Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I take in the sight of her punished ass. The wetness smeared along her thighs. She’s fully exposed to me. Mine.
Something inside my chest rumbles at that word.
Mine.
I like it. I want it.
She sniffles. She’s trying not to cry or at least not let me see her cry. Doesn’t she know yet I’ll have her tears and her pain? They belong to me. She belongs to me.
“Straighten up,” I finally say.
She moves slowly, like it takes all her energy to peel her fingers from the desk. She reaches back, fingertips brushing her ass cheeks lightly. I’m sure it hurts. She smooths her skirt down to cover herself. I watch as she straightens. She’s barefoot. She must have lost her shoes at some point.
She won’t meet my eyes as she quickly wipes at hers. Her face burns red. It should. She was wet. She was wet from that spanking, and she came with my fingers in her ass. It’s a good sign. I will enjoy making use of that hole as well as the others.
“Gather your skirt and hold it at your waist.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re an asshole,” she says.
“Are we back to that?”
She glares but gathers up her skirt, her blush deepening as I openly drag my gaze to the slit of her shaved pussy.
Her virgin pussy.
I felt the barrier. At the thought, that rumbling comes from inside my chest. Mine. She hears it but she’s not experienced enough to understand just what it means.
“Sit down on the stool.”
She looks at it, then at me. That wood cannot be comfortable on an un-spanked ass. “I’m fine to stand.”
“Sit anyway.” I pour myself another whiskey and watch her ass as she crosses to that stool and perches on the edge of it, wincing. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to my hand, I think, wondering if I should tell her to be grateful it was only my hand.
I resume my seat on the armchair and study her, smiling down at her.
“This is already so much better. Was it the spanking or coming on my fingers that seems to have humbled you?”
She grits her teeth, raises her stubborn chin. “I hate you.”
I shrug a shoulder. “If only that were true. Now open your legs.”
“No.”
“I’ve already seen it all. Touched it all. I’ll fuck it all soon, starting with your tight little asshole.”
“Jesus.” She’s unable to hold my gaze, which makes this so much more enjoyable.
“So, I guess you’re right in some way. I do plan to fuck you. But that’s not all. Open your legs, Blue. Don’t be shy.”
Her eyes narrow and I imagine the curses she’s hurling my way as she spreads her legs open.
“Here you go, Zeke.” She waits for my reaction and one corner of her mouth curves upward. She sees my irritation at her inviting herself to use the shortened form of my name. Her gaze slowly dips down to my crotch. “You like what you see?”
“I do,” I say, taking in how the slit yawns open to display the gleaming pink of her pussy. I bring my fingers to my nose and watch her flush red when I inhale deeply, her scent an aphrodisiac. I drink my whiskey, enjoying the sight for a long moment before dragging my gaze back to hers. “Tell me something, Blue. You never did say. What is it you think I did exactly?” I ask, because as beautiful as her wet little cunt is, this is not about that.
A furrow forms between her brows at the change in topic. She bites her lip, small white teeth pressing against the swollen lower lip. I wonder if she realizes how enticing that is because I’m still hard and I’m going to need to take care of that soon. I should warn her. Hell, I’d have her suck me off if I was sure she wouldn’t bite but we’re not there yet and I won’t fuck her until I’m sure she’s clean and there’s no risk of accidents. Although, if my guess is right, and she is a virgin, well, time will tell, and, opposite her, I’m patient.
“Blue?”
She looks away, considers something and I wonder if she’s ever actually thought it through. If she’s said the words to herself, much less out loud. Would she be so brazen if she had? If she truly understood what I did?
She looks at me. “The man in the car was your father. The woman wasn’t your mother.”
“Correct, go on. What did I do?”
“You tampered with the breaks or something.”
I don’t blink. Hearing it doesn’t stir up any emotion, any guilt, any regret. I am unbothered. That should be worrying.
“Say it. Say what I did.”
The room is so silent the only sound is the crackling of the fire, the flames, the occasional pop of damp wood. It doesn’t matter that it’s warm for a fire. I like it.