Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
“Good. Let’s get started then,” he said as he reached around from behind me and palmed my breasts. I tried to wriggle out of his hands but stretched tautly, I couldn’t move more than an inch. And even if I had been able to get away, would I have? The fire between my thighs was anything but extinguished and what he was doing was feeding it. Would I have stopped him, even if I’d been able to? Not so long ago, I would have said yes, with absolute certainty. But it was harder to believe that now when I could feel my chest straining against the post between my breasts, trying to press harder into his hands.
“Have you ever let a man do this, Pet?” he asked as he toyed with my nipples, sending rivulets of desire to my sex.
“N-no,” I answered honestly.
“Really? And what about this?” he persisted as his hands grazed down to my backside and cupped my cheeks.
“No…” I answered as the pulsating between my legs intensified.
“What about this?” One hand circled around in front. “Have you ever let a man play with your hot, little pussy?” His fingers pressed against my clit and started to rub.
“No…never,” I whispered, certain I was red with embarrassment from head to toe.
“You have a beautiful body, and you’ve kept it to yourself your entire life—why?”
I didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t just my body or my pride he was after, but my secrets, the things that made up who I was. But what would be a feasible reason? Why did a normal girl abstain from sex?
“I just…I’m not good with people. I’m awkward, that’s all.” Yes, it made sense. A socially awkward girl would have a hard time getting a date.
“I didn’t ask why you don’t have a boyfriend. I want to know why you don’t fuck.”
“It’s the same thing!” I yelled and then tried to rein it in. “I mean…I couldn’t just go up to some guy on the street and…you know…”
He chuckled. “Actually yes, Pet, you really could.”
He meant it. He really thought I was attractive enough that I could do that. I hated how much I liked hearing that. He rubbed faster, making my body jerk against him.
“But you lied to me, didn’t you?” His tone had grown serious.
How could he know that? He couldn’t possibly know the reason I’d done my best to be a good girl, to be anything but what he was turning me into.
He stopped rubbing, and I heard the quiet slide of his belt as he slipped it off his pants. “No, please. Don’t,” I cried.
The belt landed with a thwack across my backside, and it jolted my whole body, pressing my clit hard against the post directly in front of me, and making my body respond with a fiery ache. Oh god, no. Not this, too.
Another lash, crisscrossing the first. It stung, making me cry out, but it made the fire in me blaze hotter, too.
Two more, and then he dropped the belt on the bed in front of me. “Let’s try this again. Why?” he asked as he ran his fingers lightly over where he’d struck me.
“Because of my father,” I sobbed. “Because he always said I’d be a whore.” Now was he satisfied? He’d wrenched that private piece from me.
He didn’t move for a moment, as if he was taking time to process what I’d said. I thought he was done—he’d gotten his answers. I needed him to leave. I needed to be alone, and as much as I hated to admit it, I desperately needed to quench the fire he’d created that was making it near-impossible to think about anything else.
But then he reached around me and his fingers made contact with my too-sensitive flesh. I moaned—I couldn’t stop it. And something inside me snapped.
I’d confessed. I’d admitted out loud what had dictated my life for so long. But with the admission came the acceptance that I’d failed. The way my body was burning, the years of dark and twisted dreams, and the thoughts running through my head right now of just what I wanted this man—my captor—to do to my body.
Whatever he’d done to me had vanquished a lifetime of keeping my body and thoughts in check. And what I hated most, what made me wish I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him to death, was that it felt so damn good. To thrust harder against his fingers and feel him rubbing faster. And faster. To feel him driving me higher.
There was no sense in denying it. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He knew what I was, how my body responded in ways it shouldn’t. He knew I was the whore I’d tried to deny being for too long.
And I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to stop.