Chapter 10 #4
I open my mouth, thinking of it like a lollipop, trying to mimic the things I've read.
I slide the head inside, and the moment the wet heat of my mouth closes around him, Rhys lets out a low, guttural groan.
He flexes his neck, his muscles tightening, and the sound sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
My pussy suddenly throbbed, melting between my thighs.
I find myself wanting to hear that sound again—the sound of me breaking him.
I begin to suck slowly, my tongue swirling around the ridge of the head, my hands trembling as they slide up and down the shaft. I’m clumsy, my movements hesitant, but I can feel him reacting to every touch.
"Fuck, Ophelia," he moans, his voice strained. "Your trembling little hands... that tongue... it's driving me fucking insane. You have no idea how good the inside of your mouth feels."
From the counter, the operator's voice is still there, a tinny, desperate ghost. "Ophelia? Ophelia, are you there? Please answer me! Are you okay?"
I can't answer. I'm too busy trying to navigate the mass of him. Suddenly, I feel the knife move. He’s using the flat of the blade to push my hand away from my face, forcing me to open wider. I try to resist for a second, pushing back, but he’s had enough of my hesitation.
He reaches back, grabbing a handful of my hair in a brutal grip, yanking my head back. The knife is pressed hard against my throat, and without warning, he shoves his entire cock into my mouth, driving it deep down my throat in one violent motion.
I scream on his cock and I swear I hear him chuckle with joy at that.
I gag violently, my eyes watering, my lungs screaming for air. He groans in pure, unadulterated pleasure, and I feel the blunt side of the knife tap against my neck, exactly where the tip of his cock is hitting the back of my throat. He’s marking the depth.
I try to push him away, my hands clawing at his thighs, but he keeps his grip on my hair, locking me in place.
I’m suffocating, my nose pressed hard into his coarse pubic hair, the scent of him overwhelming my senses.
He holds me there for a long, agonizing moment, forcing me to take all of him, before he slowly pulls out.
I collapse forward, coughing and gasping for air, trying to push myself up. But he doesn't give me a second to recover. He shoves his cock back in, but this time, he doesn't just hold it there. He begins to fuck my mouth, his hips thrusting with a rhythmic, punishing force.
"That's it, my cracked doll," he praises, his voice a dark caress. "Take it all, love. Take it for me, Ophelia."
A strange, traitorous heat floods my body. The feeling of him claiming my mouth, the sheer power of his thrusts, begins to arouse me. I find myself opening my mouth wider, leaning into the friction, wanting more. My pussy is crying now, throbbing with a desperate, aching need.
My hands move from my thighs to his balls, my fingers gently squeezing and playing with them.
Rhys lets out a loud, shaking moan and shoves deeper, throat-fucking me with a sudden, savage intensity.
My entire body shivers, my toes curling against the floor.
I begin to suck him greedily, my tongue working frantically around him, my throat opening up to accommodate the brutality of his movements.
The sensation of him filling my throat makes my pussy leak, the wetness soaking into my dress. I'm begging for him—not in my head, but in my body. I want that cock inside my pussy, tearing through me just as he's tearing through my mouth.
He seems to sense it. He fucks my mouth harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're soaking, aren't you, love? I can smell you from here. If you're a good girl, if you take every drop of this, I'll fuck that pussy of yours until you forget your own fucking name."
And then, the sound cuts through the air.
The wail of police sirens.
They are close. Very close. The operator’s voice screams through the phone, "Ophelia! Hold on! The police are right outside! They're there now!"
Blue and red lights begin to flash through the windows of the shop, strobing across the walls and the toys, turning the room into a chaotic neon nightmare. The police cars screech to a halt right in front of the door.
Just as the sirens reach a deafening crescendo, Rhys gives one final, powerful thrust, burying himself as deep as he can in my throat. He freezes, his body locking up, and then he comes.
It’s a violent release. I feel the hot, thick jets of his cum hitting the back of my throat in waves. It’s overwhelming, the taste of him filling my mouth, forcing me to swallow or choke. He holds me there, pinning my head against his pelvis, wasting every single drop of his release deep inside me.
As the police doors slam and the shouts of "Hands in the air!" echo from outside, Rhys slowly pulls away. He reaches for the phone receiver on the counter.
"She's been such a good girl, hasn't she?" he says into the phone, his voice chillingly calm, devoid of any fear. "She belongs to me now. Tell the boys to take their time."
He hangs up the phone with a click. He pulls his cock out of my mouth, looking down at me as I slump on the floor, gasping for air and wiping the remnants of his cum from my lips. He looks at me—flushed, broken, and completely spent—and a look of pure satisfaction crosses his face.
"You look fucking hot like this, Ophelia," he murmurs, calmly tucking himself back into his pants.
Outside, the police are screaming, guns drawn, ordering him to come out with his hands up. But as he looks at me, I know the nightmare is far from over.
I’m still on the floor, my chest heaving, the taste of him thick and salty on my tongue.
I can hear the police outside, their voices booming, the authority in their tone clashing violently with the suffocating, intimate silence between me and Rhys.
The red and blue lights continue to strobe, painting the toy shop in flashes of emergency and desire.
Rhys doesn't seem to care that he's surrounded. He doesn't seem to care about the guns pointed at the door. He leans down, his shadow engulfing me, and I feel his gaze boring into me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
"Did you notice, love?" he whispers, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in my very bones. "In that last second... when I was pouring myself into you... you looked at me."
I blink, confused, my mind still hazy from the sensory overload of the last few minutes. I don't remember. I remember the gagging, the pressure, the heat, the sheer terror of the knife—
"You didn't even realize it, did you?" he sneers, though there's a dark, triumphant glimmer in his eyes. "You locked eyes with me. For a split second, you didn't look away. You didn't flinch. You didn't look back in fear."
A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold runs down my spine. He's right. For one heartbeat, the fear had vanished, replaced by a blinding, overwhelming surge of pleasure that had bridged the gap between us. I had seen him—really seen him—and I hadn't wanted to turn away.
"You were so fucking overwhelmed by me that you forgot to be afraid," he murmurs, his tone possessive and smug. "That's how it starts, Ophelia. That's how you realize you're mine. That's how I fix you."
He reaches out, his hand steady, and runs a single finger slowly across my lower lip, smearing the remaining traces of his cum back into my mouth. The touch is light, but it feels like a brand, marking me as his property in front of the entire world.
"You belong to me," he says, his voice dropping to a chilling, absolute certainty.
"Every inch of this shaking body, every breath you take, every terrified little thought in that pretty head of yours.
The police can come in here, they can take me away, but it won't change a fucking thing.
I've already crawled under your skin, haven't I, my cracked doll? "
"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! NOW!" the police scream from the street, the sound of a battering ram being readied echoing through the shop.
Rhys doesn't even flinch. He leans closer, his breath hot against my ear, his voice a possessive promise. "I'm the only man who will ever know you like this. I'm the only one who can make you feel this broken and this alive at the same time. You're mine, Ophelia. Forever."
He gives my lip one last, firm press before finally straightening up, a smirk of pure, unadulterated arrogance on his face as he prepares to face the men outside, leaving me trembling and ruined on the floor of my own shop.