Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“You resist me so beautifully and effortlessly,” he purrs, his lips at my throat. “But I wonder if you can resist pleasure as easily as you seem to disregard pain.”
His tongue runs artfully along the lobe of my ear and his lips find my neck. I am assailed by sensations I have never experienced before. It feels like excitement, but more base. It feels as though parts of my body only made for plain, mundane experience prior to this point have suddenly been reassigned as organs of erotic pleasure.
I gasp and I writhe, and I find that the very same movements that made my poor, sore ass flare into agony before now cause heat and a different, darker kind of enjoyment to start to burn. He allows me to half-turn to the side, making my body more accessible to him.
Arthur may be a beast, a brute, and a terrible, awful man, but he is an artful lover. His hands slide away from mine and engage in caressing me and gripping me, holding the back of my neck tightly as his lips press against mine, my mouth opening for his triumphant, dominant kiss.
This is what was referenced so coyly, and no wonder, for there are no combination of words that would properly capture the way this feels. It is sacred and it is profane. It is perverse, and it is entirely natural.
He undresses me in the process of caressing me, and this time the removal of my clothing does not feel like an act designed to shame me. Almost every motion makes the lines on my ass flare into fresh life, but the pain is starting to feel less like pain and more like a dark, hot kind of energy flowing through my body.
I have never felt this way before, physically, mentally, or emotionally. The interlude in the doctor’s office pales compared to this experience. That was nothing but a physical reaction. This is something deeper, darker, more bonded, and far more meaningful.
“You are a very pretty little thing,” he compliments me. “Untouched… at least until I got my hands on you. Now, unfortunately for you, you belong to me. I am not as untouched as you are. I bear the marks of a lifetime of battle.”
As he speaks, he starts to disrobe. He was wearing a black shirt. As he undoes each button, I feel my curiosity growing. I have never seen a grown man naked before. We are modest in my homeland.
When the final button is released, and his shirt falls open, I see that his torso is massive, rough, muscular, and absolutely covered in scars.
I squirm naked on the bed and cover my mouth with my hands as I look at him. I knew from the state of his face that he would have some kind of markings on his body, but I never suspected there would be so many, or that they would cover so much of his flesh.
This is a man who has been hurt, badly, and often.
“I know that my body is not a pleasing sight,” he says gruffly. “I have been taken apart and put back together more times than I can count.”
He is not exaggerating. There is a scar running the length of his torso with smaller shoots coming off it, as if he has been struck by lightning at some point. When he turns, I see that his back is also covered in the remnants of at last half a dozen wounds.
I thought he was being unspeakably cruel in caning me, but when I see what he has endured, I realize that he has actually been inordinately gentle with me compared to what he has suffered.
He has only taken off his shirt. His pants are still on, but he is now working on those. He is displaying himself to me unapologetically, but not without understanding of my potential reaction. He might expect me to be afraid, or maybe even disgusted.
I know that a male has different parts than a woman. I am innocent, but not entirely stupid. Still, when his pants come down, I let out a little exclamation.
He has thick thighs, over which I have already been spanked. His ass is muscular and powerful. I see that when he turns to put his folded pants over a chair. His lower body has not escaped the cruelties of war. There are just as many scars on his legs as on his chest. But it is his cock that commands my attention. It stands thick and frighteningly long—and I see that his cock is not unmarked either. He is scarred almost everywhere, and I cannot keep my reactions entirely to myself.
“What happened to you?”
“It is better you do not ask, because the telling might cause me more pain.” He speaks gravely. “And to be very honest, so many things have happened, I no longer remember what scar is from what war, what wound represents which loss.”