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I’m convulsing, my lungs burning, and I can feel my heartbeat in my face from lack of oxygen when the wave hits me like a hurricane. If I was standing, the force would knock me to my knees. He releases my throat, and I suck in a deep breath as he removes his fingers from inside me. The loss makes me cold, and a shiver runs through my body.
My eyes are heavy, and my heart races as he picks me up off his lap and lays me flat on the couch. The studded belt digs into my lower back and wrists in the new position, but I don’t even care.
His hands fall to my G-string, and he pulls it down my shaking legs and then pushes them wide open as he kneels between them on the couch. The white leather dips with his weight. He runs his tatted knuckles over my pelvic bone as if he can see the brand that’s been covered for the night. If I wasn’t so fucked up, I’d flinch from the contact.
He unzips his jeans and removes his cock. It’s darkly lit under the couch, but I see the silver balls that run up and down under his shaft—Jacob’s ladder. Four more silver balls show in the head—a magic cross piercing—it’s two barbell piercings that go straight through the center of the head, making it look like a cross.
I arch my back, swallowing as he rubs the head of his pierced dick along my swollen and soaking cunt. When he slides into me, my breath catches at the burning sensation of him stretching me so wide for his size.
He tosses my shaking legs over his shoulders, leans over, and grips my throat once again. My body rocks back and forth on the leather couch as he starts to fuck me. The studded spikes rip into my back. I arch my neck, trying to relieve the pressure on my shoulders, but he tightens his hand, choking me once more.
My skin is on fire, I’m sweating, and my body fights his. But I love it. Need it. I’m one of those women whose will to be fucked is greater than my will to live. Fuck me, leave bruises, and remind me who I am. A fucking slut for cock. I’ll heal, eventually.
He pulls out and slams into me. My pussy clenches down on his pierced dick, and if I could breathe, I’d beg him to fuck me harder. Faster. Make me bleed for him.
He leans over my body, and his mask stares down at me. It’s what nightmares are made of, but it turns me on so much. The thought of fucking a stranger I’ll never see again. That I don’t even know his name. I could pass him on the streets and have no clue. The mystery turns me on.
I feel his eyes looking down at me, watching my face turn blue at the lack of air. My numb lips are probably turning white. They’re numb, along with most of my body. All I feel is his dick pounding in and out of my pussy as I clench down on him. My body begs to breathe, but my mind says I don’t need it.
He slams forward, his free hand slapping the side of my face and that wave washes over me once again. My skin grows hot and sweaty. Then a cooling sensation followed by a tingling all over. My eyes grow heavy, blinking. His mask blurs in and out before my vision goes black. My body softens into the leather couch and tears run out of the corner of my eyes and into my hair.
The last thing I see is his mask lowering to my face as he slams into me one last time before his dick pulses inside me.
THIRTY-FIVE
ASHTYN
Ienter my house, tossing my backpack and work bag onto the floor in the entryway. I make my way down the hall into the kitchen. I grab a bottle of Pedialyte out of the fridge and throw it back, some running out of the corner of my mouth and down my chin to soak my shirt.
I’m dying of thirst.
It’s the ecstasy. It’s a little after three in the morning, and I’m starting to come down. The fuck session I had with the stranger took everything out of me when I was fucked like a cheap whore in the Fountain room. He didn’t pay me like I was cheap, though.
After he came inside me, he got up, zipped his cum-covered jeans, and tossed some money on my shaking body. He and his friend walked out, leaving us satisfied and five thousand dollars richer. I still have his belt; he left my arms tied behind my back. Sadie had to untie me while I lay there waiting for my body to come down from the high. I offered for her to take it. Give it to her boyfriend. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to give it to James. She told me to keep it. That it was a clear sign he was going to come back and see me again to get it. Like when a woman leaves her underwear at a guy’s house so she has a reason to contact him again. I couldn’t disagree with her, so I stuffed it into my bag. I just pray that if he does come back to Glass, he wears his mask again.
I walk toward the primary suite and come to a stop when I see the back sliding glass door wide open. Sighing, I walk over to it and pull it closed, locking it. James must have left it open. I won’t let him smoke his weed in my house. And he always has to have one before he goes to bed. When he pays the bills, he can make the rules. Until then, he has to follow mine.
Entering the primary suite, I see him sitting up in bed, watching TV. His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. “Hey, how was work?”
“Good,” I answer, heading to the bathroom. I need a shower.
Just as I shut the door, it opens. I pick up my toothbrush and cover it with toothpaste, and he comes to stand behind me. His hands go to my hips, and I stiffen. “I’ve been waiting up for you.”
“Why?” I ask, running my toothbrush under the water and begin to brush my teeth.
He gently pulls my hair off my shoulders and twists it around his fist, tugging on it. I go to pull away, trying to brush my teeth, but he yanks it back. “James.” Spit and toothpaste flies from my mouth and covers the mirror in front of me. The toothbrush falls from my hand, hitting the countertop before dropping to the floor.
He reaches around and slides his hand into my cotton shorts. “Your pussy is soaked, Brittany. Did grinding your cunt on men who pretend to want you get you all worked up?”
I’d never tell him that the reason I’m so wet is because a man came in me a few hours ago. I don’t answer. Instead, my eyes hold his in the mirror. He smiles, thinking my silence means he’s correct.
He shoves my cotton shorts and underwear down my legs, pushing my chest and face down onto the counter and kicks my legs farther apart with his. He grips his cock, sliding into me, and my eyes fall closed on their own. We may be broken up, but sex was never our problem. He doesn’t have a useless cock; he knows how to use it. It’s the rest of him that needs work.
He pounds into me, my hips hitting the edge of the counter, and I hate how unsatisfied I feel. My body is drained; the guy from earlier fucked me so close to death that I don’t have any energy left. Plus, the drugs have started to wear off. I’m crashing hard.
“Come on, Brittany, come all over my cock, baby,” he groans.
Four years I’ve gone by my new name, and I’m still not used to hearing it. A part of me died when I shot Saint. And Ashtyn was one of those things. I’ll never be who I once was again, and I’ve come to terms with that.
