🔞⛔️Please refrain from opening this chapter if you are under 18 years old. Exercise discretion; this is a work of fiction with all its imaginative elements.
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Beatrice's leg slowly lowered, brushing against Cyrus's chest and stomach—his breath hitched as she reached his groin—then pressing firmly against his erection. The sensation sent a shiver through him, a mix of surprise and undeniable arousal.
"Oh," Cyrus exclaimed, his eyes widening as he gazed up at her. He was taken aback but also clearly amused by the unexpected turn of events.
"I enjoy being dominated by a woman as attractive as you," he added, his voice deeper and more strained than before.
"Give me your gun," Beatrice demanded, her tone icy and authoritative.
Cyrus hesitated for a brief moment, then reached into the harness strapped across his chest. He slowly drew out his gun, the metal cool and heavy in his hand. With a slight smile, he handed it to her, feeling the electric charge of the moment.
"Here you go, feisty little ballerina," he said with a smirk, his eyes locking onto hers. The playful yet dangerous glint in his gaze made it clear he was both impressed and intrigued by her boldness.
Beatrice took the gun, her fingers brushing against his as she did. She felt a rush of power and defiant, her resolve strengthening.
This was no longer just about survival; it was about reclaiming control and exacting her revenge on Atlas. She would use every skill, every advantage she had, including Cyrus's unexpected support.
*
Beatrice accepted the gun and quickly checked its contents. It was fully loaded, ready for action. She felt a surge of confidence as the cold metal rested in her hand.
"And some cash!" she demanded, her voice sharp as she pointed the gun directly at Cyrus.
Cyrus, with a mix of amusement and caution, pulled out his wallet. He handed it to her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Beatrice snatched it from his hands, opening it to reveal a wad of cash.
She swiftly took all the money, rolled it up, and tucked it into her bra, maintaining her dominant stance.
Her leg still pressed firmly against Cyrus's dick, applying just enough pressure to keep him off balance.
"Mhhh…,"
The combination of the pressure and the gun's threat made Cyrus groan, a mix of pain and arousal escaping his lips. "Arghhh…"
Beatrice's smile widened, and she twisted her foot slightly, increasing the intensity of the sensation. She could feel Cyrus's dick growing harder and larger beneath her foot, his reaction fueling her sense of control and power.
The look in his eyes was a blend of submission and desire, a perfect reflection of her dominance.
"Stay still," she commanded, her voice low and seductive, enjoying the control she wielded over him.
The gun stayed pointed at Cyrus's chest, the barrel aimed directly at his heart, ready to enforce her dominance if necessary.
Cyrus's breath hitched, his body tense and responsive to her every move. "You're full of surprises," he managed to say, his voice strained.
Beatrice chuckled softly, the sound both dark and alluring. "And I am just getting started," she replied, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of malice and pleasure.
She could feel his dick getting harder, his pulse quicken under her foot.
She leaned in closer, the tip of the gun just grazing his skin, her breath hot against his ear.
"Cryus," she whispered, her voice dripping with menace, "Thank you for your help."
With that, she pressed her foot down harder, eliciting another groan from Cyrus. The sensation of his hardness beneath her foot, combined with the power she held, made her feel invincible.
"Nghhh… arghhh… arghh…" Cyrus continued to moan, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure.
He let Beatrice torment him, his body responding to every twist and press of her foot. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles tensing as the intensity built.
Beatrice watched him with a predatory smile, relishing the control she had over him. She increased the pressure, her foot grinding firmly into his dick, eliciting deeper moans from Cyrus.
His body quivered, on the edge of release, every nerve ending aflame with a mixture of agony and ecstasy. Finally, with a shuddering gasp, Cyrus reached his climax. His body convulsed, and he let out a low, guttural moan.
The wave of release washed over him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He panted heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His muscles went slack, and he felt a wave of exhaustion settle over him.
Beatrice watched him with satisfaction, her foot still resting on his now limp dick, now pressed more gently. Cyrus's eyes fluttered open, meeting hers with a mix of weariness and awe.
He was left feeling weak and drained, every bit of strength sapped from his body. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
Beatrice smiled, lowering her leg and the pistol. She turned around and began to walk away, the gun in her right hand and her bare feet padding softly on the floor.
"Beatrice," Cyrus called after her.
She paused but didn't turn around.
"Next time, we should do it without the gun pointing at my chest. I really want to touch your soft lean body and I want to see your face when you climax," he said, chuckling as he busied himself with covering his wet pants with the pillow Beatrice had previously rested on.
"We'll see, Cyrus. We'll see," she replied, as she walked away, leaving Cyrus to his thoughts and the lingering thrill of their encounter.
"Boss, are we just going to let her go like that?" Derek approached cautiously, concern etched on his face.
"Yes, let her go," Cyrus replied, still catching his breath. "But I want her tailed around the clock. Follow her every move, report back on where she goes and what she does. If she truly aims to take revenge on Atlas, assist her in succeeding. We could use her actions to our advantage. But if she becomes a threat to us…"
"What should we do, Boss?"