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And God help me, whatever he is doing is working. My nipple fills with a rush of warm blood and stands up enticingly. Another pool of wet, unfulfilled need moistens my pussy, and I’m suddenly aware of how needy I still am.
Everything in the diary and the conversations I have overheard is now falling into place, like a jigsaw puzzle that refused to engage until I’m forced to acknowledge the truth. A truth I have known and started to piece together the moment I read the diary. I have read about cases such as these, of course, but I have never encountered one.
Until now.
How many more personalities are within Ethan Greene?
Right now, the one called Lothar scares me . . . almost as much as he excites me. For I am excited, I won’t deny it. The wanton desire is so naked on his face as he looks upon me.
“God, I want you,” he hisses.
His mouth descends upon mine. If I thought Ethan was a good kisser, I realize now that I was kidding myself. Lothar’s mouth is ravenous, practically devouring mine in his need. His teeth nip at my lips and he pushes his tongue into my mouth. He practically combs the insides of my mouth with frenetic passion, and as my tongue attempts to writhe under his assault, he captures it with his mouth and sucks at it.
I am practically pulled inside him.
He does not allow me respite. His hands grope and tease my breasts, and then slide down to my pussy. His finger and thumb immediately ensnares my clit. He works it, kneads it, massages and compresses it until I can’t help but moan against his lips. He captures my sounds in the cavern of his mouth, and sucks all the oxygen out of me.
I’m on heat. His ministrations on my clit are working me into a tizzy. I feel my climax begin to crest. But not so soon, surely! He hasn’t even begun. He squeezes the poor, tender nub of my clitoral hood and I come off the handle. I combust. I give myself to the pleasure. I arch my back and throw my head against the soft swell of the pillow.
I cry out. My mind is flying a hundred miles high.
Oh, oh, ohhhhh!
I think I must have blanked out for a while, because when I come to, he is smiling down at me. Not pleasantly, but in the manner of a self-satisfied smirk.
He puts his face very close to mine and says, “You like it, don’t you?”
“Y-yes.”
“How much do you like this then?”
He grasps my wrists with vigor and holds them against the headboard. I gasp with pain.
“Please . . . ” I whisper, “don’t hurt me.”
I recall the rumors I have heard about this entity. Because they are about this entity, I am sure. He makes my insides shiver – both with apprehension and exhilaration.
Unless there’s someone else in there I haven’t met yet.
Nobody really knows what happened that night, but those kids never came back here to Main Street. What happened in there, none of us here ever found out.
The police came around to Main Street, asking about some hooker all the way from St. Louis who had gone missing. Turns out that her pimp says she went with someone who fit the description of Ethan Greene.
Not Ethan Greene, obviously, but Lothar.
God, what a mess!
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Lothar says, his eyes gleaming with unexpected menace, “unless you want me to.”
I shudder. My pussy contracts, betraying me by sending out another spurt of cream.
“Do you want me to?” he threatens.
“N-no.”
“But you might . . . later.”
I shake my head. I can’t really decipher the emotions going through my brain right now. I’m afraid of him, no doubt. He’s so much bigger and stronger than me. He can overpower me at any time and do whatever the hell he wants to with me. But – like a virgin captive enslaved by a handsome pirate – my loins tell me that I want him as much as he wants me.
“Then maybe you’ll like this,” he says.
He pulls my wrists apart. I lie there, not moving, as he ties my right wrist to the bedpost with the tassel, and does the same to my left. The tassels are made out of silken strings wound together. They don’t exactly bite into my flesh, but they aren’t a walk in the park either. Lothar has tied them so tightly that I am secured with an iron grasp.
Why did I let him do that? Why did I not put up more of a struggle?
The answer is clear.
I secretly don’t want to.
Now that I am helplessly tethered, he’s free to do with my body as he wishes. He knows this too, from the satisfied look on his face. He lowers his mouth to my breasts and nips my nipples with his teeth. It’s none too painful, but the sting takes me by surprise.
“Ow,” I shriek.
All my senses are enhanced by the unknown. Of what might happen in the next twenty minutes or so. Because I can already tell this man is unpredictable. He may choose to hurt me . . . or not, and that adds to my mounting thrill.
