Chapter 5 #2
My hands curl into fist, fighting against my instinct to protest.
I’m squirming, desperate for more pleasure, spreading my thighs open while I stay on my knees. There’s a promise of more to come. I can see it on his face. I just have to be his good girl.
His smile softens as he caresses my hair. At the same time, he brings his other hand to my mouth, and I’m reminded of what he’s been holding the whole time.
I’m about to pull away when he shakes his head. “Let me. Please, I know how much you’ll love this. Let me pleasure you.”
I tremble in his hold when he presses the black ball against my lips. “Open. And don’t let Daddy’s cum spill.”
I open my mouth, wrapping my lips around it as much as I can, letting him gag me. Time becomes meaningless as I do exactly what he tells me. Rubber keeps my mouth wide open, and when it touches my tongue, it enhances the taste of his cum, and somehow, I become more desperate for him.
My heart kickstarts when I feel his cum at the corner of my lips. My wild eyes search for reassurance in his as I moan around the gag.
“You can let it go now,” he murmurs. “Daddy wants to see his cum dripping from your mouth.”
It takes all of me to not let my eyes roll to the back of my head as I feel myself getting wetter.
Your brother’s best friend telling you such dirty words shouldn’t make you feel like butterflies of pleasure are fluttering their wings in your lower stomach.
It shouldn’t make you feel like electricity is zapping directly from your clit.
Like there’s an ache inside you that needs to be pressed against.
There’s a pounding need inside me. I need Chris to satiate it.
How low can I fall?
I’m on my knees in front of the man who broke my heart, his cum spilling from my lips, and a ball gag stopping me from swallowing.
Merry. Fucking. Christmas.
“My beautiful girl.” The rumble of pleasure in his voice makes me tremble. “Touch yourself where you want me to make you feel good.”
Inhaling a shaky breath through my nose, I lower my hand between my parted thighs.
My ankles are strained from kneeling. My knees will be bruised in the morning.
But the silk against my skin feels good. It’s soft, and it sticks to my sweaty body.
And the wetness against the tips of my index and middle fingers as I slip them between my pussy lips is a deliverance.
Shame is a strange thing. It’s dangerous because it makes me feel alive.
Pleasure and humiliation are two sides of the same coin for me. It’s only in rare situations that they come separately.
When I’m with Chris, I don’t even care to think about why I’m this way. I don’t care for explanations. I just want to feel.
I want to feel the excitement in my chest as I graze my clit with my fingers.
I want to feel the liquid bliss running through my veins as I press them against my soaking entrance, and as I push inside my pussy and feel myself contracting from the pleasure.
I would die a happy woman if the last thing I hear is Chris Murray’s pride as he says, “Look at you, baby. You are such a good girl for me.”
I moan around the gag, spit joining the cum running down my chin. My hips buck to meet my hand as I fuck myself in front of him.
My eyes flutter closed because that’s what helps deal with the shame the most. Suddenly, it’s okay that I’m humiliating myself in front of a man I know is not good for me. In front of someone who uses me behind the pretense of still loving me.
I’ll take my disgusting pleasure, and I’ll never think of his smug face right in front of me enjoying the fact I’m debasing myself to reach nirvana.
“Stop.”
I startle, hating that I have to acknowledge his presence again.
And I feel stupid when I do what he says. I look up at him with despair clear in my eyes, watching him shake his head in disappointment.
“Don’t close your eyes. Don’t try to escape me, Ella, not even in your mind. I swear to God, I will follow you everywhere you go, even when you try to hide in the deepest part of your subconscious.”
It scares me to realize he knows me so well. I’m helpless against him if I have no weapons he doesn’t already know about.
He reaches out for me, grabbing strands of my hair and pulling me up and on his lap. I go without a complaint, but he doesn’t let me straddle him like I want to. Instead, he spreads his legs so I’m only on one thigh rather than both.
His lips are at my ear when he talks again. “You’re going to come while riding Daddy’s thigh. That way I can look into your eyes when you realize you will never move on from me.”
The sleeve of my robe is falling off my shoulder, my breasts bare for him to play with with his other hand.
“Ride my thigh, Little one.”
He flexes the muscle so he can press harder against my wet core, and I don’t need any more convincing. With a hand on my hair and one playing with my nipple, he looks right into my eyes as I start rubbing myself on his thigh.
“That’s it. Keep going.” I cry out behind the gag, ready to explode already. “Yes. Do it harder.”
I’m making a mess on his naked thigh, but I press harder, thrusting my hips with desperate need.
“You’re almost there. Keep your eyes on me.”
My moans become breathless, my legs straining. I’m so close I could cry.
My chest tightens, and a million stars explode in front of me. My eyes close automatically, my entire body tightening, and he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me as I reach my peak.
My sweaty body contracts against him, and I throw my head back, whimpering behind the gag just before I slack back into his chest.
When the flash of pleasure disappears, reality crashes in, and dread freezes my blood.
I shake my head against him, smacked right in the face by what I’ve just done. I pull away, my hands flying to the buckle at the back of my head.
“Calm down,” he says softly.
“No.” My word is muffled by the gag, but I struggle to undo it with trembling fingers.
“Let me.”
But I pull further away, not realizing there’s nothing behind me. I fall off his lap and on the floor. I’m a mess of trembling limbs, shaky breaths, and sweaty skin.
I back away from him as he stands up.
“Ella.” His stern voice does nothing to help, and me shaking my head desperately doesn’t deter him from advancing.
He catches me before I can go further, flipping me flat on my stomach. I cry out, suddenly so cold my teeth would break if not for the gag.
“Let me help.”
A sob catches in my throat, but he doesn’t let me crawl away when I try to.
He manages to unbuckle the ball gag and I claw at it, desperately pulling it out of my mouth.
“Get off me,” I sob.
Not questioning it this time, he lets me go. I stand up with him, wrapping my robe around my trembling form.
I wipe my disgusting mouth and chin with my sleeve, looking up at him with unshed tears. “Why? Why do you do this to me?”
He grazes my cheek with his thumb, catching the single tear now rolling down my face.
“You’re coming down, Sweets. Let me take care of you.”
There it is. That need he has to care. The desperation for him to make me feel loved, nurtured.
He breaks only so he can repair.
He shatters me to pieces so he can put me back together.
He wants to control and possess. He wants to know that he’s the only one who will tend to my needs from the most basic to the most shameful ones.
“You’re sick,” I spit out. “I know what you’re doing.”
“No,” he says calmly. “You think you know what I’m doing, but you’re wrong.”
Putting my hands to my temples, I rub harshly, the headache already coming. “Stop. Stop trying to get inside my head.”
“I’m trying to give you aftercare because you gave me something we both needed. I’m trying to tend to you.”
But there’s a frustration in his voice. He doesn’t try for me. He doesn’t want to. He needs to.
“Ella, your body is in shock.”
“Stop manipulating me!” I shriek.
He runs a hand through his hair before sliding it to the back of his neck, massaging the stiff muscles.
“You’re sub-dropping hard. Let me shower you. Hot water will do you good.”
“No,” I snarl.
Before anything else, Chris is someone who needs to look after people. His hero syndrome has always defined his life. He can’t find satisfaction if he’s not helping.
And I don’t want him to find satisfaction.
“I need you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving you in this state.” His hard tone matches mine.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
He crosses his arms over his strong chest, his square figure becoming even more imposing. “Go ahead. Kick me out.”
“I don’t need strength to kick you out, Chris. The police will do it for me.”
I could slap the smug smile off his face. “What are you going to tell them? ‘I let my ex use me like a little slut and now he doesn’t want to leave?’ My cum dripped out of two of your holes tonight. Do you want me to add a third one before they arrive?”
Burning heat creeps up from my chest, itchy and uncomfortable. It flames all the way to the tips of my ears, reddening my fair cheeks on the way.
I’ve lost this fight. I lost many fights tonight, but it scathes my throat to admit defeat on this one.
“One shower and you’re leaving.”
Finally getting the answer he wanted, he softens. His arms drop, his shoulders relaxing.
It’s his brow scrunching with painful relief that gets to me. “Thank you,” he sighs. “Thank you, Sweets.”
I hate to admit that he was right. The hot shower in my en suite bathroom does me good. He lathers my body in my rhubarb and rose shower gel. He massages my shoulders for what feels like hours. He forces me to relax as he kisses my neck.
“You were so good to me,” he murmurs in my ear as his arms wrap around my waist from behind. “You’re always too good to me.”
I know that’s the truth. I am too good to him. I let him do things I shouldn’t.
Chris is a drug that gives me the highest highs and the lowest lows. I’m going to indulge in him and leave him behind when I go back to college.
It’s just for one night.
I turn around in his arms. “You don’t deserve me,” I say softly.