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I cry out into his hand, and reach up with curled fingers, desperate to save myself from succumbing to him like to a disease. He presses that impossibly large chest harder on me, rendering any further attempt futile.
“Now what was the first thing the masked man did to you in your nightmare?” He chuckles in my ear, the sound almost spectral, creating a sweet pool of terror in my womb. “I know there was a part where he caught you on the stairs, knocked you down and ripped off your panties while you thrashed under him. He rammed a large cock into your pussy, a hand on your mouth so you couldn’t scream. You woke up ashamed and disgusted with how hard you came on his cock.”
My eyelids flutter shut. His words cause me more than just shame or disgust. The voice he uses is inhuman and blood-curdling, the voice of a god forged in war. One seeking solace from the horrors he witnessed, endured and was forced to perpetrate. I always had a knack for the deeper frequencies in people’s voices, and his voice tells a story that envelops my brain in a fog of feelings that are beyond the human experience.
“But I won’t do that to you, little poet,” he murmurs.
I remain still under his weight. The scent of roses and smoke now mingles with the scent of clean linen, as if My Hyde were now merging back with his human form. “Still, you’ll end up begging me to use you.”
His weight lifts off of me, but his hand doesn’t leave my face. There’s the whip of leather and the clang of a buckle. I mumble behind his hand, trying to twist around but the air whooshes as Sade flips my robe up and something whips my ass. I yelp, the sound lost against his relentless grip on my face.
“Be still. Remember, you wouldn’t want the guards to run into me.” With that, he slowly removes his hand. I gulp in air, saliva coating my lips, but the moment of respite is cut short when he runs a leather belt between my teeth.
“No, I won’t use you for my pleasure, Justine. I’ll make you a slave to your own.” Wickedness imbues his voice. I wiggle, grabbing on to a wooden bar of the banister with one hand, while still seeking support with the other against the wooden stairs. The things are so well built there isn’t a single spot where they creak, making it impossible for anyone to hear us, even as Sade’s large bulk shifts behind me.
I can no longer feel his body close to mine, but he keeps me in a tight grip with the leather belt between my teeth, tugging my head back. He’s put me on a harness, keeping control while his bare hand draws tantalizing patterns on my exposed asscheeks. I wiggle in protest, even though it probably looks more like an invitation.
“I wonder how long you’ll manage to stay quiet,” he taunts. “Keep those poor family men out of harm’s way. How about we make a bet? I say that I’ll make you scream within five minutes, and you won’t be begging me to stop. No, you’ll beg me to make you my whore, to fill your pussy with my cum. Mark you as mine. And once that happens, any man that ever touches you is gonna end up with his balls stuffed down his throat.”
A weird sensation washes over me, and I let loose a moan around the leather, pushing my ass up in the air, into his touch.
“Ah, it would seem my princess is not opposed to the idea of me maiming a guy for her. What do you say, shall we make Dean Rowland pay for what he did to you? Shall I make an example of him for you, princess?”
Another moan, louder this time, half a no and half...I don’t even know what the other half is.
“There you are again, denying yourself your true desires. Your true fantasies. It’s why they come to you in nightmares, you know. But I’m not going to do to you what the masked man did. That would be letting you off the hook far too easily.”
He seems to go farther away as he speaks, but I know better by the tight grip he keeps on the harness. The chill of the house replaces the heat of his body as he creates distance between us, driving me to seek him for the warmth he provided–and not just that. He’s like a too-strong shot of alcohol that’s vicious as fuck as it burns its way down to your bowels, and yet you want another one.
And then I feel it. His teeth, slightly biting the naked cheek of my ass before a blade hooks into my panties and cuts them off of me. I shriek, my knees knocking into the stair under them. That’s going to leave bruises, but then Sade’s tongue licks my slit from behind.
I whimper, mortified. I feel so exposed, my pussy and ass completely at his disposal. I’ve never felt this naked before in my life.
His tongue flicks over my ass, and I jolt forward, but his grip tightens on the harness. He yanks me back, against his mouth. He’s lifted the mask off the lower part of his face, while the upper part is still covered with fabric that chafes my skin as he moves.
“This pussy should have belonged to me from the start,” he growls, and there’s anger in his voice. “But you decided to let another guy have it. I would have been far gentler with you than he was. But now I’m going to take what’s mine, and teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”
His tongue pushes between the lips of my pussy, full and lustful, a devil’s tongue. I mewl into the belt at the sensation, saliva gathering around it. He does it again, reaching to the front of my pussy, really close to my clit. It swells and throbs as he parts me with that broad tongue, driving imminent pleasure into my core, and taking a piece of my dignity with every stroke.
He removes his mouth for only a moment, and my hips bounce back, going after him with a groan.
“Remember the guards, princess,” he warns.
Fuck, the man could easily be an executioner for the Spanish Inquisition. You can torture a person with pleasure too, not just pain. I mumble that into the belt, but since I’m unable to put my lips together, my tongue just rambles against the leather, producing more drool than it does words.
He goes at me again, his tongue reaching from back to front and then back again. My pussy betrays me miserably, creaming harder. Soon, a finger joins his tongue, pushing into my pussy. Not as deep as I need him.
I throw my head back, struggling to keep my moans quiet, wiggling my ass to signal what I want. Sweet Flying Dutchman, can I sink any lower than this? Grinding into the masked man’s face while he keeps me on a harness, begging him to pleasure me, even if that means fucking my ass with his fingers again? I didn’t even know that desire could feel like this. What I had with Dean was nothing but a pale joke compared to this.
“You look ravishing,” he says, his breath toying with my needy pussy, “thrashing with pleasure while sprawled on the stairs. Giving yourself to a sicko that came to haunt you. And he’s going to haunt you, little poet, for the rest of your life.”
How can a threat sound so inviting? If he were a vampire, here to drain me of my blood, I’d fucking let him.
“Please,” I mumble into the belt, and this time it’s intelligible enough that he laughs.
“I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to beg.”
How disgraceful is that? A victim, begging to be abused.
