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For a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of her gagging and my heavy breathing. “Good girl,” I mutter, my grip on her hair tightening. “Suck that cock. Suck it until I come. Where should I put it this time?”
I look over her body; so young, fresh, and ripe. “Maybe your ass? Or on your tits. Maybe I’ll go old-fashioned and cum all over your face.”
She’s struggling to take me, struggling to breathe, saliva dribbling down her chin, dripping onto the bedspread. “Is that how you want it?” I ask with a laugh before slamming into her again. “All over your face? I’ll see what I can do.”
She whimpers, which makes me laugh again. It also brings me close to the edge. Her humiliation, her fear, it works on me like an aphrodisiac. I’m caught up in exhilaration, a sense of power that only heightens the pleasure.
“Oh, yes,” I groan as my head falls back, and I jackhammer into her mouth. “I’m going to come. Oh, fuck.”
I pull out in time to direct my cock, and I decide at the last second to coat her tits instead of her face. They’re perfect for this like they were built for me.
“Fuck… yes, oh, fuck yes!” I paint her with it.
Ropes of cum splash onto her fair skin, rolling down the slopes of her tits and dripping over her nipples.
While she lies still. Taking it. Eyes closed, chest heaving, her chin and throat glistening with saliva. A tear rolls down the apple of her cheek and soaks into the hair fanned out under her head.
I’m spent, physically and otherwise. Wiped clean, unlike the cum-stained mess on the bed. “Next time somebody does something nice for you, don’t throw it back in their face. Maybe they didn’t teach you that in the trailer park, but you’ll learn it real fast here. Consider this your lesson.” I back away, tucking myself into my pants.
She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Can I clean myself up, please?” Her voice is shaky like she’s holding in a sob. This is a far cry from the smart-mouthed brat she was just a few minutes ago.
“Go ahead but be quick about it.” I follow her to the bathroom door and wait while she turns the water on.
I could’ve followed her in, and I doubt she would’ve tried to stop me, but it seems I’ve gotten my point across. Besides, I don’t feel like seeing her cry, which I suspect she’s doing. That kind of thing turns me on when I’m already aroused, but right now, it would only irritate me.
A few minutes later, she emerges from the bathroom. Her head hangs low, and I grab her by the wrist and pull her in the direction of the guest room. “Come on.” We walk inside the guest room, and I release her as she sits on the edge of the bed. Confusion fills her features.
“Wait. What are you doing? We haven’t even had dinner yet. Can we at least eat?”
The locking of the door serves as my response. I have nothing more to say to her tonight. I’ll leave her with her thoughts and the reminder of the punishment inflicted.
19
DELILAH
The events from a couple of nights ago haunt me, reminding me that even if I feel safe, I’m not. It’s all a game. A sick and twisted game and I’m caught in the middle. I think the worst of it is that even as terrified and fucked up as it was, a sliver of my demented soul loved it.
The feeling of being taken and used. It was different compared to those douchebags back in that cell. They wanted to hurt me, but I got the feeling Lucas didn’t really want to cause me pain. He wanted to scare me, but more than that, he wanted to punish me, show me who was in charge.
Well, he succeeded.
For the first time in my whole life, I’m looking forward to math class. I spent all last night wishing time would move faster. If I had free run of the place, I would have tracked Marcel down rather than waited to see him again in class.
Then again, if I had free rein of the place, who knows how much harder life would be? I hate being locked up here, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand why it’s necessary. I don’t have enough people on my side to protect me.
I make sure there are a few minutes to spare when I reach the classroom. I take the same desk as before, in the back corner, and hope Marcel isn’t late or—God forbid—absent. I need to know if he got a hold of Preston. I don’t know why it seems so important. Maybe because he’s the last tie I have with my old life. I can’t believe it already feels like a lifetime ago when Nash was alive. I’m a different person now.
