Page 10 of His Keepsake

He chuckled as he withdrew his finger, and my pussy made another loud, wet sucking sound.

“Too easy,” he murmured, darkly. “I need more from you. More…pain. More something. And you are way too goddamned pretty.”

Too prettyjust wafted way over my head. I heard it but I was busy remembering how casually he’d violated me. That was far more scintillating.

He pinched the skin above my clit as hard as he’d pinched my butt, then let go. I shrieked.

Jesus!

I drew a breath that pulled the cloth to my mouth, and I snapped shut my shaking legs.

Fuck.

Had I said that out loud?

Again, he laughed. “I could get used to this.”

The trunk lid slammed, rocking the car. The darkness in the bag was absolute, and the trunk felt like it was closing in on me.

There was the sound of the front door opening and closing, then the car engine revved to life, and we started to move. I could tell when he circled and made a turn, but after that, I was lost.

I had no idea where we were going. No safeword or first contact word had been said. I had nothing, apart from lust still susurrating through me.

What did he mean by needing more from me?

I let out a shuddering breath, licked at the tape, and felt tears welling. I shut my eyes. God, he was good. Or the wrong man. But that was the whole point of this. I’d wanted fear.

If this was Charity’s friend, I hated him, and I was in awe of him. So far.

The trunk of his car, though—this was over the top. What if we got into an accident?

Ten or twenty minutes later, the car was pulled over and stopped. He exited, and I could hear the crunch of his shoes on gravel as he came around to the trunk. The light that flared through the bag cloth when the lid opened seemed no more than the trunk light. The sounds of insects chirping clued me in. We were still outdoors.

The hum of cars driving along a highway at speed seemed distant.

He dragged my legs out, bent me over the edge of the trunk. With his fist clamped in my hair through the cloth of the bag, he held my head to the floor of the trunk.

There was no preamble, no warning, apart from my dress being flipped up, and my underwear being dragged down to mid-thigh.

I fought him, but he trapped me with his body while two of his big fingers prodded at me then wormed inside. I heard a grunt as if he was satisfied with having found my entrance. He shunted his fingers in and out a few times, making me squeal in protest.

He lined himself up with my pussy as I flailed and bucked, trying to stop him. He rammed his cock into me balls deep, and I jerked, spluttered.

“Please, no!” The plea came too late and was garbled by the tape, not that he would have listened.

Too large, too fast, and it hurt, and it was just fucking perfect.

I screwed my eyes shut, my lashes brushing the fabric of the bag. Please, don’t let him hear me moan. His thrusts were hard and crude, stealing my breath. I could hear him grunting over me, or maybe my own labored breathing was echoing in the bag over my head.

Fuck. Why was this so hot?

Being anonymously fucked with no expectation of arousal? This was turning me on more than anything I’d done before. It was sick—dehumanizing—and I could feel my pussy dripping down his shaft hot and slick, even more turned on by how humiliated and aroused I was.

A new harder thrust jarred me, disconnecting my thoughts, reaching deep inside, and I gave in and rode the sensations. He kept pounding me, relentless, with his hand gripping back and hair, with the trunk lip digging into my belly. His thrusts became erratic and more painful, then he came inside me, leaving me weak and shaking underneath him, desperate for something to rub against my clit. He pulled out, spilling warm come onto my thighs, then pulled up my underwear, and rolled me back into the trunk without a word.

The trunk lid slammed again, leaving me in the dark, the scent of new upholstery mingling with the smell of the come still leaking from me.

The car door closed, and the vehicle purred to life, and he drove away.

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