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Before I manage another word, his face is right at the apex of my thighs, and his mouth closes over my exposed folds. The sound in my throat morphs into a hiss as his tongue darts out, lapping at the sensitive flesh between my labia.
Holy shit.
My sexual history is as sad as it is limited. I was in preschool the first time I was kissed, and the man was thirty-five. I remember the stench of whiskey on his graying beard—the reasons I can’t stand that spirit, or full beards. Oddly, Marius’s rough stubble didn’t trigger me. I had the sense to tell on his wife, and while she slapped me, called me a little slut, and placed all the blame on me, she also made sure I was out of the house the next day.
When I was twelve, I stayed in a house where the foster parents took in as many kids as they were allowed to so they could make as much money as possible. There was a girl in my room who liked to sneak into my bed and touch me—and make me touch her. That, I didn’t mind much; the advances came from her, and I did feel compelled to go on, though I was ambivalent about it, but she didn’t make me want to retch or scream. I’m actually still in touch with Lynne. But they barely fed us and were happy to beat us when they felt like it, so someone reported them.
Next, I was with a nice family, but the principal of my school preyed on girls like me, soIacted out to be sent away. I moved again, to the Clarks’.
The Clarks weren’t that bad at first. It was just Mr. and Mrs. Clark, their son, and me. They were well-known, respected members of the small town. Their son was the quarterback, captain of the football team. He was cute. Nice.
For a time.
Then, Brandon decided he could take what he wanted where I was concerned. Like with Lynne, I didn’t see a simple way to stop what he did to me at first; then he entrapped me, and there was no controlling the situation anymore. He’d use me, and he’d hit me, once so hard I actually passed out.
That’s it, the gist of my history: gross pedos, a fifteen-year-old foster sister, and a charismatic abuser playing the golden boy in town.
None of them has ever done this.
Marius’s tongue travels in slow circles around my clit, teasing the desperate nub. Of their own volition, my hips fly up to meet his maddening ministrations, attempting to get the pressure where I need it most. He chuckles and holds on to my legs to keep me into place.
It occurs to me that I’m no longer attempting to close my legs; if anything, they’re as wide as they can go, and my body’s arching to present my pussy to him shamelessly.
Oh, god. What’s happening to me?
The man between my legs knows exactly how to drive a woman wild. He’s already proved it with his riding crop, his whip, and his cane, but now the tools have been put away, and I’m stunned to see he’s just as lethal with nothing but his body. I’m doing my best to stifle any sound, but moans threaten to escape me. My hips won’t stop rubbing against him. My head thrown back, I can’t do anything but feel, and want, and whimper.
A finger joins his mouth, curving inside me, as he closes his lips around my clit, sucking it hard. I can’t help it. I scream.
Marius lets go of my poor, desperate sex long enough to say, “That’s it. Let go, your highness. Show me what a dirty little slut you are.”
His words should be a turn-off, but he puts his mouth right back on me, returning to work, and I don’t care what he tells me so long as he keeps sucking, while his finger-fucks me faster and faster.
I explode. I don’t even see it coming. One minute I was fighting the overwhelming surge, pushing it down to stop whirling like the slut he accused me of being, and the next, my limps have fallen down, limp, boneless.
I struggle to focus, my vision blurry, my mind too exhausted to even take in anything around me, until something velvety soft and hot brushes my lips.
I blink and open my eyes to that massive cock right in my face, for the second time in three days. Marius is back on his feet, his crotch right in front of my mouth.
He can’t mean—
“Fair is fair,” Marius says, smirking. “Open.”
I snap my teeth. “I’ll bite it off,” I warn.
He chuckles, taking hold of my hair. “I wouldn’t advise it, your highness. I learned from the best.” He pulls my hair to make me look at a spot close by.
My jaw falls when I spot a camera, resting on his empty fireplace’s mantelpiece.
Fuck. He filmed the whole thing.
Ironic that this has happened to me.Again. Someone up there doesn’t like me.
“You’re disgusting,” I snarl.
“You’re about to taste how much. Open wide.”
Eyes shooting daggers at him, I do as I’m told.
