“You tried to be a good, normal girlfriend, didn’t you?” Dr. Ambrose says. “But deep down, you know you need to be hurt. To be used. To be completely and utterly destroyed. A stupid little thing like you can’t please someone normal like your boyfriend. A thing like you can only please a man like me.”
My body pulses. Please him. Dr. Ambrose. Why do I want to please him? How does he make me feel worthless and valued at the same time?
Clarity pierces through me. I grimace.
Benji. I’m here because Benji helped me.
Because I’m supposed to kill Dr. Ambrose.
Dr. Ambrose rubs his boot across my face, then down my breasts, and over my pussy, and it becomes harder to remember that goal. I repeat the promise in my mind: I will kill him. I will. I will?—
I need to cum first though. I need his boots. His fingers. His cock. And damn it all, I want to make him cum too. To know I did something right. That I brought him pleasure. That I was good enough. And then I’ll?—
He reaches down, grabs my hands, and yanks me to my feet. His body is so close that his heat grazes me. I’m panting hard as he inspects me, and it sends chills down my back. I’m naked, but he’s still completely clothed, and standing next to each other like this, it’s painfully obvious.
His cock twitches, brushing against the fabric of his pants and skimming me. He reaches between my thighs, his coarse, scarred palm cupping me. My folds spread as he teases my opening. My tongue flickers over my bottom lip, and Dr. Ambrose’s eyes rove over my mouth, a smirk dancing across his face.
“As I suspected,” he murmurs. “Evidence of your arousal.”
I don’t know what takes hold of me. I press my hips forward, sandwiching his hard, monstrous cock between us.
“So are you,” I whisper.
He bellows with laughter. Goosebumps fleck my skin. Then he shoves me so hard, I fall backward, catching myself on my ass and palms.
“What an assumptive, dumb little bitch,” he growls. “You know what excites me the most?” He bends closer and enunciates each word: “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know how wrong it is to want me. On the other hand, I know exactly who you are, where you’re from, and what you’re capable of. I could tell you everything you need to know. Instead, I will keep you here, right under my thumb, ready to do anything I say.” His voice lowers: “I bet if you learned the truth, you’d still want me. You’re such a wanton, desperate little bitch, you’d still do anything I ask.”
My shoulders hunch as I curl into myself. It’s not true. I’m not doing this for myself. I’m doing this for my mother. For justice. To kill him. I will find the vial, blind him, and use the shower head to crush his skull.
So, why haven’t I done it yet?
He unclips a small metal clamp from the bathtub’s tarp. I squint. The edges of the clip are jagged with small triangular teeth.
My heart pounds. He’s not going to put that on me. Is he?
He whips the tarp from the tub, and the plastic sheet flutters to the floor. He pulls me by my hair, moving me to sit in the tub.
The ceramic is stained, and the drain is open, missing its plug.
He bends down, then attaches the metal clamp to my clit. The teeth pierce my skin, stabbing my bundle of nerves, tendrils of pain bursting in my neck and ears. As he lets go, the clamp expresses its full power, and the pressure is unbearable. I cry and whack at it with my hands.
“If you take it off before you cum, I will remove your clit,” he says.
I choke on my spit. Remove my clit?
I believe him. He would cut off my clit if he wanted to.
Tears drench my face, and my clit throbs. I jiggle my legs to distract myself from the pain, but it’s searing. He puts the tarp back on the tub, strapping the other clamps back down to the ceramic. The top half circles my neck like a collar.
This is a hydrotherapy tub, isn’t it? And this is the kind of tarp meant to keep a patient inside the water.
My pussy is hidden from his view like this; I could remove the clamp. But I’m too scared of the pain of losing my clit and too eager to do what he says. To be good. To be enough. I just have to cum, and then I can get rid of the clamp.
He unzips his pants, his erect cock springing into view. The pain and fear vanish.
His cock is pale and bright, visible in the dim lighting, with dark veins darting around his length, resembling angry bolts of lightning. His shaft is long and thin, a rope ready to wrap around my neck and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze until my head pops off.
And I want him to choke me.
