Chapter 3 Joan
JOAN
What in God’s name is happening?
My step-brother has my wrists tied together and is dragging me into a closet, simply because I brought him an orange instead of a grapefruit?
Waves of panic seize my gut, twisting my stomach into knots.
He said he’s going to punish me, but the way he almost smirked when he said it…it’s like he thinks I’m going to enjoy it.
Amon is a big, strong guy, but I never thought he would actually hurt me. I’m not so sure now. What really has me worried, though, is some sort of strange contraption sitting on the floor of the closet.
It’s all black and looks like a saddle with an electrical cable running to the wall. On the floor beside it are two steel eye-bolts.
“Can we just talk about this?” I stammer, but Amon isn’t listening. He just pulls me forward.
I swing my arms hard. Maybe I can elbow myself free from his grasp. But he just wraps one arm around me, and that’s it. I can’t move.
“No!” I scream. “Please, don’t!”
“Stop fighting,” he growls, attaching the rope that holds my wrist to a hook hanging from the ceiling, hanging me like a prisoner.
“So what? You’re going to torture me because I mixed up your fucking fruit?”
I kick out at him with both feet but miss completely, and all it does is causes me to swing like an ornament.
Amon takes a step back and looks at me, his eyes flashing with approval. “That’s quite the mouth you have on you, my little nun. What would your momma say if she heard you curse like that?”
Oh, so now he wants to bring Momma into this?
“She would think you’re crazy!” I scream until my throat hurts. “And once I tell her what you did to me—”
“You won’t tell her anything, Joan,” Amon replies with a chuckle.
“Oh, and you know that how?”
His smile broadens, and he steps in close, so close I can feel the heat from his body and smell the lingering scent of his cigar. I really hate to admit it, especially right now, but he’s beautiful. Like male-model gorgeous.
His eyes are fierce and steady, and his thick brown hair shines. What he’s doing to me is wrong, but my body is reacting on its own, and I can’t control it.
Suddenly, he grabs the neck of my shirt and pulls, ruthlessly tearing it down the middle, exposing my breasts.
I gasp, fighting the flush that hits me as he drinks me in with his gaze, licking his lower lip like a predator staring down its next meal.
“Just like I thought,” he muses triumphantly. He reaches out and cups my left breast with his rough hand, sending a shock through my body. “You tried to hide them, but I knew better…perfect…”
Tiny beads of sweat form on my lower back. Pins and needles poke my toes. My face heats with shame as I try desperately to squirm around and get my shirt to cover me up.
But it doesn’t work.
I’m exposed before him, overwhelmed with embarrassment. But at the same time, a funny feeling is starting to grow between my legs. Something I’ve never felt before.
He reaches down and grabs something—a strap—and fastens it around my right ankle. Then he attaches it to one of the eye bolts on the floor. I struggle, but it’s no use. He moves to my other ankle and does the same.
Now I definitely can’t move.
My wrists are tied above my head, my ankles are strapped to the floor, and my shirt is torn and hanging open.
Out of nowhere, he has something in his hand. A piece of pale textured rubber. He kneels and fastens it to the device.
Am I supposed to sit on that?
But my question is answered when he reaches to a pulley on the wall and begins to lower me down. I twist hard, struggling against my restraints.
“Amon, what are you—?”
“Don’t fight it, my little nun,” he replies. “There’s no escape.”
His strong hands grip my waist like a vise, and he carefully positions me atop the saddle. The fleshy attachment presses against places no one has ever touched, including me, causing my heartrate to skyrocket.
I look up at him, pleading with my eyes. But he isn’t even paying attention. He’s focused on what he’s doing.
With two quick tugs, the straps on my ankles tighten, pulling me firmly down onto the saddle. I can’t move. There’s no way out of whatever he has planned for me.
He reaches back into the drawer and pulls out something that looks like a TV remote. I try not to show fear as his eyes finally land on mine, spiking the shame that’s growing in my chest.
My cheeks are burning, and I’m sweating. The anticipation of what’s about to happen has me about to break.
“I hope you’re ready, sis.” He smirks, his arrogance gleaming. “Just go with it. Trust me.”
I almost laugh. Trust him? After he just forced me into this closet and tied me up? Tore my shirt down the middle?
I open my mouth to protest, but before I get a chance to speak, Amon presses a button on the remote.
All thought is wiped from my mind as the device beneath me turns on.
The machine hums.
My breath catches.
And then it hits me.
My hips jerk hard against my restraints as heat explodes low in my belly. I gasp, my head snapping back, a sound tearing from my throat before I can stop it.
“Oh God—”
Amon’s mouth is right by my ear. “That’s it. Your body knows what it wants.”
The vibrations deepen, relentless, dragging something loose inside me. I fight to pull away, but I’m locked in place, forced to take every pulse. Every shudder.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Joan?” he asks, leaning his mouth so close to my neck, connecting me to him with each of his strong breaths.
“Y-yes,” I stammer, losing all control. My thoughts scatter.
Wrong…sinful…I can’t…
The feeling crests away. My body tightens, hard and helpless, pleasure ripping through me so fast I start to sob. My muscles strain, my knees rock, and I cry out as everything inside me breaks open at once.
I can’t stop it. I can’t hide it.
I come undone around the machine, around his voice, around the knowledge that he’s watching me fall to pieces.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs.
The vibrations slow. I sag in the restraints, breathless and trembling, empty and full at the same time.
“I…I…” I try to speak, but the words don’t come. Total disconnect from body and mind.
“Your first orgasm, Joan. How was it?”
Somehow, I manage to open my eyes and look up at him. I feel…changed. But what do I say to him? I can’t thank him. I may have just had the most incredible experience of my life, but he can’t know that.
“You…”
“It’s okay.” He smiles, cutting me off. “You don’t have to thank me.”
Thank him? For what? For tying me to this…thing and forcing me into something I never asked for?
“I wasn’t…planning on it…” I pant, still trying to get my breath. My sex is pulsing, and I’m sweating all over. My shirt has fallen from my shoulders, revealing even more of my body to him.
My step-brother.
I try to pray—to ask God for the strength to overcome the shame of this experience.
But I can’t even do that.
My mind is spinning. My tummy muscles are taut like the rope around my wrists as aftershocks of my first climax skate through me.
Amon squats down and unties my ankles. I’m not sure how I feel as the pressure subsides, but I shake my legs and try to stand as he reaches up to my wrists.
My legs wobble, and I almost fall, but he catches me. “Whoa, there. Take some breaths. You just went through a lot.”
That’s one way of putting it.
He undoes the bindings on my wrists, and although my first instinct is to flee—shoulder my way past him and run—I stay where I am.
There’s no way I could escape him. Not if he truly wanted to catch me. And after what he just did, I know there’s no way he would ever let me get away.
And honestly, I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Now you know,” he says, his lips close to mine.
“Know what?”
His voice is cocky and confident as he looks back at me. “That I’m a serious man. And the next time you screw up, you know what will happen.”