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My knees shook as he slid his fingers down my spine, gently touching spots that ignited when his fingertips brushed against them.
“I’ve been easy on you,” he went on. “But it won’t always be like this. I’ve been lenient… Perhaps too lenient…”
He slipped his hand between my legs, and I mewled when he outlined the shape of my pussy lips with his fingers. I was embarrassingly wet for him, ready for more.
“One of these days I’ll stop giving you what you want,” he muttered. “I’ll stop fucking you like a fucking toy and start using you like a woman should be used. I’ll make you into my pretty little slave… You’ll have colorful pillows all throughout the house, and I won’t let you stand when I’m around. Would you like that, little Rose?”
I whimpered, my mind racing. He was speaking of a life I couldn’t even imagine, a life of submission that ran so deep I would belong to him utterly and completely, which would mean giving him the control I still kept hidden from him in a dark little corner. But he wanted it all. Pretty or ugly, small or big. He wanted to control it all.
His fingers kept working me, twisting between my legs and filling my pussy, making me gasp at the feeling when he pushed three fingers inside as if it was nothing, as if it wasn’t the sweetest kind of torture he could provide to my poor, shaking body.
“You’ll wait for me on all fours,” he went on calmly. “Your mouth open for more of your favorite treat… You’ll follow me on all fours, always naked, always ready to humiliate yourself for a sliver of my attention, desperate for a taste of my dick…”
I cried out, feeling the orgasm closing in on me. I was so close, so painfully close, yet he was withholding the moment it would finally happen.
“I could make you into a mindless little fucktoy if I wanted to,” he said softly. “But I don’t… I want a fucking willing slave. A girl who’ll kneel and beg and obey not because she has to, but because she needs to. A girl who will do nothing without telling me first. I will control it all. This cunt… this ass… this pretty mouth. It’s all mine.”
I shook on the spot.
“Tell me,” he urged me. “Tell me I can have it all.”
I shook my head, and he pushed a fourth finger inside me, making me squirm.
“No?” he asked sweetly. “You won’t give it to me?”
I shook my head again, more desperately this time, and he chuckled in my ear.
“Well, then,” he said with a low sigh, pulling out of me.
The sensation was so overwhelming I collapsed to my knees, slow sobs escaping my lips.
“Don’t ask me to let go,” he growled at me. “When you’re the one holding back, you pretty little slut.”
He reached for my chin and left a bruising kiss on my lips, and then he was gone, leaving me in a useless little heap on the floor.
Chapter 2
Rose
Beautiful posture, Amber, just beautiful.”
I looked at my friend and gave her an encouraging smile as she grinned back and twirled around the room. She was always like this when she got a compliment, a sense of almost childlike happiness taking over and making her prettier than ever as she glowed with pride. The teacher merely smiled at her pirouette, and I transitioned into fourth position as he rounded me up, correcting my posture.
“What’s going on, Rose?” he asked me softly, tsk-ing under his breath. “You are completely out of it today. Very unlike you, my dear girl.”
I cringed at the words and turned my head away, unwilling to look at Marchante and admit what was going on.
A couple of months ago, Thorn had brought in a teacher for Amber and me, and we took daily lessons with Marchante to keep our strength. I had a whole new set of dancing equipment – satin ballet shoes with so many pairs that I could change them daily and never have to repair a hole in the fabric again, and I had tutus, leotards, leg warmers and all the things I lusted after in London. But what was missing now was the passion, the love for dancing that I had felt every day I’d been alive, and that had depleted into nothingness in the time I’d spent at the Mansion.
I was suddenly jealous of Amber, of her perfect posture and the easiness she seemed to have with dance, both things that felt out of grasp for me at the moment. I slid away from the barre and miserably wondered if I’d ever be able to get that feeling back. The piano music stopped as I left the studio, walking toward the makeshift changing room and doing my best not to throw a tantrum, even though every part of me wanted to be the dramatic dancer that lived inside my heart, the one Thorn had cut off from her audience, rendering her useless and withering away.
