Chapter 6 #3
I wasn’t scared of this order, not anymore. I lived without underwear, without clothes. Homed with nothing but abuse of every kind for the last ten years. But I was already numb by then.
Was that a gift. . . or a curse?
I slipped my thumbs into the lace of my underwear, ready to slide them down my useless legs. It was hard to believe I had every possibility of becoming a professional athlete, once upon a time, as I struggled to my knees.
“Not yours.” His hand stopped me, telling me to keep my underwear on.
I moved my hands to his shorts, tugging the thick designer waistband. I heard the sound of his already hard cock slapping against his toned stomach as the material caught him.
The boxers slid down his legs, dark hairs pivoting until the material landed on the floor, quickly soaked by the warm water raining down.
I stared up, drifting back on my heels. I wanted away from the hardness between his legs, but he closed the distance with a single step.
“Ah-ah, don’t go wandering off, little whore. You have a job to do.” His fingers moved back to my hair, guiding my head forward.
I looked up at him, eyes roving over the ink stains on his body—a mess of scribbles, all in different degrees of cursive—covered him.
He stared down at me as he reminded me of our difference in value.
If I dared to speak, I’d have also argued that we were of different values—I was worth so much more. . . but I was slowly forgetting that.
I edged forward, feeling like I had no other choice. The shower water spraying my face assisted with the dryness suddenly overpowering my mouth. I lubricated my lips as my eyes dropped.
I was eye-level with his crotch, watching closely as he pulled back the skin, revealing his shiny helmet, already glossed with precum.
I looked up, suddenly terrified. My eyes locking with his, pleading for empathy. My situation begging for sympathy.
“Please. . .” my mouth begged too; the message given by my heart.
“Please. . .” he copied. “Please, open your warm mouth and put my cock inside it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Okay. You don’t have to.” That was the first time he ever gave me a choice. But it was no longer than a second before he took it away. “Would you rather I put it in your ass?” he asked, his tone hard and bruising.
My round eyes widened, making room for the tears spilling out. I shook my head. More tears crashed to the floor, mixing with the pooling water as my eyes dropped back to his length.
He didn’t look like I remembered. The dark pubic hair I’d choked on so many times was gone, clipped down and trimmed to perfection. Four silver balls stuck out from his glistening head, lustrously shining in his essence.
“You’re not afraid of a piercing, surely. I’ve already fucked you with it, and you didn’t even notice.”
I hadn’t noticed. I’d switched off. Escaped to a different reality, with a different version of him.
A deep breath, full of fear and anxiety, hugged around his cock as I moved closer to it.
His hand flattened to my head, pulling my mouth closer. He liked the feel of my breath on him, of me near him.
Placing my one hand on the back of his thigh, I ignored the stress swirling violently in my stomach. I stopped focusing on my feelings, giving all my attention to pleasing him.
Keeping him happy was the key to a punishment-free life. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Goosebumps lined his skin, the small bumps pricking my fingertips as they erected under my fingers as if my touch either offended him, or worse, excited him. I pressed into the back of his thigh, edging him closer to me.
Using my other hand, I reached for his length. A small groan rumbled inside him, but I didn’t give it enough of my attention to discover its origin.
His pre-cum glossed my lips as he knocked his shaft against them, demanding an entrance.
I opened, my eyes downcast, my demeanor subservient. I took him inside my mouth, his musky scent and salty taste taking over the space as I wrapped my lips around him.
The edges of my teeth sheathed along his every sensitivity, and he shuddered. Silver balls collided with my teeth. I rushed my tongue over each one, checking for cracks. He'd already chipped away at enough parts of me in the past.
Relief washed over me, raining down with the hot shower water above, as I found no imperfections to my potential smile. With a wider mouth and more careful actions, I took him deeper inside me.
“Suck me harder.”
And I did. I did everything I could to please him, to lead him into a wonderland of satisfaction.
I let him follow me into heaven.
My mouth moved up and down, my hand still pumping his shaft as his hips rhythmically rocked his thrusts in sync with me.
He moaned loudly.
His teeth, perfect and white, sharp and haunting, clamped down on his bottom lip, pulling it back into his mouth.
From this angle, and while he was quiet and in control of himself, or rather, allowing me control of this situation, he was close to perfection. Born with all the ingredients to make the perfect man, if only another man had raised him.
He could have been sweet, sickly sweet like cinnamon. He could have been so many things. . .
So many things but the monster he’d become.
Harder and harder, I sucked, feeling him twitch and tremble. His grip softened, rubbing my hair instead of yanking on it painfully.
“That's right. Just like that. Just like that, baby.” He was close. Close to coming for me, and he wanted me to know how pleased that made him. “Good girl.”
The words echoed in the room, or maybe just inside my own head. The way the vowels dragged under the sensuality of his southern drawl had me tingling, in places I would never ever want to admit to.
My closed eyes sprung open, water droplets falling from my eyelashes like tears. . . tears of fucking joy.
I was fuming with myself, but I couldn't deny how the good girl comment affected me.
And neither could my body. My mouth worked harder, my lips pressing him in ways that had his breaths coming faster and faster.
He continued to play with my hair, his long fingers twirling around the length, keeping him focused as the faster breathing caused discomfort.
My thighs clamped together, trying to relieve the most recent ache he’d caused me. My heart raced; my eyes gazed up at him like he was not only my master but my God.
My whole world.
And all that could destroy it.
The hardest thing was not knowing my feelings when it came to Hell.
Sure, I hated him. . . this version. But a different version of him lived in my memories—a version that wasn’t completely bad; there was a good side in there, one that could feel and care; he just didn’t know how to access it.
And the promise of safety that version gave, replayed often.
And then, living in the same body, was Woodrow, who I loved more than anything, and who I needed to survive the other sides of him.
The memory of him kept me alive on my darkest days. The loss of him, even now, when his image was right in front of my face, brought the most agonizing pain.
I couldn’t think of him. I shook him from my mind.
And now, while Hell stood silently, legs parted, praise for me falling from his lips, and shower water raining over his defined abs, he was just like my perfect reverie. Just like my Woodrow.
But I had to remember, he wasn't that person.
He was all bad now.
A thought that shouldn't have entered my comatose brain drifted in and stayed. And my brain sent the signal to my mouth to execute the action before my fears caught up to stop me.
Hell was twitching in my mouth, a ticking bomb about to go off at any given second.
I swirled my tongue around his prominent bell, watching his building orgasm as it distorted his pretty features.
I sucked, calling the cum from inside him. And then, just as he was about to erupt, I bit down. My teeth clamped into his sensitive skin. The barbells in his dick defended him as they surely caused damage to my teeth this time.
He screamed, agony filling the hot air.
A metallic taste filled my mouth. His blood leaked from my lips, making me look like a sadistic vampire, as it rushed down my chin and dropped to my breasts.
His scream silenced. I looked up hoping to see him close to passing out. Hoping for my chance to escape.
But that opportunity would never arise.
His stare, cold like his dead heart, secured itself to me. His fist in my hair grew tight again, pulling my head back to prevent me from hiding from the vengeance in his eyes.
His arm raised, his big hand clamped in a giant fist. A fist that got bigger and bigger. . . until I saw nothing but black.
I felt pain, lasting only for a second.
And then, I felt nothing as my body melted into a puddle on the floor.