Break

I grab the back of her neck and press the head into her closed lips. She gives way reluctantly and I slam my cock all the way back until my balls are touching her lips and she starts to gag.

“Take it all, Princess. Show me how good you can suck,” I tell her. Natayla throws herself into it—the perfect princess turned porn star. She gags on my cock and her saliva strings in threads from her mouth. I watch her eye make-up smear as tears fall down her face, her cheeks puffing in and out with the thrust of my manhood.

“Do you want me to make you come?”

She bobs on my dick as she nods her head.

It feels so good. “If you want to come, you need to beg for it.”

“Please, Dash. Please!” she pleads with me softly.

I flex my hand and stick it between her legs. “Pull your panties to the side and let’s see if you can mount my fingers, get four inside.”

“I’m not wearing any panties.”

I slap her face just hard enough so she knows I don’t like it and then immediately rub it gently with my fingers. “Don’t do that again unless I ask you to.” I brush my fingers across her sex, which is drenched with her arousal and swollen like a bud. “Get all four fingers inside you without my help and make yourself come. Keep your mouth on my dick.”

Natayla looks desperate but does as I command, maneuvering her cunt over my hand and trying to contain all four fingers when she’s sodden in her own arousal. I jam my cock in her mouth again, loving the frustration, the humiliation that plays out on her face. She struggles as she tries to balance, sucking my huge erection in and out of her mouth while trying to reach her orgasm on my hand.

After a few moments of torment, she begins to sob in vain. “I can’t do it.”

“Your loss,” I say, removing my hand. I lick her slick juices off my fingers while she eyes me in disbelief.

Grabbing a chunk of her hair, I pound home into her confounded mouth. She cannot believe I’m taking my pleasure and giving her none.

“Drink up, Sam. Fill your little tummy with my cum.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Natayla

I’m so pissed at Dash that I refuse to sit in the passenger’s seat. I crawl into the back and kick the back of his seat with my heels on the way home. Being in the back seat brings up memories of Dimitri, who drove me everywhere my whole life. I credit him and Shareen with bringing me up. Sure, my parents paid for everything, but their skewed vision of superstardom success screwed me up.

“Are you going to pout all night or try to get over yourself?” Dash asks, glancing in the rearview.

I turn my scratched face away from him and examine my nails in the dark. My mouth is sore from his massive cock, and I still tingle and throb woefully between my legs where he denied me any satisfaction.

“Go to hell,” I say into the leather upholstery.

“You want to undo our deal? Go back to having Katerina as your manager?”

I’m trapped because he knows I don’t want that. I’d rather submit to whatever punishment Dash comes up with than let her take control of my life in any way, shape, or form. Besides, Dashiell feeds me. He genuinely loves how I dance, and sometimes he feels more like family than anyone else in my life.

“No,” I tell him. “I just don’t want you to try to control me like she does. If I want to go out and dance, I should be allowed to do so,” I say defiantly, crossing my arms.

“And if you want to shove your naked cunt in some stranger’s face, live on TMZ, I should allow you to do that?”

“Oh, my God, that wasn’t what I was doing!” I protest.

“Sam, that pussy is mine, and you know it.”

I can’t dignify that with an answer. I feel the car keel back as he lays on the gas and speeds into the night. I bite my lip and close my eyes and let the hum of speed travel through my body.

Back at our complex, we argue the whole way up in the elevator. Dash insisted I wear the suit jacket in his trunk to cover my torn leotard. I want to smack him and bite him, call him nasty names, but more than anything else, I want to ride his face into the biggest orgasm of my life and then deny him one so he can see how it feels.

“Eh, eh, eh, my place,” he says as I try to march away from him toward my apartment. “I’m keeping you under lock and key until you can blow off some steam and calm down. I can’t trust this runaway Sam you’ve become.”