Leaning over the edge of the tub, she turned her head to make sure he was watching. As a smirk creased her lips, she reached back with one hand, drawing a fine line up and down the crack of her ass. Damp from the water, she stopped at the entrance, tapping once on the sealed opening. She cried out, her breathing stopped as though she were a mouse in a trap. A single finger pushed inside, sending waves of pain through her entire body. Pain would not detour her. She knew the price she would pay to put on this show. As the tight rim cut the circulation from her finger, she pushed deeper in to prove she was worthy of his time.
The male sat perplexed. Did he join her and replace her finger with his cock, or watch the show and force her to cum by herself? A sadistic grin creased his lips the moment she begged for his help.
“Please,” she cried. Her voice a raspy cry of needed release.
His laugh louder than usual, but then again, the show she was putting on seemed to amuse more than excite the man. A socialite with the morals of a saint. Well, when the camera rolled, she was as pure as snow. When the lights dimmed, the whore played games with her sick little mind.
“Please, what?” he asked, his tone toying with the female.
Fingers moving in and out of her tightest opening, mumbles now replaced her words. Every emotion known to God raped her mind as she lost control of all self-respect.
“Please fuck me like the whore that I am,” she begged.
Smug, he took the final withdrawal from his cigarette. His body now upright, he stood at the edge of the tub, ashing the cancer stick on her ass. “I have no need for whores. Finish that mess and leave before I have you removed,” he said, his words dripping sarcasm.
Cries of pleasure echoed through the small room. Her screams of relief music to his ears. The more he denied her, the more she would realize that every woman is a whore given the right situation.
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