Because even though I fear pain and torture, I revel in it too. When you’re as numb as I am, it’s the only way to feel something.
The hand wrapped around my wrist drops, and regret instantly consumes me.Does he not want me either? Am I too much and yet not enough for him too?
I expect him to step away and act disgusted, the way everyone does when they see my true colors. Instead, he watches me, something passing in his eyes I can’t decipher, before he smiles, a full watt grin. And then, his fingers wrap around my throat. Not tightly, but tight enough that my panties instantly moisten.
“Get on your knees, Little Rabbit. Show me what a good whore you can be.” His voice doesn’t quiver—there’s only demand there, and even though every fiber of my being tells me I should turn around andrun for the fucking hills, I can’t.
I’m ensnared by this stranger, a man I know nothing about but feel connected to in an inexplicable way.
I can’t fight him as his enormous hand presses on the top of my shoulders, and I don’t try. Dropping to my knees, I grip the insides of Santos’ legs, prying them open to make space as I settle between them. He chuckles, stepping wider at my incessant but silent demand. He’s getting pleasure out of seeing me submitting to him.
I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t exactly what I wanted.
Something about my past has ruined me for anything soft and gentle. It’s ruined how I see myself, my body, my soul. The only connection I truly have is with pain—degradation is my secret, my weakness.
He doesn’t say a word as my eyes flick to his—so full of perplexing hatred, I burn anew, my ice melting from a flame wholly unique to this man. I grip him, pulling his zipper down. I move quickly, tugging on the waistband of his pants and briefs until they’re over his hips.
I don’t moan as his cock springs free from the confines of his clothing, but I do bite my lip. I refuse to admit I’m getting any pleasure from this—this is about power, about a balance that exists in my universe. Because the only time I feel truly powerful is when I’m back in the darkness, broken down into the shreds of the girl who died twenty years ago in that boardroom.
I’m the most powerful fucking person here, no matter what this man thinks.
“You just going to stare at it, slut?”
I look up at him, running my tongue over my bottom lip slowly. His eyes track the movement. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
He can pretend he doesn’t want me, but his cock is hard, already leaking pre-cum as his hips shift beneath my hands like he’s desperate to be closer. Santos quivers under my touch, and I know beneath the surface, he’s a beast raging to be let out.
I lean forward slightly, blowing hot stream of air over the swollen head. The tip’s dark, glistening with his want, bluish veins bulging beneath the soft skin. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I shift on my knees, looking up at him expectantly. His jaw pops, like he’s barely containing whatever lurks beneath his golden skin.
“You’re a desperate fucking whore, you know that? A tease. You want me to beg you to suck my cock when you’re needy to do it. Just look at you.” He reaches out, flicking one of my nipples, and I shiver at the jolt of pain and pleasure that slashes through me. “Your nipples are hard points beneath that flimsy excuse for a shirt, and your pussy’s no doubt drenched for me.” He smiles wickedly as I rub my thighs together in silent admission. “You want me to force you, don’t you? You want me to fuck your mouth even when you beg me to quit.”
I can’t stop how my breath quickens, how I shift my legs to get even the briefest moment of friction. His words are unraveling a carefully guarded part of me, exposing desire I never reveal, and now that it’s begun, it’s ruined—I’m fucking ruined.
“Yes, a desperate whore,” I pant.
His eyes widen beneath the mask, and then his smile melts into a sneer. His fingers reach around the back of my head, threading into my hair. As he grips me, my only anchor in the sea is his hand on my head, and his eyes branded on my body.
“Open.”
I do what he asks immediately. Leaning forward, he spits into my mouth, and I moan. I can’t fucking stop myself, and I no longer want to.
Without warning, he pushes the tip of his hard, hot flesh into my mouth. He hisses, his body quaking above me. I twirl my tongue around his base, and then groan, turning my gaze to his in a silent plea.
“You want me to choke you like a desperate slut?”
I nod, unable to form words.
He hums as he pushes farther into my mouth, filling my throat with as much of his eight inches as he can. I do my best to relax, loosening my muscles to suck him as far as he can go. It’s a slow pace, but his eyes are feral beneath the mask, and I know it’s all about him. He wants to go slow; he wants the torture.
He finally pushes deep enough that I gag around him, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. This only seems to fuel his rage, and his hand tightens to the point of pain. I cry out, my jaw going wider, and he takes the opportunity to force himself even deeper, filling my throat completely.
“God, you feel so good. Good and fucking used, aren’t you? You like being used.”
I moan, confirming his words. Driven by a madness that’s comparable only to my own, Santos picks up pace, the dark curly hairs around his base filling my nose. I feel suffocated by him—he’s everywhere, filling my mouth, my nose, my mind. I can’t see or breath or taste anything but Santos.
“Fucking choke on it, whore.” He bites out the words, and my core throbs. I reach down, rubbing small, punishing circles over my clit as he fucks my face with a ferocity of a wild animal.
I revel in being seen, in being felt, and it won’t take much more for me to meet my end.
