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“This isn’t the time to talk about these things.”
“If you’re going to take this from me, we have to.”
He chuckles, but the sound is devoid of amusement. “And what do you expect to accomplish, to touch my morals?”
I stick out my chin, my body stiffening to avoid exposing what his touch is doing to me.
“Maybe persuade you to restore my reputation once you’re done with me.”
“You still don’t understand.” As his voice sounds in my ear, my eyes fix on our reflection in the mirror. The large masked man behind the girl in the red silk robe. “I’ll never be done with you.”
A thrill runs down my spine. There’s no escaping what this man will do with my heart. His naked hand, with the crusted blood, reaches around my throat. Instead of trying to escape his grasp, I lift my chin, exposing the column of my neck to him.
“So smooth and soft,” he murmurs as he caresses my skin oh so gently with that deadly hand. The crusted blood scrapes me, a reminder of the lines he wrote for me in his own blood. “So poetic.”
His entire shape seems to dissolve into a huge splash of darkness behind me. But then I feel his lips on the side of my neck, and I breathe a sigh. His hands brush my robe off the other shoulder, his mouth tracing slow kisses down to it. My body responds to him, undulating into his.
“Tonight, I’ll torture you with pleasure,” he purrs, “but first, I’m going to take from you. You had your first orgasm on the stairs. Now, it’s my turn.”
A scraping sound rips through the sinful delight in my head, and then his strong hands tug me back by my shoulder while also pushing me down. Stumbling with the backs of my knees against something hard, I fall down onto what turns out to be a chair. An old wooden one, yet surprisingly stable. Then his merciless hands pull mine back. Something whips around my wrists and when he tightens it, I realize I’m tied down.
“What–”
“Hush, pretty poet,” he cuts me off. “It’s my turn to have my pleasure. Oh, how I’ll enjoy taking it from you.”
It’s not surprising that Sade’s pleasures are as twisted as his mind, but itisscary. Scary in an exhilarating way, making me want to clench my thighs together and rub myself against them, reactivate the pleasure that either never left completely, or that the mean things he’s doing to me are drawing back out.
But then one leg is pulled to the side, a zip tie flashing around my ankle. I open my mouth to speak again, but all I manage is a gasp before he grabs my other leg with his tattooed hand and fastens my left ankle to the other foot of the chair. Then he stands up and slowly walks behind me, admiring his handiwork in the mirror.
“There you are, spread open for me,” he purrs in the dark.
He takes his time, maybe minutes, while all I can see is shifting shadows in the mirror. I’m growing nervous, the attic air chilling my exposed flesh and the wet folds of my pussy.
“Sade, what are you–”
A clanging sound cuts me short like lights being turned on in an industrial hall. But the glow that comes to life isn’t hard on the eyes. On the contrary, it blooms slowly, causing me to squint at the mirror, trying to make sense of the picture.
And the moment it becomes clear, I squirm against the chair, seeking contact for my needy pussy. He must have known about this room the entire time. He intended to bring me here, and I played into his hands. He even said he was going to have me watch in the mirror what he’ll be doing to me.
“That’s it, drip onto that chair for me,” Sade murmurs. “Soon I’m gonna use you like a little slut, and make you come all over it.”
“Sade,” I whisper, but he hushes me again, snake tattoos slithering down my chest, my nipples hardening as his fingers graze them. I instinctively push my chest up, begging for more of that touch, but my tied-up wrists catch into the back of my chair. I have very little freedom to move, completely at the mercy of the masked man.
“This is how I’ll have you, naked and tied to a chair, with nothing but a piece of silk hanging from your arms.” His gloved hand grabs one breast, kneading roughly while the other one inches down to my pussy. He pinches my nipple, forcing me to arch up as much as my restraints allow, chasing his grip.
His fingers slip between the lips of my pussy, tangling into the curls that I haven’t shaved in days. Shame slams into me, adding to the pleasure in a sick kind of way.
I didn’t even think about that on the stairs.
The light is soft and creamy, but still enough to expose the neglect down there. Or how vulnerable I am, tied to a chair with my tits pushed forward and my legs spread, my wet pussy open while Sade keeps me on the edge between pleasure and pain.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, I didn’t get to,” I mumble, but he releases my nipple only to grab my hair and yank.
“You’re perfect,” he decrees. “I want the truth of you. No embellishments. No glamor.” His reddish eyes lick down to my exposed pussy in the mirror. He dips a finger inside as he speaks, and I can see my juices squeezing out around it.
“Ah, this tight pussy is gonna feel so good around my cock.”
My walls clench, my blood heating at the sound of his words, at the strength of his grip on my hair. My hips jerk forward but, in response, he chuckles, pulling out. I grunt in protest, my nipples piercing the chilling air as they beg for his attention, my pussy aching for him.
