Chapter Twenty-Five
Deogal
She doesn’t know she belongs to me yet, but she will. This game of cat and mouse: it both ignites and tortures me.
I want to lunge forward and consume her wholly, ravish her across her desk, fuck her until her virgin pussy is swollen and bruised. She’s already started to tremble so beautifully for me, and I’ve barely touched her.
And now I’ve taught her the sweet sin of masturbation, the real fun is just beginning.
She walks fast through the street, head down, hood up, shoulders stiff. Her heels click too hard against the pavement. My shadow follows her home.
Before long, we’re inside her flat. She drops her bags and heads straight into the bathroom with an amusing speed.
A single strand of red hair slips free from her bun.
The colour of temptation and battlefields.
It curls slick against her cheek, but she doesn’t correct it.
She’s too focused on peeling off the clothes from her body like something urgent burns beneath her skin.
I follow her, my attention tightening as her fingers fumble at her blouse, tugging it free with none of her usual care. It slips from her shoulders and drops to the floor, forgotten the second it leaves her skin.
She doesn’t pause.
Her hands move straight to the zip at the back of her skirt, dragging it down in one sharp motion, breath already uneven.
I watch it all.
Every second.
Every slip in control.
Her fingers find the tie in her hair. She pulls it free, and dark curls fall loose around her shoulders, framing her flushed face.
She steps under the shower. Her hands drag through her hair, pushing it back from her face before flattening against the tiles, fingers splayed and pressing hard enough to whiten at the tips, like she’s trying to steady herself, like she can force everything back into place if she just holds on tightly enough.
With her back to me, I take her in slowly. Painfully slowly. Every line, every shift of muscle beneath her skin, every small, unconscious movement she thinks no one sees.
My fingers twitch with the urge to map it properly. I imagine the pressure building under my hands, the resistance of her body before it gives way, the sharp, inevitable snap that would follow if I didn’t stop.
My jaw tightens.
I track the beads of water staining her skin.
I’m jealous of the way they shoot down her spine, but they completely miss the little grooves on either side of her body.
Dimples. Thumb holders for me to grip when I eventually fuck her from behind.
My eyes sink into the roundness her of ass, like two round pillows. The paleness begs me to strike.
She presses her head against the wall. I taste the quickening of her pace, the rush of heat under her skin. The images spark bright in her skull now she thinks she’s alone. She allows herself the pleasure of running away with her naughty thoughts.
I haven’t left her pretty little mind.
It’s almost amusing that a small smile, and a bit of sexual deviation has her gushing.
I fan her desires louder until her knees almost buckle. It takes nothing to slip past whatever guard she thinks she has. One breath, and I’m there, threading through her thoughts, finding the soft places to plant a fantasy into.
Girls like her need to feel special. They don’t care if I’m a monster so long as I’m only a monster for them.
It plays brutally in my favour.
I drag her thoughts into a cell. The warmth of her bathroom vanishes instantly. Stone replaces steam. Cold air crashes into her skin hard enough to raise goosebumps across her arms beneath the sleeves of her blouse in the fantasy.
Water drips steadily somewhere in the dark.
The straw beneath her heels shifts with a wet crunch as she stumbles forward in her neat black skirt and pressed blouse, clothes too clean for a place like this.
The little silver badge clipped to her chest catches the torchlight every time her breathing turns uneven.
DOCTOR.
The word gleams there like a joke.
I step forward slowly inside the cell, chains whispering softly against the stone. The orange jumpsuit is stained darker in places, rough at the collar, prison numbers half-visible beneath old smears and wear. Her eyes catch on the colour first, and then flick to my mouth.
Her breathing changes.
I move closer deliberately, letting her track every inch of it. The bars groan softly when I wrap my fingers around them.
“You shouldn’t be here, Doctor,” I say quietly.
Her pupils expand, lips parting to speak but no sound comes out.
“What will the others think?”
Her breathing catches in her throat. “I,...”
“On your knees,” I murmur. “Now.”
Her eyes widen, caught between uncertainty and want. She hesitates for a split second.
In the bathroom, I brush my shadow against her thighs, letting the heat caress her burning skin.
A gasp tears through her lips as she drops to her knees in the cell almost immediately.
Her eyes are bright, lit with something dangerously close to compliance, fixed on me like I’m about to give her exactly what she’s been craving.
It’s a fucking sight to behold.
My fingers snake into her soft hair, curling them for extra control. I pull, and her reaction is immediate, sharp and sudden, her breath breaking into a gasp. She is inches from the bars now.
“Open.” I command. And she does, without question. Her chin lifts, lips spreading for me. I step forward slowly, closing the space between us until the bars press cold against my chest. She falters—just a fraction, just enough to feel—but she doesn’t pull away.
I push myself between the bars, and her lips brush where they shouldn’t. She pauses, then—she lets it happen, welcomes me into her wet mouth. The heat hits me violently.
My grip tightens in her hair.
“Suck.” I command.
Her cheeks hollow around the head of my cock, strangling it in the soft fleshy bits of her skin. She flicks her tongue against me, accidental. Short, sharp movements followed by a slow drag around the rim like she’s trying to find somewhere to hide it.
“Wrap your fingers around it.”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face before her body moves anyway. She reaches through the bars, and her slender, well-manicured fingers curl around my aching cock. The moment her hand closes around me, her throat moves in fear. I take the opportunity to slide further between her wet lips.
She squeezes, light at first, but then I watch in real time as her confidence grows. Her body adapts frighteningly fast and it drags a shiver from me.
“That’s it, baby. Suck tighter.”
She’s so fucking obedient. Her cheeks immediately hollow and the pressure is fucking divine.
“Faster.”
She tries but fails. Her inexperience makes her struggle with moving her head and fingers at the right tempo.
“Faster.” I growl. My fingers curl violently into her hair.
I force her to move in sharp, shallow thrusts followed by a brutal slam against the back of her throat.
She makes a noise; something caught between a gasp and a choke, back arching like a cat, fingers tensing sharply like she can’t decide whether she wants to continue or push away.
I keep fucking her face.
She whimpers.
Her tongue presses firmly against the vein that now swells.
“Fuck,” I groan, fingers fisting until I’m sure it’s stinging.
I steady myself but then another strangled noise slips out of her.
Her body bucks wildly, desperately grinding her thighs together for some pressure.
And when she looks up at me, tears glossy in her eyes, the black grime staining her cheeks from pressing too violently against the bars, I can’t hold back any longer.
I cum for her. Pleasure slams through me with a hideous speed. I roar and empty myself into her mouth. But before I can see what she does with my seed, the fantasy tears us free.
In front of me, in the shower, she shudders and moves fast. Her hands leave the tiles, and she kills the water like she can’t wait any longer. Dripping and flushed, she stumbles into the bedroom. She doesn’t even dry herself, just yanks open the drawer next to her bed, pulling out a sealed box.
The packaging gives way in seconds, discarded just as quickly. A little pink vibrator hums to life in her palm, and she falls back onto the bed, sinking her teeth into her lower lip to catch any noises.
Her eyes are closed but she sees me anyways: in the cell, my hand fisted in her hair as I make her choke on her own cries.
The vibrator brushes her clit, and her hips lift wildly to meet it.
I plant another fantasy in her mind. Me, chained, shirtless, her straddling me in the cell. The dream blurs into rough sex—violent, consuming. The kind of thing my little virgin would never dream of doing without force. The image intensifies, shudders, and whimpers.
She’s right on the edge, breathless, desperate, and then the vibrator gives one last pathetic buzz and dies in her hands.
It all stops.
Her pleasure halts.
“No!” She cries out, snapping in half. She clicks the button repeatedly as if that will bring the vibrations back to life. “No! No! No!”
Her chest heaves.
“Fuck—” The word tears out of her, raw and uneven. She jerks upright. Her cheeks burn.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” My murmur curls around her mind. “I’ll finish the job.”
Her bedroom door is still locked, but the shadow in the corner doesn’t stay still. It peels away from the wall before she can fight it, already closing the distance between us.
She turns—too late. My hand catches her wrist, cold and unyielding, the contact sharp enough to rip a gasp from her as I drag her hand down.
The chill hits her first, not just against her skin, but deeper, seeping in. Her body recoils from it, horror flashing across her face. She tries to pull away. She knows something is wrong.
But my shadow sinks into her skin until I have full movement of her fingers. I move her fingers to between her legs and press the spot she’s desperate for.
Her body jerks. A sound rips from her throat before she can stop it, raw and unfiltered, her legs buckling beneath her as she tries to resist, tries to pull away from something that is already too deep.
She tries to hold it in.
The sounds. The responses.
They spill out anyway, filling the space between us, each one sharper, more exposed than the last, until there’s nothing restrained left in her at all.
Good.
That’s what I want.
The loss of control.
The need sharpens, something darker, more consuming pushing at the edges of it, demanding more than what she’s already giving me.
I plunge two fingers deep inside of her. She screams loudly. Together, we pummel her pussy, curling the digits into that sweet spot that has her eyes rolling in the back of her head. I force my shadow into her other hand and clasp her clit in a tight pinch.
“God!” She screams. Her thighs slam shut but it doesn’t hold me out.
We thrust as one. We ravage her together.
Over and over, until the noises of her juices are burnt into the back of my mind. And then—she explodes. It’s so sudden, so violent. She shrieks as her orgasm completely destroys. I ride her high with her as though it’s tearing through my own body.
And, fuck, it steals my breath.
Time freezes and then shatters. I feel the fragments of reality splinter and slice my skin, but I can’t focus on anything other than the feeling of her pleasure burning through my veins.
She shakes violently, legs still tightly clamped together, and I finally pull back to admire my work. Even in the aftermath of her orgasm, I can still hear the fantasy of the cell whispering in her mind.
My cock throbs again, desperate to rip the virginity from her.
She makes a noise, like an animal realising it’s weak, and I smile.
She thinks this is her shame.
She thinks that this is a professional error.
And my conditioning has only just begun.