Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
But I did what I was told. I ran my tongue along her slit, tasting her, learning the contours of her pussy with my mouth while she stood above me. Her hand tightened in my hair, guiding me, and I felt her hips shift slightly as I found her clit.
“That’s good,” she murmured. “Just like that.”
After what felt like an eternity, Fifty-Three spoke again. “Now her bottom. Turn around, Keiko.”
The other girl obeyed, presenting her ass to my face, pulling her cheeks apart to show me her tight little flower.
Keiko, I registered somewhere. The Trusty must be allowed to call us by name, I realized distantly. This is Keiko’s bottom you have to service. Somehow knowing her name made my face blush even hotter. I could see everything—the curve of her cheeks, the darker skin between them, the tiny opening I was expected to service with my tongue.
“Lick it,” Fifty-Three commanded. “That’s right, new girl. We call each other by our names when we’re alone. Except for you; you’re just the new girl. The new girl learns her sisters’ names when she greets them properly.”
I let out a tiny whimper as I pressed my face between Keiko’s cheeks and ran my tongue along the crease, tasting soap and water. The humiliation was so complete I felt dizzy with it. My tongue found her anus and I circled it, feeling the tight pucker against my lips.
“Kiss it,” Fifty-Three said. “Show your sister you’re grateful.”
I pressed my lips to the wrinkly little button and kissed it, the act so degrading that fresh sobs threatened to escape my throat. But I held them back, completing the obscene gesture before Fifty-Three allowed me to pull away.
“Good girl,” she said. “Now Seventy. Then Sixty-Two. And then you’ll service me.”
I moved to Seventy, then Sixty-Two, repeating the humiliating ritual with each girl. Seventy turned out to be named Shaniqua. Sixty-Two, the willowy brunette with the hazel eyes, was Joyce.
My jaw ached by the time I knelt before Fifty-Three, my lips swollen from the extended use. Each girl had tasted slightly different, each ass had felt different against my mouth, and the cumulative shame of what I was doing threatened to break me completely.
But Fifty-Three was different. When I pressed my face between her legs, she didn’t just stand there passively. Her hand gripped my hair hard, controlling my movements, grinding her pussy against my mouth with obvious pleasure.
“That’s it,” she moaned. “Use that tongue. Show me what a good little pussy-licker you can be.”
I worked harder, driven by fear of punishment and by some darker compulsion I didn’t want to acknowledge. My tongue found her clit and I focused there, circling and sucking while she held my head in place. Her thighs trembled on either side of my face, and I heard her breathing quicken.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Right there. Just like—oh, fuck.”
Her pussy pulsed against my mouth as she came, her hand yanking my hair hard enough to hurt. I kept licking through her orgasm, tasting the flood of her release until finally she pushed me away.
“Good girl,” she panted, looking down at me with flushed cheeks. “Now my ass.”
I serviced her bottom just as I had the others, but she made me spend longer there, made me really work my tongue into her tight opening while she moaned. When she finally allowed me to kiss her asshole, she held my face there for a long moment, grinding against my lips.
“I’m Emily,” she told me in a voice strained with pleasure as she rubbed her most intimate place over my nose and mouth. “But you’ll call me Mistress from now on, when we’re by ourselves.”
She pushed her hips back one more time, reaching behind to hold my face inside her ass crack.
“That’s it, new girl,” she grunted. “There you go.”
Emily stood up and turned around to look down at me.
“We’re not done,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Shaniqua, pull out the bench.”
As I watched with wide eyes and racing heart, the dark-skinned girl pulled a low plastic bench out from a corner of the shower room. The bench was presumably for girls to sit on while they shaved their legs or whatever normal activities happened in showers that weren’t part of a twisted rehabilitation program. The surface was wet from the shower spray.
“On your back,” Fifty-Three instructed. “Head near the edge.”
I climbed onto the bench with trembling limbs and lay back, the cool plastic pressing against my spine. Fifty-Three moved to stand over me, one foot on either side of the bench near my shoulders. I shuddered at the obscene sight of her bare pussy still glistening from her orgasm, the pink flesh swollen and wet.
“Do you know what queening is, new girl?” she asked, her voice taking on that patronizing tone again.
I shook my head, though some part of me knew exactly what was coming.