Chapter 8: The Virgin’s Revenge
The harsh laughter from Conzi’s display faded, leaving Chris trembling beneath the glass table, his face slick with a cocktail of fluids, jaw aching, breath ragged. The vibrator settled back into its lowest, mocking thrum. He tasted salt, bitterness, sweetness – a map of degradation etched onto his tongue. The city lights below blurred through the tears he refused to shed.
A hesitant shuffle approached. Small feet in simple flats. Nat.
She knelt slowly, her movements stiff, unlike the others’ predatory ease. Her dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face behind her glasses as she positioned herself over him. The scent of her was different – clean cotton and a faint hint of lavender soap, cutting through the musk and perfume clinging to the air. Her thighs, clad in soft black leggings, brushed against his temples. She felt tense.
"Um," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the terrace’s ambient hum. "Is… is this alright?" The question wasn’t directed at him. It hung in the air, met with Bambi’s snort.
"Just sit on his face, Natty," Bambi chirped, phone already angled. "He’s built for it. Look at him drool."
Nat didn’t look at Bambi. Her gaze flickered down, meeting Chris’s upturned eyes for a fleeting second. He saw something flicker in her dark eyes behind the lenses – not cruelty, but a strange, nervous intensity. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her leggings and underwear, pushing them down just enough. She didn’t strip; she merely exposed herself, lowering her hips cautiously onto his waiting mouth.
Her cunt was unlike the others. Tighter, yes, virgin-tight Sophia had sneered earlier, but it was more than that. The folds felt softer, less aggressively swollen, the skin smoother. Her heat bloomed against his lips, intimate and strangely vulnerable. Her taste was subtle, clean, almost sweet beneath the lingering tang of others. She didn’t grind immediately. She settled, her weight gentle, her thighs trembling slightly against his head.
"Go on," Erna’s cool voice cut through from her chaise. "Make him work for it, Nat."
Nat inhaled sharply. Her fingers, trembling slightly, touched his hair, not gripping, just resting. "Tongue," she whispered, so softly only he could hear. "Please."
He obeyed, pushing his exhausted tongue flat against her opening. She gasped, a small, sharp sound. Her hips gave an involuntary little jerk forward, pressing her soft mound harder against his nose. He licked tentatively, exploring the delicate folds, finding her small, hidden clit. It was already firm beneath his touch. She moaned, low and breathy, her fingers tightening slightly in his hair – not pulling, just holding.
"Harder," she breathed, her voice thick with sudden arousal. "Fuck… like that…"
He focused, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue, applying pressure. Her thighs clamped gently around his head, not suffocating, but holding him close. Her hips began a slow, tentative rocking motion against his mouth. It wasn’t the demanding rutting of Sophia or Evana; it was hesitant, almost shy, yet building in intensity. Her wetness increased, slicking his chin, tasting pure and light. She whimpered, her head tilting back, exposing the pale column of her throat.
"Getting into it now, aren't we, Nat?" Conzi observed dryly.
Nat didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Her rocking became more insistent, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yes… oh god, yes… right there… don’t stop…" Her whispered pleas were raw, genuine, sending a confusing jolt through Chris’s exhausted body. The vibrator’s low thrum felt almost distant beneath the unexpected intimacy of her movements, the soft sounds she made.
Then, her hand fumbled near her hip. Chris saw the glow of her phone screen reflected in the glass table above. Her thumb jabbed clumsily at it.
The vibrator didn't surge; it exploded.
The sudden, brutal, jackhammer intensity ripped through Chris’s caged cock and balls like white-hot electricity. Every muscle in his body locked rigid. A guttural, agonized scream tore from his throat, muffled instantly by Nat’s cunt pressed hard against his mouth. The scream vibrated violently against her sensitive flesh.
Nat jolted as if electrocuted herself. Her eyes flew open wide behind her glasses. She gasped, a high-pitched, theatrical sound utterly unlike her previous moans. "Oh! Oh no!" she cried out, voice pitched with feigned alarm. "Did… did I press something? What happened?!" She lifted her hips slightly, breaking the seal, allowing Chris’s raw, ragged scream to echo briefly under the glass table before she slammed herself back down, grinding her clit hard against the vibrating scream trapped against her flesh.
The terrace erupted.
Bambi shrieked with laughter, zooming in. "Holy shit! Look at his face! He’s fucking convulsing!"
Conzi snorted. "Accident? Sure, Nat. Right on cue."
Evana’s dark chuckle was low and approving. "The quiet ones are always the filthiest."
Erna watched, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her lips. "Seems you found the right button, Nat."
Nat rocked frantically now, her earlier hesitation gone, replaced by a desperate, grinding rhythm. Chris’s scream vibrated against her clit, amplified by the brutal buzzing tearing him apart from within. The dual assault – the physical vibration shredding his nerves and the sonic vibration against her most sensitive spot – was overwhelming. Her facade of innocence shattered completely.
"Fuck! Fuck! Oh fuck!" Nat moaned, her voice ragged, abandoning the act. "It’s… it’s too much… feels too fucking good!" She rode the vibrations wracking his body, her own hips pistoning against his face. "Your scream… oh god… it’s making me…" Her words dissolved into incoherent cries. Her orgasm hit her hard and fast, a shuddering, gasping climax that pulsed against his tongue, her juices flooding his mouth as she ground down relentlessly, milking every spasm from his tortured body.
She collapsed forward, panting, her forehead resting on the cool glass above him for a second. Then she pushed herself up, quickly pulling her leggings back up. Her face was flushed, her glasses slightly askew. She avoided looking at Chris, her gaze darting nervously around the circle of laughing, applauding women. Her hand trembled as she wiped moisture from her chin – his saliva or her own wetness, it was impossible to tell.
"See?" Bambi crowed, lowering her phone. "Told you he’d make you scream."
Nat managed a weak, flustered smile. "It… it was an accident. The button." Her voice lacked conviction.
Erna rose gracefully from her chaise, her green eyes fixed on Chris’s trembling, sweat-slicked form trapped under the table. His face was a glistening mess, tears finally mixing with the slick residue of seven women. His chest heaved, every breath a ragged gasp. The vibrator still pulsed at maximum intensity under Nat’s lingering command, a relentless torture.
"Enough teasing," Erna announced, her voice cutting through the lingering amusement. She held up the small, silver key that hung around her neck on a thin chain. It glinted under the terrace lights. "I think our little slave has earned his… final reward." Her smile was cold, predatory. "Drag him out. It’s time he learned what true gratitude feels like."
Chris’s blood ran cold. The promise in her words, the gleam of the key, cut through the haze of pain and overstimulation. His silent scream echoed only in his skull now, drowned out by the roaring buzz in his cage and the chilling certainty of what was coming next. The concrete beneath his palms felt like the edge of an abyss.