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I heard him spit, and nearly gagged.
He probed and rubbed me with his fingers, feeling up my labia.
When I felt his hard cock against my entrance, I shut my eyes, praying it would be over fast.
“You can call me J, for future reference,” he said, forcing himself inside me.
I sucked in a breath and curled my fingers into fists, squirming in pained discomfort as he forced me to take all of him at once.
“You aren’t wet enough,” he grumbled, pulling right back out.
He spat into his hand again, this time shoving his fingers inside me, twisting them in a circular motion.
He tightened his hold on my hips and entered me again, proceeding to fuck me from behind ruthlessly.
He’d said he only had three hours. I swear he spent two hours and fifty-eight minutes of them inside me.
I begged him to stop.
He laughed and thrust harder.
I shook with silent sobs, wondering if it would ever end, eventually focusing on a blank spot on the wall, trying to block it all out.
No matter what I did to take myself to some faraway place, I knew I would remember this forever. The way he smelled. His face. The sounds he was making.
The way he felt inside me.
When he finally finished, he was thrusting so hard I’d begun to scoot across the floor, bruising my knees. My arms felt as if they were going to pop out of their sockets.
“Fuck,” he groaned, smacking my ass.
“Harper…” He pulled out and hissed my name. A second later, I felt his come hit my lower back, running down in-between my shoulder blades. I kept my head lowered, unable to do much else.
“Good news. We’re a perfect fit,” he said after an elongated stretch of me sniffling. “If you thought that was bad, wait until I strap you in the chair.”
I felt his lips on my cheek, and then he stood up and zipped himself away.
He walked out of the cell whistling a peppy tune.
The door slammed upon his departure, a locking mechanism loudly clicking into place.
I flipped onto my side, trying to free my arms, giving up before he even reached the top of the stairs.
The light shut off, and everything went dark.
–Chapter Seven–
J
When I left Harper, early dawn was blanketing the sky.
I was half-way home when I realized I’d forgotten to remove the zip-tie around her wrists. It was too late to go back; Minnie was expecting me.
She’d just have to find a way to deal with it. Her predicament could be worse. Had she run for the door, I’d have had no choice but to retrain her in the chair much earlier than I planned.
I didn’t understand why women always felt the need to fight back, even when they knew it was futile.
Turning onto Hopkins Boulevard, I waved to Davey West as I drove by. He returned the gesture and went back to staring off into space.
Poor bastard had never gotten over the disappearance of his granddaughter.
At just nineteen, she was the youngest of all my girls. All it took to lure her was the promise of a ride on my dick.
She became more of an annoyance than a toy a mere three weeks into her captivity. A quick slit of her throat was the end of that.
I didn’t have to worry about such things with Harper. She’d already shown me she was different by taking a few seconds to use her common sense.
That also meant I had to keep a closer eye on her. The smart ones always thought they could get one over on me, pull some overly submissive bullshit in hopes I’d eventually slip up and make a rookie mistake.
I’d been doing this too long for that to ever happen again.
I’d been fortunate enough to have friends willing to fix my screw-up.
They made it clear they wouldn’t be stepping in again.
Finally reaching the end of my driveway, I pulled in, parking directly outside the garage of my Tudor.
The drapes in the living room were already drawn, which could only mean one thing.
Expelling a heavy sigh, my plan to take a long, nice hot shower before work went up in smoke.
Instead, I would have to go inside and deal with my wife.
–Chapter Eight–
Harper
-Day 2-
He came back what could have been hours, but felt like days later.
The removal of the zip tie was what roused me from my unintentional slumber. I whimpered as my arms fell limply to my sides.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” J soothed, running a hand through my tangled hair.
Any attempt to protest was feeble. My throat was swollen from all the screaming, crying, and begging I’d already done.
He picked me up, holding me as if I were a fragile piece of glass, and carried me right out of the cell.
His shirt was off; my cheek pressed into the warmth of his solid chest.
