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"Stroke it," I command, my fingers tightening in her hair. "Stroke it until my come covers your breasts. And if I am satisfied, then I will consider your request."
She reaches up and wraps her palm around me, and I shut my eyes, relaxing into her touch. I told her she would have to earn it, and she does. With every firm slide of her hand, she earns another piece of my shattered restraint.
Gripping and sliding, she indulges me with her palm unlike anyone ever has before. In my mind, I know women have done this for me. But I can’t seem to recall another time, another face. Only hers. And when I explode across her chest, the undeniable evidence of my pleasure dripping down over her tits, the deal is done. But the humiliation does not feel adequate when she looks up at me with soft, hooded eyes. So, I drag my fingers through the liquid adorning her skin and smear it across her lips, forcing her to lick my fingers clean. Only then do I concede in granting her what she wants.
"One visit to start," I tell her as I tuck my cock back into my trousers. “The rest we will determine based on your performance.”
22
Ivy
The next morning, I’m already dressed when Antonia arrives with my breakfast. She’s been the only thing keeping me from going mad in this room the past few days. I only know how long it’s been because I am marking days on a piece of paper inside the desk. I started the second day when she brought me breakfast. It’s silly maybe but keeping me locked up in here, even for just these three days, is taking its toll.
I need to swim. To move. I need to see sunshine. Open a window. That little square of light isn’t doing it, and besides, it’s been raining. I swear it feels like it always rains at this house.
But he said I’d get to see my dad today. And I feel like Santiago is a man who keeps his word.
I close the tube of salve I’ve been instructed to put on my tattoo and am up as soon as the door opens, the pain on the bottoms of my feet finally gone. That was two strokes. How had he taken more? What had he said when his back had been crisscrossed? When his feet opened up when he walked?
God. Is that how his father punished him? What a horrible man. Yet he has a photograph of him on the chapel altar.
I don’t understand my husband. He’s a complete mystery.
“Good morning, dear,” Antonia says cheerily, although I always notice that little bit of concern when she comes in here in the mornings and shifts her gaze nervously around the room, looking me over. I wonder what she’s looking for. A noose maybe. After only three days, I’m ready to hang myself, but I don’t need rope for that. I’m pretty sure I could hang myself on the end of this rosary that’s nestled against my bare skin. I’ve got it tucked under my sweater, and I’ve only taken it off to shower and sleep.
I know she doesn’t like locking the door. She’s said as much. But it’s what the Master wants.
The Master.
I roll my eyes at his formality. His arrogance.
“Morning, Antonia. Do you know if the car is ready to take me to see my father?” I ask her anxiously. I’m not really hungry, so I ignore the tray she sets down.
“Settle down, Miss. It’s early yet.”
“What time is it? If I had a clock, I’d know.” But my husband won’t even allow me that.
“Ms. Mercedes will be the one taking you to see your father, and she doesn’t rise until noon some days.”
“Noon?”
“Sit down and eat. Santiago wants to be sure you’re fed and so do I. I don’t want you falling down again.”
I sit, slouching, one elbow on the table as she pours me coffee out of a silver pot.
“I’ll tell you what, though. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll take you downstairs and show you around. I don't see the harm in you waiting for Mercedes downstairs.”
I look up at her, hopeful and as excited as a kid at Christmas. It’s ridiculous if I think about it, but I check myself.
“Will you get in trouble if you do that, Antonia?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Where is he?” I ask as I pick up my cup. I don’t know why I ask, and I don’t know why I care, but I’m surprised he won’t be the one to take me today. Maybe a little disappointed too. Because as much as I hate to admit it and never will, the enigma that is my husband makes me curious. When he’s with me, things feel different. They feel...more. I don’t know how to describe it. I just guess I’ve never really felt so much before. So much anticipation, so much pain, so much pleasure, just so much. It’s confusing and annoying. It should be simple. I should hate him like he hates me.
