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“Do it.”
“No.” My voice is barely a squeak.
“Do it, or I’ll join you in there and do it myself.”
I don’t doubt for a second that he will keep his word. I picture him stripping off and joining me in here, of him shoving me up against the tiled wall, and taking me from behind. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop that from happening.
With a shaking hand, I lift a bottle of lemon-scented shower gel from the toiletries holder attached to the wall in the corner of the shower. It takes me a moment to flick open the plastic cap. The bottle is new. I tip it upside down and pour some of the fragrant, citrus soap into the palm of my other hand.
“Stand up straight,” Don commands. “Soap those titties up nice and good.”
I don’t look at him as I do it, running my soapy palm over my chest.
“Cup them, squeeze them,” he says. “Make it hot.”
I feel sick, but I do as he says. I need to go somewhere else in my mind, so I do. I’m no longer in this tawdry bathroom but on the island, with my men. My nipples grow hard beneath my caresses, and my core pulses in response, my stomach muscles tightening.
“Now call me that name again. The one you used before you came into the bathroom.”
“Daddy,” I whisper.
He’s rubbing himself over his jeans. “That’s right. My good girl.”
The bulge in his pants is clear. Is this it? Is he going to take his cock out and fuck me now? I tell myself I’ll take my mind somewhere else if he does. I’ll pretend it’s not happening to me. I won’t let myself feel a thing.
But Don isn’t done with the show.
“Now turn around and bend over and wash your ass and pussy. Spread those legs.”
At least facing away from him means I won’t have to look at him, and I can carry on with my fantasy of it being the men watching me, not him. I pick up the shower gel and squeeze more into my palm, careful not to let the water wash it away, and set the bottle down again.
A tear trickles down my cheek. I use one hand to brace myself against the shower wall, my fingers splayed against the cream tile, and the other soaps my ass cheeks. From behind, I run my fingers run between my legs, over my folds. I experience a tightening of arousal, of heat building. I don’t want to climax, even if it’s only at my own hand, but this way it keeps him satisfied with a show, and my time on the island has left my body primed for pleasure. The crest that was once so hard to ride is now quite literally at my fingertips. All I have to do is think of them, and I can find that elusive pleasure.
Over the steady thrum of water, Don’s breathing grows harsher. I can hear his movements, the jangle of a belt buckle being knocked repetitively by a hand, the rustle of clothing, and a grunt of pleasure. I know he’s masturbating, but I don’t look. I prefer not to have my suspicions confirmed.
Instead, I imagine it’s the others watching me with their cocks out —Asher, Brody, Wilder and Rafferty. I’d be more than happy for any of them to get off on seeing me do this. I’m just thankful Don hasn’t touched me yet, but I’m sure he’s building himself up to it. Maybe he just wants to eke out my torment, and his pleasure.
The soap has all washed away now, but he doesn’t tell me to stop touching myself. I stick out my ass and rub my pussy from behind, dipping my fingers into my wet heat. My clit tingles and pulses, needing to be touched, but I don’t want to give Don any ideas.
A gasp and a grunt come from behind me, but I do my best to ignore it and focus inward. My belly tightens to a knot, my pussy pulsing. My nipples are hard bullets, and I arch my back so they touch the cold tile in a sensation close to pain. I thrust my fingers inside myself, imaging it’s Rafferty’s touch I feel, or perhaps Wilder’s. Someone I feel safe with.
It’s a strange orgasm that my body eventually gives in to. It’s nothing like the mind shattering ones I’ve experienced with the men. It’s more of a whimper than a scream, and my body rolls with it, my eyes squeezed shut, my core clenching around nothing. It leaves me feeling dirty and a little nauseated, and I sink against the cold tile wall, grateful for the support.
“Turn off the water,” Don says.
I still don’t want to look. I think he’s come, but there’s a good chance I’m going to turn around and find him half undressed with his cock in his hand. This might have just been the warmup. But I switch off the shower. My legs are weak beneath me, my skin pink. Bizarrely, as I turn to face him, I cover myself up again with my hands. I don’t know why I bother, considering he’s been staring at my most intimate parts for the last five minutes, but I can’t help myself.
When I eventually force my eyes to lift to Don, he’s standing there, fully dressed, as though nothing has happened. He holds a large gray towel, spread out, between both hands, and it’s clear he expects me to step into it.
Though I don’t want to accept anything he offers me, I’d rather be wrapped in a towel than standing here, naked and exposed. I step out of the shower, and he folds me within the fluffy, warm material and then kisses me chastely on the top of the head. The heat of his breath warms my scalp as he lingers.
“Good girl.”
I try not to shudder at his touch.
“This way.”
I clutch my towel tight to the spot between my breasts. He keeps his arm around my shoulders as he guides me out of the bathroom, down the hall, to a bedroom. My gaze takes in the sparseness of the room—just a bare mattress in the middle of the floor. I open my mouth, though I’m not totally sure what I want to say, but he plants his palm in the middle of my back, where my skin is still damp from the shower, and shoves me inside.
