10. Sable
SABLE
Thank fuck no one is around as we go in. My cheeks are red, and I wouldn’t be surprised if cum was still leaking from the side of my mouth. My heart beats so fast I feel it in my ears. My hands shake, but I refuse to let this guy see weakness in me.
What did he mean by showing me my place?
Heat sings in my pussy, tingling beneath my skin and making me feel more than a little crazy.
The truth is, I gave in because I liked it.
No one has ever treated me that way before, but it’s clear from what he said that he believed he had the right.
I try to convince myself it’s just because he was being an ass, but the way he spoke didn’t feel like taunting.
It felt like the truth. Fuck, I didn’t help my position by sucking his dick with all I have.
Shame burns its way from my neck up to my ears.
I never feel embarrassed by being a hot-blooded woman in her twenties.
I enjoy sex. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t like to enjoy it with him .
We only met ten minutes ago, and he’s managed to piss me off and make me suck his dick. Damn, what’s happening?
We make our way through the dark corridors, and I barely register. My head is a mess, and I’m holding myself back from freaking the fuck out. It’s been a long day, and now I’m supposed to sleep in this creepy castle inside a mountain.
On my right, I see people for the first time, moving around in groups. I wonder if the dorms are that way, but I’m surprised when he doesn’t lead me there. Instead, we go even farther in this labyrinth, going up on spiral staircases so narrow I feel like we are transported in time.
Finally, he opens a door at the end of a deserted corridor. I go in, feeling extremely suspicious. It’s too spacious with bare dark walls and a round bed in the middle of the room.
Five doors surround it. Are the doors for the other girls? No, that wouldn’t make sense. This space is not a communal living room or kitchen; it’s just a bed and nothing else. There are no amenities either. No TV and no couch to just sit on. I don’t even see a wardrobe for my things.
“Where am I?” I don’t want to show, but I know the concern is twisting my brows and forming a little line between my eyes. I showed defiance even on my knees when he asked me to suck him off, but I can’t stop feeling vulnerable right now.
I can take anything as long as I can have a place where I take my mask and relax.
“You’ve never seen a bedroom?”
“Not with all the…” I point at the doors around the bed. There are too many doors. It doesn’t matter how spacious it looks.
He chuckles at my concern. “What do you think constant access means? You know what you signed up for.”
It’s the second time he’s mentioned what I signed up for, and it’s becoming pretty clear I don’t have any idea what Bellthorn Academy is.
“What are you talking about?” My voice rises in pitch.
“Why the hell are you playing innocent? You sucked my dick far too well not to know exactly what those doors mean.”
Before I can gasp at this crude comment, the door closes. A moment later, the heavy sound of a lock clicking into place seals me inside, and I don’t even know his name.
I’m not stupid enough not to be afraid of these doors or what else I might have unknowingly agreed to, but an animal need for another round with him keeps me from being entirely rational.
I’ve never felt so torn between a desire to fuck someone and an ache over their harsh words.
His cold and cutting remarks got beneath my skin.
After the past few months, it’s hard to hurt my feelings, so I’m impressed he managed it.
Every inch of me tingles with hyperawareness, and I think back to the letter Bellthorn Academy sent.
There was nothing unusual, and while it wasn’t my choice before, it became my salvation after all the money was gone.
It doesn’t matter how many times I think about the letter; there was no small print, nothing about five doors and constant access.
Between all the adrenaline spikes and the impossibly handsome men I’ve seen today, I’m at the end of my nerves. My heart hammers, panic swelling in the pit of my stomach. Who was he? Why does he know more about my position in this school than I do? Why did I enjoy making him come so much?
The expression on his handsome face as I worked him makes me incredibly needy.
He made me wait in the rain yet never cared enough to introduce himself, and I’m aching for him.
I’ve gotten used to my name not meaning anything, but this is an especially pathetic low for me.
Most people are more fake about their derision.
Does the man I want to fuck so badly control my freedom, or is he just the one turning the lock tonight?
Whatever is happening, it’s clear that they want me trapped and terrified.
I doubt they expected me to be hornier than I’ve ever been in my life.
Shaggy black hair and green eyes flash in my mind along with the fear.
I think I’m as dumb as they say because my nipples tingle as they rub against my bra, and I’m too aware of my pussy.
A man with blood flecks on his face treated me like dirt, and I sucked his cock and then followed him inside a mountain.
It’s been too long since I’ve even thought about anything remotely sexual.
I’ve been in fight-or-flight mode for so long, running away from anyone, traumatized by the paparazzi screaming details of my father’s crimes any time I stepped foot in the street.
I shouldn’t even be noticing that he’s good-looking, yet his cum on my tongue is all I can think about.
The shameful thoughts run through my mind, and I feel dirty to even entertain them, so I shake them off and look around, taking in the place that is now my cell.
Five distinct doors surround me; each one marked with a glowing symbol.
They look like midcentury glass lamps but are recessed into the wood itself.
My eyes stumble upon one more that’s unmarked.
Aiming to prove myself and everyone else wrong, I run to it.
It swings open easily despite the weight, but the only thing inside is a stunning black marble bathroom with a tub that is closer to a small swimming pool.
There are no windows in the main room or here.
My long nails scratch over my throat as if I can pull off my skin and breathe easier.
The bed in the middle of the room is round, but I avoid it as awareness prickles my skin.
I jump into action, dashing from one door to the next, trying to open each one.
I rise on my tiptoes, tracing each symbol.
I don’t recognize them, but they seem to be based around letters.
M, V, H, R. I rack my brain for some significance, but nothing comes to mind.
I pull my phone out and take a picture of one, but as I try to search it, I realize I have no signal.
Not one single bar.
“This place is a factory of assholes,” I murmur to the walls.
The final unlit door has the symbol roughly gouged out.
This is beyond creepy, and fear slithers inside me.
Is this a game? Hazing perhaps? The second makes the most sense.
My father could have offended a lot of people associated with Bellthorn.
Like he said, there was a lot I didn’t know about him. I try twice before sitting on the bed.
The soft mattress and clean sheets are the best things about this place.
A small trunk sits to the left, and I assume it’s for my clothes, but I don’t open it to check, afraid of what I might find inside.
My eyes trace the ceiling, searching for cameras as tears threaten to spill.
All of them want to see me crack. If not the press, I can recite at least ten names of people who hate me and had tickets to Bellthorn.
I try to breathe, but the walls are closing in on me, and there’s not enough oxygen.
What if someone filmed me with my mouth around the guy whose name I don’t know?
I’m trapped and scared. My muscles remember how it feels to be this alert.
I’ve been manic since the incident. All I want is to give in to the fear and let it finally take me.
Enough with the poise, enough pretend strength.
Rather than give in to the tears, I think about all the assholes waiting, popcorn in hand, to watch me fail.
I breathe out and control my temper, and put on a mask of indifference once again.
Who cares if I suck one freaking dick? At least I liked it.
Minutes tick by, and I really have to pee.
It’s been hours since I’ve gone. I glance back at the stone ceilings, still not finding the camera, and praying there isn’t one in the bathroom.
My underwear falls, and I hold up my skirt as I sit on a heated black toilet.
While I’m relieving myself, I notice there’s yet another door within the bathroom, but this one stands open.
From here, I can see it’s a closet. Maybe that little hutch isn’t where my clothes are supposed to go.
When I finish, I walk inside, shocked to find a fully stocked closet with everything I could possibly want.
I wouldn’t call the clothes my style, given they're Gothic and dramatic like the building around me, but they’re high quality, and I have options.
I nearly cry. It’s been months since I’ve had access to a closet with more than five items, even if I wouldn’t have chosen any of them myself.
Having nothing has made me a lot less picky.
I toss my heels toward a wide rack of shoes and wiggle my toes over the cold floor.
I groan with relief as I sit on the ground and start opening drawers in the one dresser, assuming I’ll find sweats or something in there.
The stone chills me to the bone as the adrenaline fades, and I start to shake.
A real tear drips down my cheek when I find a soft and beautiful set of nightgowns.
I slip the flowing white silk over my body, feeling somewhat like a virginal offering to the devil but cherished for the first time in months.
I try not to dwell on it because I’m sure this is the best of what’s waiting for me, quiet moments alone with nice clothes.
The bed invites me back, and I put my feet up, forcing myself to look relaxed even if it’s the furthest thing from what I am right now.
If they’re watching right now, I’m the picture of ease.
If they knew the real me, they would realize how scared I am from the tension in my shoulders and my hands clenched in fists, but they don’t know anything about me, and I won’t let them.
Let them think I’m studying my nails because I am self-obsessed, not because I’m afraid to look up again and find the camera this time.
They don’t know me, so I play the part.
Minutes turn into hours, my rigid posture melts into the comfortable bed, and I don’t have a chance to fight against sleep when I’m this tired.
I expect a nightmare. I haven't slept for fifteen minutes without them since that day, but instead of some terrifying scene, I find a swirl of color and a rush of pleasure.