Whoever this woman was before she became mine, she was well cared for. That sentiment delights me all the more. I've gotten myself a precious gift, something finer than silver or gold... something I'd tradeeverythingto possess.
I stare at her, appreciating her beauty for a minute, the way she's so effortlessly gorgeous. She doesn't have to do anything, doesn't have to don any makeup or turn on a certain charm. Instead, she's got a face that could make the devil fall to his knees.
The fringe of her dark lashes is settled, assuring me she’s deep in her state of unconsciousness. She doesn't move as I explore her, rubbing my thumb across her lips, luxuriating in the supple, velvety feel. I press on the bottom one just gently enough to get a look at her perfect white teeth, her warm and wet mouth tempting me to put something more than my thumb against her silky tongue.
I breathe through the need strangling my cock and focus on appreciating her beauty. With her delicate skin and her unique bone structure, she looks like the sort of woman men compose sonnets about. I don't doubt for a second that she was some man's muse, the source of all his inspiration in the world.
And now she's mine. She'll be my canvas to paint her with blood and sweat and cum, bite marks when I can't get enough, and bruises when I can't control myself. She's mine until she dies, untilItake her last breath.
Though she seems to be clean enough, I don't like the way she smells. It's medicinal, like they washed her down with disinfectant before they shoved her in the box and dropped her on my welcome mat. It's wrong, not a scent that matches how she looks. She should smell like cookies or vanilla, maybe juicy and ripe like peaches.
I have to bathe her, to wash away the scent that clings to her skin, ruining the moment. I actually enjoyed my last bath, so it doesn't take long for me to wash her hair, soaping it up with an apple-scented lather, and then soaking her strands in conditioner that I bought specifically for her. I wanted to be better prepared this time, and that preparation extended to thinking about the little things—shampoo and conditioner, her own toothbrush, and a few different outfits so that I can change her depending on what I want to see her in at any given moment. I even bought her tampons, just in case she gets a cycle beforeI get rid of her. I'm not bothered by blood,obviously, but I can't imagine the continuous leaking is comfortable.
When I slip into the bath behind her and let her back rest against me, I breathe out a little of the need that's gripping me and tell myself to relax. I won't kill this one until I mean to... I needat leasta week with her. I've told everyone at the office that I was taking a trip to visit my sister in Vegas.
Dex was the only one who questioned it, but he was placated when I explained that she'd begged for me to come visit. She didn't, of course. I haven't talked to the bitch in years, and I couldn't care less if she was standing one foot off the edge of the roof; I wouldn't go running.
But Dex fell for it, ever determined to believe the best of me.
My deceit bought me a full week of no interruptions to enjoy my time with my sweet treat.
One whole week without responsibilities, without anyone to come calling, without anywhere to be. I may just spend the entire thing buried deep inside her cunt... depends on if I like it that much. But how could I not? Everything about her is amazing, and I have barely even skimmed the surface.
Even without any outward bruises, her body is a testament to pain. Faint scars mar her creamy skin, pink or nearly white in various places. I see them shining beneath the light overhead, resolving to memorize every last one of them later. She's a mosaic of pain, and yet here she is, so docile, so unaware, so... responsive.
I swipe her dark hair off her shoulder, letting the ends fall into the water as I clear the space, helping myself to a handful of her breasts and groaning at the perfect fit of them, the way they move so easily beneath my touch, her nipples hardening under my palm. I move to the other side, repeating the gesture until I'm covering both of her breasts, cupping them beneath my hands. She whimpers a little as I stroke my thumb over one, and I wonder if I imagine the way she seems to press her back against me, arching it to give me more of her other breast, as if making sure I don't play favorites.
I wouldn't dare.
I move out from behind her and hold her neck so that she doesn't slip under the surface. As much as I enjoyed the spasms the last time I did this, I don't wantto tempt my beast into claiming her life so soon. I've not even gotten to play with this one yet. To lose her prematurely would be a waste of time and money, and it would kill me. Really, what are the chances of getting another one that's as beautiful?
The first woman was pretty, butthis one?
I lose my breath just watching her, studying her face for any signs of awareness, any sign that she's not as deeply drugged now that she's here with me. But she's completely, absolutely out of it. I am equally disappointed and grateful, happy to have this time to get to know her body without her fretting over what I want from her.
The truth is, I wanteverythingfrom this one. Her pain, her pleasure, her submission. And I will have it all in due time.
For now, I assess her, my eyes trailing over the tiny crescent moon tattoo on her collarbone. It's cute, and it seems like something a girl like her would have. It's unassuming and small, as if she were testing how she liked it before committing to more. I can draw a straight line with my thumb down from it to her nipple, so I do. She shivers a bit beneath my touch but is otherwise still until I pull the pink bud between my fingers, admiring the way it stiffens so quickly under my touch. My mouth waters at the sight, and the need to taste her takes over until I'm taking it into my mouth, feeling it stiffen even more beneath my hot tongue.
The moan that crawls from her throat is so faint I'm not sure if it's real or in my imagination, so I decide to test the theory. I flick my eyes to her face, watching it contort with pleasure as I lave at her nipple, my desire doubling with each sound that slips out of her. Her body likes what I'm doing to it; there's no doubt about it. If I reached between her legs right now, would she be silky wet, inviting me in?
“Your sounds are so delicious.” I murmur against her skin, barely able to stop kissing her long enough to get the words out. “And so are you. I can't wait to get a taste of what's betweenyour legs.”
A moan slips out of the back of her throat, making me pause long enough to study her face again. She's either still entirely dead to the world or a damn good actress, because she doesn't move at all.
Not so much as an eyelash flutters as I ravage her, forcing myself to languish in the pleasure I'm giving her. I'm not rushing to take my own from her; last time, I was surprised to find that giving pleasure like that made me feel almost more powerful than taking her life...almost.
“I'll let you meet me before I kill you.” I promise, kissing her cheek as my cock swells at the promise of violence, needing more access to her. “I'll let you see before you go to the next life who was your owner... your God.”
That day is not today.
I drain the tub this time before I venture between her legs, letting it leave us cold and naked inside the tub as the water recedes. But at least I don't have to worry about drowning her... now all I have to worry about is making sure that I don't combust before I can even get my cock inside her.
It's a hard task,literally, because I'm raging, aching, and every cell in my body is alive with nothing but hunger for her. As I take her to my basement, her small body tucked against mine, I practically groan at the agony of my heavy balls jostling with each step.
The tip of my cock is leaking with the need for release, and by the time I get her to the bottom of the steps, I'm ready to lay her on the last one and slide between her walls without any further preamble. But she's not just a spot to drain my balls. If that's all I needed, life would be a lot easier. No, I need to control her, to experiment, to see how far I can push her body, how far I can push myself.
I set her on the table, taking care that her head doesn't hit the cold quartz that I chose just for the occasion. It's damage resistant and easy to bleach and clean. The shiny black also casts my reflection back at me in its polished reflection.
