He
chewed my neck and squeezed my breasts. I pushed his pants to his knees,
wrapped his ass with my legs, pressed my cunt over his little dick, arched as
if he had penetrated me to the core, and gasped, "Oh, oh."
My
act set him pumping. I couldn't feel his dick. When he grunted and stopped, I
screeched and squeezed as if he'd shot a spasm through me. I was the best fake
orgasm I'd ever delivered.
He
sat up, straightened his sunglasses, and started the car. I lay on the seat,
waiting for the next order. Eddie hummed
and ran a hand up the inside of my leg. His
big smile put a hellish glow in me. I had succeeded at making him happy. I had
obeyed.
I
watched the garage roof give way to a heavy blue sky outlined by the ramparts
of high rises in the Mumbai financial district. Not an hour ago, I had been the
master of it all. Under the pall of obedience that smothered my will, I sought
to understand how Brandon had overcome me. My effort unraveled before I could weave it
into a thought.
Eddie's
hand settled on my cunt. Make me happy.
These words of his were the last command I had received. A compulsion to follow
it overpowered every other thought. My hands covered his. I worked my hips
while he probed my labia. I sighed like
a pleased woman when he stabbed his finger inside. It was longer than his dick.
I raised my arms over my head and wriggled, belly dancing on the seat. He glanced at me, shook his head, and said,
"What a sorry whore."
She's in the limo again, but now she's straining to please
the driver, not her boss. She knows her plight, but she can't help throwing her
mind and body into what the sex pill compels her to do.
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