Why is he carrying a lamp with him?
“Are you ready for your next lesson, love?” he asks.
My heart stops. I pull against the restraints, soreness biting my muscles. I’ve physically exerted myself harder than I ever have since entering the asylum, and it’s only going to get worse.
Dr. Ambrose unlocks the cage, then sets the lamp on the floor next to him, seemingly unconcerned with the mess on the floor.
He smiles. “Now, sweet one, let me clean you with my tongue.”
Chapter 22
Violet
Clean me with his tongue?
My cheeks blaze. I need a shower before I do anything sexual. I might be restrained in a crib cage, covered in shit, spit, and vomit right now, but I still have my standards.
My blood boils. Panic pushes me under.
What the fuck am I going to do?
“You can’t!” I shake my head. “Please. I need a bathroom?—”
Dr. Ambrose’s lips suction to my nipple, his hot, rough tongue swirling over my areola, tickling me. I gnaw on my inner cheek and close my eyes.
“Please,” I whisper.
His tongue lathers and relaxes me.
He’s my father, but he didn’t raise me. This is just?—
His lips move lower, leaving a trail of saliva along my skin until he reaches my clit. His warm muscle circles my bundle of nerves, and a flash of pleasure dances through me.
I thrust my hips. I need more of his tongue.
“Please,” I cry. “I haven’t cleaned myself yet?—”
“I can tell. You’re simply acrid.” He smacks his lips. “The piss dried on your cunt hole…”
He lowers his mouth again, suctioning to my folds and stretching the flaps with his teeth.
I can’t help it: I moan.
“Disgusting creature,” he says as he shoves two fingers in my pussy. My body molds around him. He grins. “Lying in your own filth, and you’re still getting wet?”
“Please,” I cry.
He rubs himself with his free hand and raises a brow. Then, while keeping his gaze cast between my legs, he unlocks my ankle restraints.
“Don’t worry, love,” he says. “I’ll lick your ass clean too.”
Before I can say another word, he scoops up my hips and tongues my asshole, the wet, fat muscle skimming over the clumps of shit. I twitch and gag; Dr. Ambrose digs his nails deeper into my flesh; the pain keeps me still.
His eyes lock on mine. A brown chunk sits between his teeth. His tongue flicks over the lump; it disappears. His throat bobs.
He actually swallowed my shit. How is it my literal shit won’t stop him from taking me?
“Now, beg me to fuck you,” he growls.
