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I shook my head vehemently. “I don’t. I swear I don’t!”
“Your body says otherwise,” he said, sliding his hand down my crack and moving to the damp slit between my thighs. I groaned, hating that my hips wanted to lift to give him better access. I choked back my cry of embarrassment as he slipped a single finger into my strangely aching folds. A wild pulsing had begun to thrum inside me, making a mockery of my protests. I was overwhelmed by the contradictory feelings cascading through me, ruining my self-respect and shattering my dignity. I moaned as his finger went deeper and that warm, slippery sensations inside me intensified. He withdrew his finger and I turned my head in time to see him pop his finger into his mouth, tasting my essence. I shuddered and looked away, my cheeks hot.
He leaned forward, his cock pressing against my rear, as he murmured against my neck, “You taste like sweet honey. I can’t wait to bury my tongue in your slick wetness. Shall I make you cum before I take your maidenhead? Do you deserve to cum? No, you do not,” he answered firmly but admitted with a tinge of irritation. “But I confess, your taste and smell are a wicked temptation. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman. For your insolence, I should fuck you so hard that you can’t walk f
or days. I want to plow through your slick heat and make it truly mine in a way that is raw and primal but fortunately, for you, I am no randy boy. I can control myself long enough to fuck you properly. Would you like me to fuck you nicely or take you like a whore?”
I buried my face in the bed, afraid to answer. I didn’t know what I wanted. All I knew was that I was shamed by the realization that my body refused to listen to my brain and it simply wanted to feel something fill it. I squirmed as he climbed off me and rolled me to my back. It was uncomfortable lying on my hands but as his eyes glazed at the sight of my breasts heaving with each breath, I realized I liked the power I had over him as much as he liked his power over me. My belly trembled as he spread my legs to his gaze. Madame CoCo had waxed every pubic hair from my mound — openly delighting in the pain she’d caused — but it was apparent that Omar approved of my bare folds.
“Sweet Allah, you are perfection,” he murmured, hooking my legs over his shoulders and drawing my hot center to his greedy mouth. I gulped in tight, shallow breaths, horrified and aroused at the same time. Seeing myself completely at his mercy, my legs thrown over his shoulders as his face lowered to my quivering folds ignited something new and foreign inside me. A loud moan escaped me the second his quick and clever tongue delved inside me, searching and finding that burning, swollen centerpiece at my core, demanding his attention. His firm hands gripped the flesh of my behind, pulling me to him so that no matter how hard I squirmed, I was helpless to evade the marauding assault of his wet and wiggling tongue. He moved in slow, assured swipes across my clitoris, teasing another mewling sound from my lips as I sank further into a dark place where I became simply a flesh and blood woman sliding beneath the waves of complete and utter obliteration. His finger entered me while his tongue worked devilish circles of building pleasure and my hips actually yearned to press harder against his mouth, silently begging for more. Something big was welling inside me, as my heartrate quickened and my breath became an urgent pant.
“W-what are you d-doing to me?” I gasped, barely able to make out the words. Sweat slicked my body, matching the dampness between my legs. “S-Stop!” I begged, afraid of losing complete control over my own body. But he seemed deaf to my pleas, intent on sending me over the edge. Somehow I knew if I went over that ledge, I would change — that tumbling over that precipice would stamp out the protests and denials that I was clinging to and soften me toward him — and I couldn’t let that happen. I struggled to get free, to block out the bone-melting pleasure that was slowly eating away at my resolve to hate him and anything he could do to me. “N-no,” I moaned, but I was sinking fast.
His finger strummed a secret spot deep inside my shaking body, coaxing something free just as his tongue flicked a torturous staccato beat against my clitoris until I was totally lost to the pleasure that caused me to moan and gasp like the pampered whore he wanted me to be. At that moment I would’ve gladly taken his cock into my mouth and sucked it down my throat as readily as Belinda had; I would’ve offered my ass to him with spread cheeks — whatever he wanted, I’d give. I was past shame, past knowing my own mind. All that mattered was the encroaching pleasure that marched toward me with unerring accuracy. Omar drove two fingers, then three inside me, pushing and stretching until I was no longer aware of anything but pleasure.
And then it happened.
I broke into a million pieces, flying apart like brittle glass against a cool granite floor. “Ohhhhhh, Goddd,” I cried, almost unable to breathe, unable to think, only able to babble nonsensical words as the pleasure crashed down around me, drenching me in sweat and my own fluids. I slowly came back to the moment and opened my eyes. My chest still rose and fell with sharp, labored breaths as the aftershocks of what he’d done to me still rocked my body. His face, glistening from my juices, wore a self-satisfied smile but there was a feral light in his eyes that caused a deep shudder at the possessiveness I saw there. I swallowed, my mouth dry from all the moaning and crying out. Awareness returned and I wanted to hide my face from his knowing stare. His expression gentled and he gathered me in his arms as if I were a child to be comforted and not a young woman. His cock twitched beneath my bare bottom but he didn’t try to nudge himself inside me. He simply held me. I stiffened at first, but then the tears came and it was as if a dam had broken.
It seemed several minutes before the tears stopped. He wiped my tears away and once he thought I would listen, he said, “When Belinda first came to me, she was like a feral creature. Nothing like the beautiful, serene and wise woman you see now. Cassie, a sweet fragile girl, sobbed endlessly for days but now her joyful smile can light the world. And Scarlet? She was misguided in believing she was a lesbian, but soon learned she simply yearned for the right touch. Now, she begs for my cock more ardently than the rest.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked with a soft hiccup.
“Because I want to show you that there is no shame — only joy — in accepting your true nature.”
“But I’m not like them,” I protested. “I have family who will be out of their mind worried about me. I have ambition and dreams and goals that never included being someone’s…whore.”
“Sometimes fate steps in and reveals our true nature in unorthodox ways,” he countered.
“I don’t believe that. I’ll never be happy here,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I’ll always wish to leave no matter how many times you make me cum.”
“We shall see,” he said in a tone that said otherwise. He shifted me from his lap and rose naked to pour a glass of water. He took a long drink then passed me the glass. I drank greedily, so thirsty. I handed him the empty glass and when he’d returned it to the counter, he came back to the bed to regard me seriously. “If you were not meant for me, explain why a woman of your beauty has remained untouched?”
“I was saving myself for marriage,” I said, blinking back hot moisture. Saying it aloud made it seem so pointless.
“Were you promised to another?” he asked, moving to lounge on the bed, his head supported by his crooked elbow.
“No. I thought I might meet someone while studying abroad,” I admitted, my cheeks growing hot at my romantic notion.
“And why is that?”
“Because American men were so…I don’t know, it seemed they were all so rude and ungallant. I wanted to meet a man who was chivalrous and kind but strong and capable. I never seemed to be able to find those qualities in the men I was dating.”
“It is true. American men have grown soft and lazy and with that, they’ve forgotten how to treasure the gift that is a woman.”
I startled at his comment. I peered at him warily. “How can you say that as if you believe you are different, when you keep women as pets?”
“My women are cherished. I recognize that they are my most treasured possessions. They own me as much as I own them. They want for nothing and I care for their every need.”
“It’s unnatural,” I said, glancing away. “It doesn’t matter how you pamper them, they are still locked in a cage. I can’t live like that. I will slowly die inside.”
“Why?”
I stared as if his question should be self-evident but when he continued to regard me nonplussed, I realized I might as well try to explain quantum physics in Greek to someone who only spoke Spanish. “It goes against my nature,” I finally finished with a helpless shrug.
“You do not truly know your nature,” he disagreed.
“Please let me go.”
