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

drop his stance. Maybe
it’s his training. Maybe it’s his sheer power of resolve. After
all, not many men can withstand a cock piercing.
    Or Alice.
    “Enough. Stop,” says Potchenko.
    In relief, I take Greg’s cock out of my
mouth. I can hear his almost inaudible whoosh of tension release.
His abdominal muscles unclench and he visibly relaxes.
    “Come here, Gina Wesley.”
    I turn. I see now that Potchenko is seated
upon some kind of low boxlike seat. He is naked. His legs are
splayed wide open before him, and his limp cock dangles before his
balls. His buttocks sink into an oval-shaped hole. The seat is open
at the anterior portion and there’s a leather cushion lining upon
the top.
    It is a very unusual seat for a
dictator.
    He gestures to me.
    “Slide your head underneath, Gina Wesley.”
He pronounces my name as though it’s my badge of honor.
    I glance at Mansk, and he nods.
    “I help you,” he offers.
    I shake my head. No need. Pulse throbbing
against my neck, I prostate myself in front of Potchenko. I know
what he wants me to do. I flip over to lie down on my back, and
then I worm and shuffle my body in – inch by apprehensive inch. The
shadows of his thighs cross my face and I can see his piercing
black eyes boring down upon me. I scoot in to escape them and the
darkness of the box’s top descends upon my forehead, and then my
eyes . . . and I’m safe.
    Almost.
    Potchenko’s buttocks are two shapely moons
above my face. As soon as I’m firmly in place, he sinks in further,
burying the cleft of his buttocks into my face. He smells earthy –
of flesh and life and clean soap.
    “Rim me,” he orders.
    I raise my chin and protrude my tongue – the
little wet tongue which I daren’t use on Greg to full effect. I
lick the circumference of his anus. It tastes simultaneously sour
and sweet. The rugged texture of his heavy balls weighs and grinds
upon my jaw. I thrust my tongue into his asshole further, licking
and licking anything I can get the tip of it around.
    “Come here, Max Devlin,” I hear Potchenko
say.
    My pulse butterflies. Please, please
don’t hurt Max. I redouble my rimming efforts in a desperate
attempt to please Potchenko so that he will be easy on Max. In the
narrow aperture of light afforded to me, I can see Max’s hesitant
shadow over my prone body.
    “Suck my cock.”
    So Potchenko isn’t averse to men. Why else
would he purchase Max and Greg?
    Max climbs over my body, taking care not to
tread on me. He places his legs on either side of my arms. I make
it easy for him by bunching my shoulders, which are just outside
the box, and wrapping my arms around my torso. I glimpse Max’s
beautiful thighs and erect cock over my body. It is an
uncomfortable position for him as he angles his body downward so
that his head comes between Potchenko’s thighs.
    The tips of my nipples graze his chest. His
cock head has no choice but to stab my smooth abdomen.
    I hear moist sounds of sucking above me,
filtering through the box. I wonder if Potchenko’s cock is erect by
now. Max is not gay, but what choice does he have as a sex slave?
What choice do any of us have?
    We are a peculiar pair, both licking and
sucking in concert with every volt of energy we have left in our
tongues.
    “Fuck her,” Potchenko commands.
    I tense as Max – probably still with his
mouth around the dictator’s cock – slides his body down. I part my
legs to help him. His weight bears upon me as he arcs his body so
that his penis – his wonderful dick that I have not gotten enough
of recently because we were not allowed to touch each other – is
poised at my entrance.
    I lift my hips up to meet him. So much of me
is still nervous about this simple act of fucking, because I expect
Potchenko to complicate everything and turn it into a psychological
torture/physical clash of wills. Max’s cock pushes easily into my
wet vagina, which is always eager to receive him. His chest blocks
out most of the light afforded to me,