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Resilient.
Beautiful.
His.
Powerful.
My breathe vibrate as I sit backwards on the edge of the ottoman, spread my thighs, and for the first time ever, I really look at what was worth more to my foster brothers than me. The part of me that was more prized than the whole.
Is it trust?I had asked Clay this a few days ago.Is it about trusting my own body?
My body lied to me.
It lied tothem…
When I held them to me, when I clung to their thrusts, when I barely fought back…
Tears scorch the back of my eyes as I press the tip of my finger into the crease at the top, sinking in until I hit the sensitive bundle of nerves, and then I slide down the valley. I twitch at the sensation. My skin flushes.
A single tear drops through my lashes. Continuing until I'm above the entrance, I push my finger in, curling my back to aid in seeking the depth I desire. The depth I'm accustomed to withhim…Moans sound through a tight throat—a whimper.
I whimpered for them.
The sound clogs my airway because that's a lie, too. The sounds of whimpers, mewls, yelps, cries, all lies, so interchangeable, so ambiguous. Am I in pain or pleasure— how do I know?
When they pushed into me, I whimpered and they egged each other on, fuelled by my sounds.
I start to shake under the memory, holding it all in, and then—I don't. I spear my fingers deeper, leaning forward to aid the depth, loving the sensation while sobs racket through my trembling muscles. Tears burst from my eyes, spitting from the pressure in my head, and I sob it all out, because it wasn't my body that lied.
It wasn't my voice.
It wasn't—It wasn’tmy fault.
It wasn't my fault!
Panting, I sit back and slide my fingers from the wet depth of my centre. I breathe deeply. Think about the man who I belong to, and how he belongs—just a little bit— to me.
He thinks this is pretty.
I look at my pussy again. I'm pink inside.Pretty.He's right.There are pleats of rouge skin, not unlike a rose; there's a silkiness to the flesh, not unlike the satin feel of the petals.
My mind drifts to the elegant face of Aurora, to the softness of her caress as she brushed my hair behind my ear.
Clay’s wife likes women… So maybe if I belong toAurora,too.If I become someone she wants around, likes around, then… I will really be a part of their family. Forever.
I twist my finger.
The muscles inside me cling to the penetration; they are smooth and responsive, and Clay is right about this too; they arestrong.
When I purposefully clench my fingers, a wave of warmth moves throughout my entire body, peaking at the tips of my ears. I hum softly.
"Completely natural, little deer. Keep going."
Suddenly, the absence of splashing is deafening, and I don't know when that happened, so I jolt my head to the side and catch Clay leaning on the door frame to the dressing room, watching me with the beloved scorching gaze that takes every curl of my fingers up a notch.
"Don't you dare stop," he orders, rubbing the thick bulge of his cock beneath the towel hanging at his hips. He groans as he applies pressure, hissing, "Show me."
"You like to watch?" I breathe the sentence, even though I know the answer. I turn away from him, not that it helps. His energy is potent, and it spurs me on.
