Chapter One Hundred and Seven

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I have no idea why, but my pussy jumps when he emphasizes the word 'fuck', fluttering uncontrollably like an oversized moth on cocaine. And as soon as it does, I feel the tiniest puddle of hot liquid spill out of me, dampening my panties. I silently panic, convinced that, in its shameless excitement, my vagina just accidentally elbowed my bladder and made me pee myself a little.

But then, I feel it again. And I realize...it's not piss.

Far from it.

It's...arousal.

And that only makes me panic even more.

For some reason, my mouth suddenly goes dry, and my tongue darts out before I can stop it, licking at my bottom lip as I silently beg my vagina to have some self-respect.

Frost catches the motion, fixating on my mouth. He brings his face closer again, his sinister eyes oozing both unrestrained sex and very little patience. Despite his unwavering hold on my face, I have to tear my eyes away from the unbearable intensity of his gaze.

He grabs the pitcher unexpectedly.

"Keep your eyes on the condom," he says, "and no matter what happens, don't look away from it. Understand?"

I swallow.

Hard.

Oh God, no. Please, no...

A sharp, stinging sensation pierces through my lower abdomen as the full implication of his words hit me like a bag of cement.

My heart palpitates uncontrollably, and my hands and legs jerk and quiver like I'm having an actual seizure. I can't even bring myself to speak, and the cramping in my thighs is starting to become unbearable.

Frost narrows his eyes at me, clearly annoyed by my silence. "Do. You. Understand?"

I inhale deeply, trying to maintain some semblance of control over my distressed body, but the effort proves to be pointless. I can't stop shaking.

"Y-yes...I understand," I say, my voice barely audible and completely foreign even to my own ears.

He responds with nothing but a glare, and the intensity in them seems to turn his icy eyes an even deeper shade of blue than normal.

My heart flutters as I remember I forgot one very important detail.

"Sir," I add quickly, hoping it's enough to stop him from boring a hole in my forehead with those laser-like peepers of his.

His eyes remain on me for a few more seconds before his glare softens, but not by a lot.

Without another word, he holds the pitcher high above the condom opening. And, with his eyes fixated on mine, he tilts it.

Gravity takes effect, and the water flows out in a small, thin stream, hitting the water below it with a plop.

My bladder shrieks in agony when I hear the sound of water on water. I swear, I can almost see my face turn green at the wave of nausea that hits me.

Oh God, I think I'm at my limit.

I catch his glare soften ever so slightly as I try in vain to suppress the horrible sensation. Even in my desperation, I hold on to the slightest glimmer of hope that he will stop and show mercy.

But I'm wrong.

Frost simply keeps pouring.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

Dripping, splattering sounds fill the room as the water fills the condom.

I have no idea how much time actually passes, no clue of how long he keeps pouring. If I had to take a wild guess, I'd probably say for-fucking-ever.

I just want it to end.

But it doesn't.

Water continues to pour.

Taunting me.

Mocking me.

Torturing me.

Each second becomes more unbearable than the last. My eyes remain glued to the ever-expanding condom, watching its latex stretch and become more and more translucent through strained eyes as it balloons in order to accommodate the liquid inside it.

I can't even begin to explain how much my bladder hurts right now, and as much as I try, I can't stop myself from imagining the same thing happening to it. That's exactly what this son of a bitch wanted; for me to picture the condom as my bladder. For me to watch and constantly be reminded of my misery in the most visual way possible, which in turn only adds to my distress. And the irony of this whole thing is that I bought the condoms.

That, perhaps, is the biggest blow of all.

Talk about tragic events...

I swallow against another wave of nausea, doing everything in my limited power to stay as composed as I can. And that's when I hear it; a distinct popping that echoes around us, overriding the monotonous sound of pouring water. My eyes bulge when I realize what's happening. I don't actually see the exact point of rupture, but what I do see almost makes me pass out. The condom finally reaches its threshold, going past its point of elasticity, and with nothing else to stretch, it breaks. As soon as it does, several ounces of water come gushing out of it, rushing out across the table like a small flood. The overwhelming sight of it all makes me so queasy that I actually pee myself a little.

I start to quake all over, and the tears that were pooling in my eyes spill down my cheeks. The pressure is just too much. I'm burning up, and I can actually feel heat waves emanating from my contorted face. I have no fucking idea how I can still manage to hold most of it in after witnessing what I just did.

As if he reads my mind, Frost verbally echoes my sentiments.

"I admit, you're more resilient than I expected," he says with an annoying, amused grin on his face. I hate how it makes his normally distracting lips look even more gorgeous, and I hate myself immensely for focusing on the fact that he looks so unbelievably sexy when he grins when he's blatantly taunting and mocking me. "I was fairly confident that you'd have pissed yourself by now," he adds. He looks at me with this subtle but visible expression on his face, as if he's both surprised and intrigued.

It's...bizarre.

For some reason, his words puzzle me. I figure he just means it from a medical-slash-biological standpoint, but something about the way he says it doesn't sit well with me. It comes off like he knows me or knows something about me to make that conclusion. I mean, how could he know whether or not I'm "resilient" when he knows nothing about me—other than the fact that I'm desperate enough to sleep with him for money, that is?

He continues to look at me, as if he's making a mental note of something. I can only peg it as him doing his analyzing thing again for whatever reason; one I can't really bring myself to care about right now because all I can think about is how desperately I need to empty my overstretched bladder.

He seems to ignore the watery mess around us, not paying any mind to the incessant dripping off the edge of the table or the spreading puddle on the floor, not even when it comes into contact with the soles of his shoes.

"Alright," he finally says, running a hand through his hair again. "Here's what we're going to do."

Oh Jesus, what now?

"Since you're adamant about using the condoms, we need to make sure that they actually fit first. Wouldn't you agree?" he says, with a knowing, subtle grin that reaches all the way to his icy, sinister eyes.

My eyes involuntarily drift lower, settling on the unmistakable bulge protruding beneath his slacks.

Good God...

I can't even muster the energy to swallow against the Colosseum that just found its way into my throat.

And what the fuck does he mean, we need to make sure it fits? Who exactly is "we"?

I honestly don't even know how to react. What does one actually say in response to a comment such as this? It doesn't even matter though, because he's clearly not waiting for one.

"If it does," he continues, forcing my attention back up to his ruthless eyes, "then I'll release you immediately and take you to the nearest bathroom so you can take your piss. You have my word on that."

That sounds wonderful, dear doctor—if I can actually walk that far.

In spite of my irritation towards him, my heart leaps for joy and my blood happily speeds through my veins at the prospect of finally releasing all of this horrible tension in my body, but my relief is short-lived when I actually stop to think about the alternative.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Roni, my voice of reason urges. Things are never that simple with this man. You know that now. Tread carefully.

I'm terrified to ask, but I know I have to. I take in a deep breath, possibly the deepest I ever have, gulping down the avalanche in my throat before speaking.

"And...what happens if it doesn't fit?" I ask, understanding all the implications of what that means.

He simply shrugs. "Then you would have wasted your money."

My heart sinks at that declaration, wishing he had a different, less apathetic answer even though I pretty much expected as much from him. And the fact that he doesn't say anything else makes my temples throb with renewed anxiety. He's totally going to leave me in this chair if they don't fit. "Then again," he says abruptly, looking up at the ceiling and feigning thoughtfulness as his eyes light up mischievously, "we could always think of some other uses for them."

I struggle to swallow. I guess I spoke way too soon.

Great. Even more alternative uses for condoms. Just what I had in mind.

I visibly shudder at the thought, much to his unveiled amusement.

My free hand clutches the arm rest and my fingernails dig into the cushion as I silently pray to every single god, fairy, and unicorn that may or may not be out there to please, please take pity on my poor, toilet-deprived soul and let the condom fit.

Immediately, he takes another condom out of the packet and places it between his teeth. Without any warning, his hands move to his belt, and his fingers immediately start working on the buckle, unfastening it.

Ho. Ly. Crap.

Oh, my God...is he...is he really about to do this here?

"W-wait, what are you doing?!" The words rush out of my mouth in panic.

My heart hammers uncontrollably, and my eyes go wide at the very visible bulge tenting his pants. And, much to my mortification and frustration, I can't seem to look away.

He ignores my question, proceeding to pull down the waistband of his slacks, revealing a pair of navy blue briefs. He doesn't hesitate for a second, and his fingers tug at the waistband of the briefs right after. Despite my strange and shameless reluctance to look away, my reflexes force my neck to turn my head in the other direction, tearing my gaze away from his groin.

And then I hear it;

The sound of him baring himself.

I gulp down hard, and legions of goosebumps mercilessly hijack my body at the knowledge that, only a few feet away, there's a naked penis out in the open.

Frost's naked penis.

"What are you doing?" he says.

Even with my eyes focused on the opposite direction, I can hear the amusement in his voice.

Oh, you know, just sitting over here trying to prevent a potential nosebleed from being simultaneously embarrassed and turned on by the sight of your dick. "I, uh...I'm...trying to give you some...p-privacy." I fumble over my words as I voice the only appropriate answer I can think of. I suppose it's partially true. Still, I can't stop myself from cringing at how ridiculous it sounds. I can't even begin to explain how unbelievably awkward and silly I feel for saying it—considering he's the same guy who just spent the last hour and a half pinching my nipples.

He chuckles at that. Even though I can't see his face, I can clearly picture the sinister grin tugging at his sinful lips. And that coupled with the delicious sound of his voice sends tremors through my body, making me shiver uncontrollably in my seat.

"Turn around," he says.

My eyes slam shut on reflex as soon as the words leave his lips, and my breath halts in its tracks, unable to escape my suddenly dysfunctional lungs.

My free hand grips the arm rest harder. My palm and knuckles sting like hell, but I don't loosen my hold. An extreme bout of anxiety forces its way into my body, turning every single inch of my being into a hot, jittery mess. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth impulsively, biting down hard on it as I continue to panic.

My brain scatters itself inside my skull as it tries—and fails—to think of a way to help me. I resist the urge to stall. It won't do me any good.

I don't know how but, by some unlikely miracle, I manage to find some inkling of courage from deep within me to force my neck to turn in spite of my brain's hesitation and my body's resistance.

A second passes.

And then another one.

My eyelids slowly crack open.

And, finally, I come face to face with it;

Frost's penis.

Holy. Mother. Of. God...

My eyes go wide at the sight of his bared member, trying to take all of it in as if they can't believe what they're seeing—which is precisely the case.

I can't speak. I can't think. I can't even breathe.

All I can do is look.

I just might be experiencing the most profound brain fart in all of history. I mean, I watch porn from time to time so I know what a dick looks like. I even know what a big dick looks like.

But this right here is just...it's...it's...simply unreal.

I finally manage to exhale, shuddering uncontrollably as I do, feeling hot air exit my nostrils in a choppy, interrupted stream. Even with my mouth shut tight, my teeth somehow clatter against each other, and I have to grit them hard so they won't end up cracking each other into fairy dust.

I taste a distinct, metallic tang at the back of my tongue.

Blood.

I quickly realize my lip is bleeding. This man's dick just made me bite my bottom lip bloody! I release my poor, bruised lip from between the jagged hold of my teeth, licking at the small droplets of blood that keep beading up on it.

His penis just stares right back, large and proud and perfect. It's completely and utterly erect, standing like a soldier at attention; unapologetic and ready to take on anything.

I gulp audibly at that thought, and my pussy spasms in agreement, throbbing rapidly with no signs of slowing down. I just sit there and take in everything; the prominent, dome-shaped head, swollen and engorged with blood, the thick, visible veins pushing against the skin, the unexpected girth of the base, the rounded, weighty sac of flesh sitting just below...

It's as if his dick is a whole, complete being all on its own. I impulsively lick at my lip again, telling myself that I'm doing it to wipe away any residual blood as I continue to watch the thing pulse against his incredibly toned stomach.

He tears the foil open and takes the condom out, holding it up. There's a noticeable pause before he speaks.

"I won't be putting it on," he finally says.

I frown, my brows furrowing in confusion, trying to make sense of his words. As soon as I open my mouth to ask what he means, he says two words that literally pause my heart.

"You will."

***

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