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Is this what people do? Is this what I’ve been warned about all my life? Because it makes no sense to deny it. Why stay away from something that feels so good, I ask myself for the umpteenth time.
Doesn’t sound very godly to me.
A hand presses on my forehead again. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is unmistakably dominant and meant to show me who’s in charge, and that it isn’t me.
“Say it,” he growls.
“I… I want you to fuck”—I was saying it, those horrible words, the words of sinners—“fuck my… pussy.”
Oh god. I said it. I said the words of sinners, asking for what sinners want.
Because I am a sinner myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut behind the blindfold, as if that will bleed off some of my disgrace.
Fuck.
Pussy.
I’ve never uttered those words before.
But I like them. I want to say them again. So I do.
“Yes, please, fuck my pussy,” I say through heavy, immoral breaths.
Everything about me is sinful. Just how I’ve always known.
I hear the nightstand drawer open and close and then a condom wrapper tears open. Then, someone is poised at my entrance—the entrance to mypussy. And while I’m not sure who it is, he’s about tofuckme.
It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. And I want it so badly I know I’ll die if I don’t get it.
He plunges inside me in one swift movement, and I scream from the stretch, the stretch of mypussy.
I like that word. I like having a word for my sinful place, which is also my holy place.
All men want it, right? That’s what I’ve always been taught. And if they want it so badly, how can it be sinful?
If you ask me, that’s holy.
And this man, his hardness strokes my insides, and as someone holds my legs open and another holds my head down, I can only move my arms, so I grab handfuls of the bed linens beneath me for purchase. The man glides in and out like we were made for each other, aided by the slickness gathered between my legs.
And then the tickle starts. That’s all I can think to call it. Beginning in my core, it flickers at first, like a campfire struggling to ignite, the flames licking around, deciding whether they want to become something bigger.
And then they grow, like the pressure inside me, and something pulses in a steady rhythm, weak at first but quickly becoming strong, until my body is wracked with spasms. My head breaks free of the hand on it, and I lift and slam it back down on the bed over and over, grateful something soft is under me because I know I can’t stop.
My pussy contracts like it has a mind of its own, taking me on a ride that leaves me thrashing and screaming. Over the noise in my ears and in my mind, I hear the men making approving noises, enjoying the fuck just as much as I do.
And then the man slams into me one more time, so hard he drives me back on the bed, and I shriek from the force and the combination of pain and pleasure, and he growls and then yells, so loudly I am sure they hear us outside our room.
And I don’t care. I just want it again.
* * *
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
LUCI
It’s noteasy walking down a dark street in a long dress and high heels, shoulders and back bared to a chilly breeze, one that normally calls for a coat or wrap or something else that’s warm.
