor liked having her bend over for him. Knowing him, he’d probably yank the chain between her nipples while fucking her, making her whole body explode with pain and desire.
Propped up on her left elbow, she extended her right arm behind her to lift her skirt and pull it over her back. Then she waited, clenching her thighs rhythmically to hold on to the immense throb inside her.
Connor kept her waiting for a long time. Throughout the wait she wondered if he’d been drawn into a conversation by one of her relatives or if he was just testing her patience. She was painfully aware that he was very much the kind of sadist who’d keep her waiting just because he could.
When she eventually heard footsteps ascending the stairs, she had an irrational fear that it would be her mother, or the nieces who had tried to ambush her earlier. What would
