Page 79 of Their Cruel Love
She smirks, pokes out her tongue.
“And your tongue. If only I had a peg for that.”
It zips back in, and she bares her teeth. Brats are so much better than the obedient ones. More interesting, more fun, more challenging. So fucking much better. Miyaki was an obedient girl and barely into CNC. Maybe fate organized this excursion to this island of kinky fuckery?
But…
Padlocks and trapdoors.
Missing girls and intimidation.
People creepily watching us.
And maybe murder. This isn’t that simple. If only it was. I’d be discussing doing more of this with Phoebe and Marcus if it were.
“We need to get out of here, before something bad happens.”
“Easier said than done,” Marcus says, as he begins to soundly spank her ass. Her yelps are louder, but then the force he’s using is greater.
“No bruises,” I suggest. “If possible.”
“Hmmm.” His next smack is lighter, then he too gives in to the need to simply feel his palm running over her skin. His hand disappears, and she inhales sharply.
“Is the nasty man fingering you?” I tilt her neck back so I can see her face, tap her nose.
Her mouth opens, and she blinks at me, preoccupied. The sounds of wetness being forced aside by digits delving into her cunt is distinctive. I could get her to suck on me.
Should.
Should not?
I unzip and pull out my erection.
The only thing to interrupt us is another couple arriving. Marcus notices, too, but I barely look over my shoulder. Maybe they’ve come to check if we forced the padlock. Maybe they’re seeing the sights or wanted some time up here to do naughty things, like us.
“Open wide,” I tell her.
31
Marcus
In our room, a shiny green ball gown with a diamante bodice and ribbons on the sleeves is laid out on the bed for Phoebe.
“I’m reminded of the dancing scenes in those old movies.” I circle the bed. “Has a ball gown ever had to be quarantined for being too overdecorated? I’m guessing the suits are ours.”
Phoebe has this biggest-ever smile spreading across her face.
“What? What did I say?”
“Quarantine? Really? Though I too am overcome with a case of the delicate-lady faints looking at it.”
The suits have a frock coat appearance that’s harking back to a Wild West movie, and if only they gave us sixguns to go with them.
“The gown will make it hard for you to run from us.” Razor strokes his chin. “I like it.”
“You would.” I snag the suit with wider shoulders that looks my size.
It’s late afternoon by the time we rock up at the event, where everyone seems swathed in mountains of glossy fabric or old-fashioned suits. The right-hand side is walled off behind white partitions that run the whole length of the hall. Buffet tables line the walls, offering finger foods and pastries, cheeses, fruits, and chocolates. I’m guessing the main meals will be served much later. The music is as ancient as the costumes, from World War One to Two, the Charleston is one I recognize. A few couples dare to try waltzing across the central floor. Only one foursome has given up and is piled on the sofas at the far end, kissing and fondling each other.