Sex Slave to the Dictator (The Initiation 3) Read Online Free PDF

to look at anyone, least of all me.
    “That is enough,” Potchenko pronounces. “Let
her finish her meal.”
    I am in no position to eat anything. In
fact, I think I’m going to throw up. But I dare not visit any
further torture upon Max and Greg. Mansk puts down the crop and
goes to the buffet table. With a silver tong, he picks up a slice
of Parma ham. He holds it high in the air as if to tempt me, and
then he saunters to Greg’s pierced cock – still at full mast – and
drapes it casually over the erect shaft.
    Meat upon meat. There’s an analogy here that
I’m too frightened and frazzled to think about.
    Potchenko says, “Eat it, Gina Wesley.”
    I creep to Greg’s front. The veins in his
temples bulge with the tension and his arms tremble slightly. He
must be under great strain. How long has he been forced to stand
like this? Kneeling before him, I delicately pick the slice of ham
up with my teeth and take it gingerly away from Greg’s penis. I
chew, my saliva running despite my thirst.
    Oh, I’m such a bad, bad person – to be
hungry when the boys are wretchedly starving and in pain.
    Mansk stands above me with a silver tray. He
replaces the ham with a slice of cheese upon Greg’s ramrod flesh,
and I eat this also. Cheese is followed by a slice of steamed
zucchini. And more ham. All this while, I am solicitous and
careful, making sure not to nudge Greg in any way that would make
him topple those precarious sandwiches from their muscled ledges. I
have learned my lesson with Max.
    Potchenko has seated himself in the corner
of my vision, but I dare not swivel my head back to look.
    Mansk now takes up a butter knife. I cringe,
remembering what happened to my groom. No, no, he wouldn’t dare.
We have just gotten here. No, please. But instead of doing
anything drastic, he knifes some salad dressing out of a silver
bowl and smears a large swath of it on Greg’s tubular head and
shaft.
    Greg’s chest shifts slightly, as though he
needs to take a deeper breath, but doesn’t dare.
    “Suck it, Gina,” comes Potchenko’s command
from a seemingly dreamlike distance. “Take it in your mouth and
suck it properly.”
    He wants me to disarm Greg so that my friend
will be forced to sink onto his knees and be beaten like a dog with
the riding crop. God. This will be a test of both our
resolves. Ready tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them furiously
away.
    I have to employ the utmost care as I take
Greg’s pierced cock into my mouth. It is bent at an upward angle,
as erect as a jutting piece of rock. To make it fit my mouth, I
have to tilt it downwards. He shudders. I stop, my heart in my
throat.
    Has he dropped anything? Anytime now, I
expect Mansk to take up the riding crop again.
    Greg recovers the balance of his
outstretched arms. I dare not meet his eyes, which are scorching
two holes into the top of my head.
    His pierced flesh slides in between my lips,
the two metal barbells like cold buttons at either side of his
crown. I suckle it slowly, reluctant to go vigorous in any way. I
taste the sourish, tangy salad dressing, but I refuse to let my
tongue roam around Greg’s cock as I usually do when I have
someone’s penis in my mouth.
    “Harder,” Potchenko snaps.
    I attempt to suck harder, hollowing my
cheeks to increase my pumping motions without compromising Greg.
His breathing quickens, and a cold rush pours down my veins. I am
so, so afraid of letting him get hurt because of me. What Potchenko
is doing to us is cruel. He has made us masters of our own fate,
and what a dire fate it is.
    “Harder! Take more of it into your mouth!”
My new master’s voice is a whip crack.
    I swallow more of Greg’s flesh. He is
starting to get restless. I will him not to move, not daring to
lick his column in any way that would arouse him further. What a
situation we are in! Such a reverse from everything we have always
been party to.
    Greg seems to have nerves and muscles of
steel. As much as I suck him, he doesn’t