Chapter 7 Cal #2
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 between your 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.
She's silent and still as her head falls to the side, her cheek grazing the cold surface as I crawl between her legs and appraise what I haven't yet seen.
She's well-groomed, with a shaved pussy that makes me want to dive right in.
There are no bruises on her, no cuts or blood from her or anyone else. She's pristine... mostly.
I almost miss the scars on her inner thighs.
They're clearly old, flat, and shiny beneath the light overhead.
They've long since healed from whatever broke her skin, but the marks give me pause when I realize they look more like letters than incidental flicks from a blade.
I run my hands over them, needing to feel them beneath my touch, as if that will help me make out what they mean.
It doesn't, but when I turn my head a certain way, I see a cross.
No, not a cross... a T.
I cock my head, looking for the next letter, convinced there's a message here for me to decode. When I see nothing, I walk around to her side and grip her leg, yanking it so that I can see from her own angle. That's when I notice the V...
When I see the I before it, I rack my brain, trying to figure out what the letters could mean. But the S at the start of it helps everything else slide into place. It's not a V or an I. It's a U and an L.
S-L-U-T.
My stomach twists ridiculously, irritation peaking at the realization that someone called my perfect little doll a slut.
.. that someone dared to desecrate her body with that word enrages me even more.
I only checked a box to receive a female between the ages of twenty and thirty; I didn't specify a race, a college education, or any of those inferior things that our society places value upon.
But the fact that she couldn't be more than mid-twenties gives me pause, given how old those scars look.
This isn't something that some jealous ex did because she looked at another man.
In fact, judging by the angle, I'm assuming this is something she did herself.
.. at far too young of an age to be a slut, no doubt.
I press my kiss to the word, wishing I could wipe it away, just like I rinsed the sterile scent off of her.
My lips next to her pussy make her moan, and I look up to see her lips parted just the slightest bit, like they're trying to make it easier for her to breathe in the pleasure about to come. I'll kiss her mouth next, but right now, she's glistening, wet... ready for me.
I don't want to just crawl on top of her and thrust a few times to empty myself, though.
I want to taste her... so that's exactly what I do.
The first experimental stroke of my tongue over her clit is firm; it makes her draw in a deep, shaky breath, and I swear her hips ease, falling open further to grant me more access to her. I take it gladly, watching as I run up the length of her.
I expect her eyes to pop open, but they don’t so much as flutter as I prod at her tight entrance with the tip of my tongue, a groan tearing through me at the sweet and musky aroma of her… the taste.
She’s heavenly, crisp, and juicy like the apples she smells like.
Having her all to myself like this is nirvana, an absolute, unsplintered bliss.
There’s no urgency, just opportunity for me to get to know my precious doll in ways she probably doesn’t even know herself.
I chart every detail of her body—the soft curves on her stomach, the dip between her hips, and the tiny mole below her right breast.
I’m amazed by how much her body enjoys the things I’m doing. Is she a really good little whore or just well-trained? If she were awake, would her body be responding the same way?
Making her come wasn’t part of the plan, but as I explore her with my tongue, she moans and shivers beneath me.
I wonder if she’s lost in a memory of a former lover or if this is all for me.
Either way, I’m addicted to her pleasure.
The sweet, soft sounds that leave her involuntarily are an addiction all their own, making it hard for me to control myself.
She likes what I’m giving her, the slow roll of my tongue over her clit.
She especially likes it when I pull the whole thing into my mouth and suck gently, her arousal seeping out onto the stone below her.
I can feel it in my trimmed beard, and I never want to wash it again.
It would be a fucking honor to walk around with her scent clinging to me.
“Such a pretty slut for me.” I purr, watching as her hips rock, seeking the stimulation I'm giving her.
When her thighs tense, I realize I’ve driven her to craving.
If she were awake, she likely wouldn’t want this pleasure, too worried about the fact that she doesn’t know me, burdened by conventions like the fact that I’m a killer to enjoy herself properly.
With her consciousness shut off, her body craves the stimulation, the only reminder it’s getting that she is still alive.
Her eyes don’t pop open when she comes on my tongue, her warm juices flowing over my chin.
I only know she’s coming because her hips arch, seeking my sinister friction before I can leave her strung out.
I can’t resist sliding a finger into her, but she’s so slippery, I immediately add a second, hooking them inside her and turning my palm up so that my fingers can probe deeper inside of her.
Her scream is muffled by her thighs trying to clamp around my head, snaring me in place so that I don’t let go all through the orgasm.
And it’s a long one—longer than I knew anyone could go.
Her toes dig into points on my forearms, and her hips push her pussy further into my face in an offering that I would be rude not to take.
I drain her, refusing to stop until a final gasp sounds from somewhere deep in her belly and the heavy sound of her head smacking against the table pulls me from the bliss.
Looking up, I see her flat again, her body exhausted, completely pliable again. Her face is serene, delicate lips parted as her chest heaves in dramatic, exhausted breaths.
It’s glorious… but I’m not done with her yet.
Not even close.
Fuck.
My cock is still throbbing, jumping eagerly at each fantasy. I want to fill her veins with the stuff that will take away her pain, letting her body experience the euphoria of being fucked while she's on another level.
I’m going to turn her into a slip n slide by the time I’ve had enough to leave her for the night.
When I slide my cock into her, her walls clamp around me, and a long moan pulls from the back of her throat.
“Shh, babydoll. It’s okay. Just relax and let me love you.”
Her lips turn down a little as I bury myself deep inside of her, feeling my balls slap against the cold countertop.
I wonder if she’s registered any of the words I said or if it’s the intrusion that her body objects to, as if it knows no one is supposed to be there when she’s like this.
I’m almost inclined to think it’s just the words, though, because she settles, her face smoothing as I begin to move, testing my depth, watching her tight pussy swallow my cock with each experimental thrust in.
“Good girl.” I praise her. “See? It’s not so bad. You were made for me… for this.” I gasp as I feel her clench around me, like she’s agreeing with that sentiment.
“Fuck.” I shudder, canting my head back to rein in this feeling of being so encompassed, so… cherished.
My ruined little whore.
My perfect fucking doll.
My gorgeous victim.
Soothing a thumb over her lips, I watch them move, following the direction I push them, and grip her cheeks, hollowing them out so that she’s making fish lips at me. They’re pillowy and soft, and I can’t resist tasting them, forcing them to move beneath me, biting them.
I hook her legs over my shoulders, letting our lips fall from one another as I pull back to focus on hammering into her slick cunt, breathing through the need for her as I piston in and out.
This time when I come, she’s perfectly still, no signs of life as I grip her hips and bury myself so deep inside of her that I’m not sure I’ll ever come out. I know I don’t want to.
My perfect doll.
My wonderful prize.
She’s the sweetest gift, my most deviant sin.
And she’s all fucking mine.