When her eyes met mine, they were hard again. “There’s no point,” she said, impressively not chattering.
I shrugged. “There could be. Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe there is a hole somewhere near you that someone could hear your scream through.”
She worked her jaw again, willing it not to chatter as she spoke. But after a second, she closed her mouth and shook her head.
She was right. I didn’t make mistakes.
“Give me your account information and this will all be over,” I offered.
She remained still and silent.
I nodded. “Very well.” I stood, walked over, grabbed the alcohol, walked up to her and grabbed her jaw, forcing her head back and her lips open.
She struggled as I put the open bottle against her lips, but mygrip was firm as I forced her to drink a few good swallows before finally letting her come up for air.
She coughed and spat, gasping for air as the scotch dripped down her chin, her face twisting in disgust as the stuff burned through her.
More potent than anything she drank at the other bar.
I fell back into the chair and took a swig myself, her eyes trained on me, not a single word leaving her lips.
We slipped back into silence then, and I watched her carefully.
She glared, working her jaw, swallowing every few seconds, her eyes turning red as she tried to force back the tears. I wanted her to sit in the ice bath for 20 minutes. I would take her feet out and let them regain feeling only to put them back in. Doctors recommended this when their patients were dealing with inflammation, but I have since learned that most found it so painful that there were cases of many passing out with their limbs in ice water.
Athletes took ice baths on occasion too, but to the untrained victim, it was torture.
The pins and needles, the slowing blood, the aching as her toes slowly froze, started to turn purple. It was excruciating to those who hadn’t grown accustomed to the feeling.
So, we sat in silence. I took her feet out after the 20 minutes, let her sit as she fought against the shivering, her legs clenching and unclenching, her jaw working, and then I refilled the buckets and did it again.
I grabbed the chair between her thighs and lifted her up, my eyes lingering on those pretty pink panties as her thighs clenched together, sometimes so tightly they pressed on either side of my hand, my wrist. Her panties were now dry everywhere but right over her slit.
My cock throbbed involuntarily, and I quickly shoved the ice buckets back into place and dropped her into the water. I’d getmy release when this was over and not a second sooner.
Olivia grunted as the chair legs hit the ground, jostling her sore body. I forced alcohol down her throat again, her eyes growing slightly hazy this time around, before I sat back in my seat, looking up from her legs to her thighs, her soaking pussy, her clenching abs, her hardened nipples, her bobbing throat, and finally her eyes.
She couldn’t stop the chattering in her jaw now, she couldn’t stop the way the shivers wracked through her body or the way her legs instinctively tried to close as those shivers ran right between her legs.
This wasn’t fun to her, was it?
She seemed so…vanilla to me before this moment. Missionary was her favorite position even when she was touching herself. Nothing fun or exciting, just rubbing herself off with her fingers while she laid on her back.
She didn’t even watch porn, she just closed her eyes and did it.
But now? Now I couldn’t help but wonder what she had thought about when she finger-fucked herself on her couch while I watched her through the cameras.
“Why did you run away from home?” I finally asked her, angling my chin.
She laughed and shook her head. “I’m-m n-not t-telling you sh-shit.”
I lifted my hands and folded them back over my lap. “Fine.” Even her chatters sounded slurred. She drank like a fish in front of Jake, but this was proof enough that the liquor Jake was keeping was nothing compared to what I had. Nothing.
Her teeth clicked together as she shook, another wave of shivers running through her.
After a second, she snarled. “I d-didn’t w-want to b-b-be their t-t-toy anymore,” she finally said.
I wasn’t sure why she said it. There was no point in givingme information, and I knew for certain she wasn’t the type to believe that giving herself humanity would save her. Maybe she just didn’t want to sit in her own mind anymore. Maybe the alcohol was affecting her more than she liked. Good, that’s what I wanted.
