29. Tess
TESS
Nash’s steady grip wasn’t enough to stop the spinning in my head. Nearly twelve hours in the cups might have broken my brain — or maybe it was the adrenaline of being caught and having no clue where my muscular captor was taking me.
Rocking gently in her arms, I could make out enough of our path. She was hauling me quickly out of Colossal Kitchen, making our way back into the jungle. Maybe we were going back to the apartment?
No. She walked right past it, not looking back, not answering my questions until we came up upon the base of a huge tree at the edge of Jungle Jolt.
My chest tightened, but I tried to hide the uncertainty from my voice. “Alright, enough of the silent treatment, Tarzan. What’s the plan?”
“You wanted to see where I work?” As she walked around the base of the tree, I noticed the steps jutting out from its base.
From a distance, they blended into the bark, looking like a natural series of low branches.
But up close, they wrapped around the tree in a cascade that led all the way to the top of the canopy.
Nash strode up the steps with ease, even with me clinging to her chest. There was an urgency to her movements — a shared awareness of the rising sun. If she wanted to cash in on her prize, she had little time to waste.
Before I knew it, we’d reached the summit — a sprawling tree house hidden in the dense foliage. I’d probably have been afraid if I could see the ground, but the sprawling network of branches beneath us were like a safety net.
Nash didn’t leave me much time to fear the height, anyway. As she kicked open the door with a booted foot, a different type of concern for my safety sank in.
The tree house was huge — shadows obscured much of the interior, but early morning light seeping in through the huge windows gave me a quick view of canvases, paint buckets, and a huge library of assorted metal sheets.
Her art studio.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness for a better view. But it was useless: before I could see much at all, my feet were back on the ground, and Nash’s broad palm was pressed to my back.
“Stay,” she murmured, bending me over a broad wooden work table before treading across the workshop.
My skin prickled as I imagined what type of torture tools she might have up here. I could already picture her stringing me up from the branches and watching me squirm. Was there electricity up here?
I tried to peer over my shoulder for a hint, but she was back as quickly as she’d disappeared. Before I could process a thing, she slid her hands under my hips, yanking my pants down around my knees. “I didn’t tell you to move, Sweet Lamb.”
I could hear the elastic of my panties straining as she pulled them down, nearly popping a seam. Her movements were fervent, a development that seemed as inspired by the time constraint as it did by the hunger dripping from her voice.
“God, that’s pretty, baby.” Her fingers teased my slit, spreading the lips so that she could take a better look.
I shuddered under her touch, steeling myself for penetration.
Whether it was her fingers, a dildo, or whatever old paintbrush she had lying around, I figured it was only seconds before she sank into my folds, testing just how wet she could make me.
But instead, she kicked a small pan into place just behind my feet. “Kneel.”
“What—?”
Before I could get my bearings, Nash had one hand on my shoulders, pressing me down while the other slipped under my arm and guided me into place.
The force sent a wave of heat between my legs, but as I came to rest on my heels, cool liquid spilled over from the pan, coating my lips. “What the—”
“Stay,” Nash growled, holding me in place by my shoulders.
Down on the ground, I could get a better look at the pan now — some sort of gel had spilled over, displaced by my bare center as she made me sit in the tray.
“Are you… taking a cast of my pussy?”
I could hear her smirk behind the mask as she set a timer on the table. “Just a few minutes, Sweet Lamb. Then you’ll be mine forever.”
I should have been disgusted, but the shock overrode all other emotions. “That’s so—”
“Sick? Twisted?” she laughed, her grip tightening on my shoulders.
“Perverse,” I breathed, struggling to adjust to the cool sensation against my hot cunt. “What are you even going to do with that?”
It wasn’t like she had the hardware needed to penetrate it. Was this thing even going to be penetrable?
“So many questions,” she cooed, lifting one of her hands to caress my face, letting her thumb tug at my bottom lip.
“I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want with it.
Just like I’m going to do with you. And you don’t need to worry your pretty little brain about how.
Now why don’t we make good use of that mouth since you’re already on your knees? ”
The next thing I knew, her belt buckle was clinking open, a pack and play dildo springing forth from her baggy black cargo pants. Brushing the hair from my face, Nash nestled her fingers in a loose grip at the base of my neck, tilting my head up to meet her.
My eyes jumped between the eager cock and Nash’s face, the way she bit her lip. There was a question in her eyes — is this what you want, Sweet Lamb?
I could pretend that it wasn’t. One moment of hesitation, and I was certain she would back off. But the truth was that I had been dying to see her cock — thinking about it ever since I’d first seen her in the kitchen.
And now that it was right in front of me, I was dying for a taste.
Leaning back into her caress, I let Nash tilt my head back, opening my throat and lips for her to use.
The rumble that spilled from her lips dripped of hunger. “Very good girl.”
And though Nash’s words were gentle, her movements were anything but. Tightening her hand in my hair, she pulled me forward, slipping her strap past my lips and straight into the back of my throat.
The fullness in my throat was sudden and unexpected — still sensitive from the teacup fiasco, I felt my gag reflex kicking into gear. But she held me tight in place, forcing my throat to accommodate her girth as she thrust back and forth over my tongue. “That’s it, baby. Sing for me.”
A cacophony of involuntary spluttering rose from my throat. My hands shot forward, nails digging into the thick canvas of her pants uselessly as the base of her strap pressed to my lips. My pulse thundered as I struggled to breathe, every sensation heightened by the lack of air.
And just when I started to worry that I might truly choke, the timer screamed out from the tabletop. With a growl, Nash pulled her length from my mouth, spilling a mess of drool down my chin.
“Fuck, Tess. You take it so well…”
I raised my hand to wipe the spit from my chin, but she grabbed my wrist, tilting my chin up to face her again. “You look so fucking pretty.”
Suddenly, her lips were pressing down against mine, stealing the air from my lungs. The kiss was slick and sloppy, the spit on my lips mixing with hers as her tongue stroked greedily into my mouth. I couldn’t stop imagining how her mouth would feel on my needy cunt.
She might have eaten my very soul like that. And I was so lost in the ecstasy that I’d probably let her.
But with each passing second, the sun rose higher, painting the room in burning gold.
“Fuck,” Nash growled, kissing my lips once more and then my forehead before pulling away. “Fucking Christ. I’ve gotta stop. We need to get you cleaned up.”
Next thing I knew, her hands were sliding down my triceps, bracing my elbows. As she started guiding me to my feet, I glanced down between my legs. “Don’t we need to—”
But the cast released easily, held down by its own weight. My lips slid free easily, helped along by the excitement Nash had produced so easily.
As I stood, the cool air of the studio tickled my sensitive nerves. A shiver ran up my spine as I leaned into Nash’s grip. Looking down, I was met with a reminder of Nash’s sick and twisted plans: an inverse impression of my most sensitive bits, captured perfectly in silicone.
Before I could ask if she was proud, Nash had slipped her hands beneath my thighs, lifting me up onto the work table. “Still think my art’s derivative?”
“More like deranged,” I muttered, leaning back on my elbows. I could barely hold myself up, the exhaustion of the teacups and the throat fucking finally wearing on me. But she pulsed energy like a lightning rod freshly struck.
Scooping the cast from the floor, she set it on the table beside me. Grabbing some sort of powder from a nearby shelf, she measured it carefully into a bucket. Then she mixed it with water before pouring it into the silicone.
I wanted to know what her plan was, but I was too exhausted to ask. Instead, I watched her work fervently. She moved like a mad scientist. And I wasn’t sure whether to feel honored or terrified to be her muse.
A part of me was nervous that she had more planned — who knew what she could do with all the paint and plaster on those shelves? — but thankfully, the early morning sun was cut through by a flash of green.
“Fright Night’s done,” I sighed, falling back against the table. “Fun’s over.”
“Ugh….” Nash groaned, setting down her new project with a sigh. “I was just getting to the good part.”
As her eyes flashed over her work, fire flickered in her gaze. I could see it now — left to her own devices, Nash could burn hours here, pouring over her work, bringing her vision to life.
Usually, her energy was so stable. In the studio though, something else broke free. Not just passion, but obsession.
That same energy held as she flicked her gaze to me.
I tried to hop down from the table, to escape her heat, but my legs were anything but solid. She rushed forward, steadying me with a strong palm before lifting me up into her arms.
“Let’s get you home,” she mumbled, cradling my head against her chest.
I wanted to protest the touch — Fright Night was over. She had no right to touch me. And I had every right to demand answers. What the fuck had she just done to me?
But exhaustion stilled my tongue. Nash hadn’t overstepped the rules — during Fright Night, I was hers to do with as she pleased. And now?
Now, her arms were warm and solid as they cradled my aching body. Her steps were sure as she brought me back to the apartment.
I hated letting her see my weakness. But I just wanted to sleep this night off. Answers, and a new escape plan, could wait until after.