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"You hated my poem."
"No, I didn’t!"
"Lying bitch." I curse, smoke blazing out of my ears. "Look how fucking mad you make me. All you had to do was text me that you appreciated it. Appreciatedme.I’m going through so much and you made my day ten times worse. You did this to me, Olivia. Not the bastard out of state that I want to strangle with my bare fists. Not the man who hurt my sister.You.You need to pay for your sins."
"I have no idea what you’re talking about." Olivia’s cheeks glisten with tears. "Your poem got me off. I touched myself with it, Colt. That’s why it was damp. Believe me."
The sight of her crying lights a fire in my core, one composed of embers of sadism. Her tears give me a hard on that nothing compares to. My eyes follow each tear to her quivering chin, and I’m tempted to bite her cheek to prompt even more to fall.
I picture Olivia covered in my teeth marks. I wonder what she’d do if I bit her right now. Sunk my teeth in before she had a chance to get away and ripped her flesh into pieces. Pre-cum pools on the tip of my dick.
"You lying little whore. Writing that poem took so much out of me. You used me, bitch. You fucking used me. I’ve treated you with nothing but respect and this is how you repay me.I’d die for you.If a man attacked you on the street, I’m the one who’d risk my life to save you. You wouldn’t do the same for me. The least you can do is text me that you like my art."
I pin her to the balcony railing, ripping her clothes off in one single tear, then spank her so hard she screams.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
Her ass cheeks quiver, bouncing as my palm makes contact, harder than a fist on her cheek. Pink splotches turn to red immediately, the telltale sign that this will leave a mark.
"Count yourself lucky I’m hitting your ass."
I tug my belt off then swat her with it. The crack of the leather against her skin is pure music, as artistic as my genius poem that she didn’t appreciate. She will learn to like my art. She will know that my brilliance outshines all other men.
I’m a man who pours my soul into my poetry. It’s the way I say the things I can’t tell her in person.
Olivia’s pussy turns wet. Her slickness seeps down her thighs, creating a glistening stream. Of course her body is responding to my discipline. No surprise there.
"Look down at all those people in Central Park. They have no idea that I’m beating your whore ass up here. Spanking you. Turning you on like the bratty bitch you are."
She cries out as my deafening voice reaches her ears, then attempts to pry herself out of my grip. I hold her even tighter. There’s no way in hell I’ll let her go.
I yank my cock out of my suit pants and spear her ass.
"Shut the fuck up and quit yelling, Olivia. Someone will call the cops and then we’ll both get in trouble. I know you wouldn’t want to make my life harder than it already is. Think of what everyone will say about us at Saintswood. They’ll know you’re a filthy whore with aSlutnecklace who bends over every time I tell you to. You obey me. You are subservient to me. You listen to my commands and know that I can write poetry, slut."
I yank herSlutdiamond necklace, choking her as I plug her ass, harder, filling her with my cock, not relenting when she screams, drool trickling out of her lips and onto the balcony. She cries out so loud that people look up from Central Park, and her pussy creams right then and there. It squirts backward, exploding over my balls because she can’t control herself. Her nipples turn to stiff buds, illustrating how turned on by my violence she is, how pathetically she’s unable to control her own body.
I fuck my whore’s ass.
Harder.
Faster.
I choke her with her diamond necklace.
Strangle that bitch.
Beat her up with my cock.
Take it.
Slut.
Whore.
