Chapter 53 #2
The command to turn around interrupts me, and then I’m too busy wincing when he opens my ass.
I put my hand on the tile wall. He thoroughly washes my anus.
Removing his cum. I look down again, and there is more pink water flowing down the drain.
My ass is painful from him fucking my ass, but I like it.
God, I like the nasty things he did. I like that soreness that came from him impaling the handle of that big knife in my ass.
I push back against his fingers, wanting him to slip it inside, so I can feel the pleasure pain again.
I moan, and he pushes my back down, and I bend.
When his tongue touches my anus, I lift my head and cry out, clawing at the tile.
“Fuck me. Please put your dick inside me,” I beg, my voice not sounding like my own. My throat is sore from screaming, both when he caught me and then when he fucked me. He hunches over me and bites my shoulder. The water rains down on us, dripping into my eyes, my mouth.
“You want my cock, Countess?”
“Yes.” I want to hate him, honestly, I do, but the way he speaks to me makes me feral. He wants to humiliate me and insult my wealth. I should tell him to fuck off and leave, but the way he fucks me feels too good. It’s nasty and triggers that agonizing desire.
“You will, Countess. On your knees. On your back. With my cock in your mouth, your pussy and later in your ass. My fingers and my tongue are going to be all over your body. Now, beg.”
“No.”
He laughs, the vibration going through me, as his big body shakes.
“Fuck you.”
He slaps my pussy and I moan. Licks of fire burn my skin, and I feel even wetter than before. “Fuucckk.” I grind back into him, wanting him to slip his dick inside me, offering me more of that heady mix of pain and pleasure.
“You see, Countess? You like the pain. It turns you into a supplicant, ready to beg for my cock.”
He touches my chin, turning my face to the side. The look in his eyes sucks me in, making the pulsing in my core stronger. He has complete control. He nips at my chin, and his hands go up to my throat, squeezing softly. There it is. The implied threat. The edge of violence I’m craving.
“I’m waiting. Let me hear you.”
I do as he says, letting go. “Please.”
“So polite, Countess. But I need you to do better. Try again. Beg for exactly what you want.”
“I want you to fuck me.”
He straightens, turning my body into his. He runs his hands over my belly and touches my pussy. “So wet.” I moan when he touches my clit briefly. “Such a good girl. So greedy.”
His eyes heat again, and it’s like we’re right back in the moment in the forest.
I stare down at his cock. It’s standing straight up to his belly button.
The flared head is an angry pink. I can see the underside.
The eight rods are just under the smooth skin.
There are ten rings in the heavy sack hanging low.
But it’s the head that fascinates me. Two barbells are going through the flared crown of his dick to form a cross shape.
I reach for him, running my nails along each piercing. A bead of liquid in his slit grows and gets bigger, eventually too heavy, gravity takes its course, and it falls, dripping down to the shower floor.
Shockingly, he does nothing. He doesn’t touch himself. He doesn’t even seem eager. He casually watches me, waiting. I’m even more confused. He’s not doing anything about his erection.
He must see my confusion because he grins. “I like to deny myself, Countess. The longer I hurt, the better it feels when I come. I’ve been waiting for over a year to come.”
That makes me blink. A. Year? “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He doesn’t say more than that, and my head is a tornado. He hasn’t climaxed in a year? What the hell?
“But—”
“As much as I’d like to fuck you again with your blood all over me, I need to stitch up your wounds. I don’t want them infected.”
“What?” I’m dazed, confused, lust clouding my ability to think. Stitch? I blanch. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m very serious. It’s a puncture wound.”
“That you caused.” Some of my earlier anger comes back. “You stabbed me.”
“I did.”
He doesn’t look apologetic. “And you’re not going to apologize?”
“No.”
Crossing my arms over my breasts, I frown. “And why not?”
“Because I like my mark on you, Camryn. I’ve wanted it there for a while, and you’ll have it forever. I don’t regret it.”
Well shit. That sounds straight out of a gothic love story.
He finishes bathing me, washing my long hair, edging me every time he massages the base of my skull.
. He washes his own body, and I stare at his cock as he manhandles it.
Washing my blood off his body. He cleans his cock with soap.
He scrubs his face, cleaning the paint off his body.
The scratches on his face appear. Scratches I gave him.
I’m glad he’s wearing them. It evens the playing field.
I wasn’t just some helpless woman. I fought back.
I had no clue it was him, but still, it feels good.
He turns off the water and lifts me out, placing me gently on the bath mat. I stand, immobile and confused, as he opens a narrow closet, takes a thick gray towel out, and wraps it around me. Then another one encircles his waist.
“Sit.”
I know he’s right. I remember that much of medical school. Deep wounds need to be closed. Too tired to argue with him, I sit on the closed toilet seat.
Systematically, he takes out cotton balls, a brown bottle, and a small white plastic container.
I watch as he opens the brown bottle, fitting a cotton ball above it.
He tilts my head to the side, and I shrink away from the sting as he cleans the cut.
When he takes out the Ethilon nylon and with a curved needle, I swallow and hold my head still.
How the fuck does he have the exact tools used to close a deep wound?
Where did he get it? I did my fair share of suture practice in my clinicals, and I remember it well.
It’s not something that the average Joe has in his medicine cabinet.
But then again, Stone is anything but average.
What I saw in the forest and what he did to me is anything but normal.
He pierces my skin, and I flinch, cursing when he sews me up.
I would like to know where he acquired his knowledge.
He’s familiar with closing lacerations. I hold onto his thighs, breathing through the pain.
My eyes widen when I see that his dick under the towel is hard, the long ridge unmistakable. He’s turned on by this? “You’re hard.”
“Yeah, Countess. Being two inches from you always gets my dick going. Nothing new there.”
“Always?”
“Every fucking second of the day.”
I leave that statement alone because I don’t know what to say. That I feel the same way? That I should listen to my common sense, but when it comes to him, I’m senseless, helpless against the desire?
After a while, I no longer flinch while he finishes stitching me up.
He covers the wound with gauze and a larger bandage, his fingers moving gently, like butterfly wings on my skin.
He tugs down the towel from under my arms and goes about cleaning the more minor cuts and scrapes on the slopes of my breasts and breastbone.
I try not to react to his ministrations, the slow, methodical way he slides that soaked cotton ball up and down, covering my skin, leaving behind a cooling sensation.
My body doesn’t care about remaining stoic.
Goosebumps erupt all over my skin. My nipples are hard, itching for his mouth again.
I peek at him, his serious, sexy face filled with concentration, wholly focused on repairing damage.
Damage that he inflicted, a voice chirps.
Lastly, he covers each minor wound with oily antibacterial ointment, and a moan does escape when his hand accidentally brushes my nipple.
I clear my throat, hoping I hid it, but when I look up at him, he is watching my nipple, a hungry look in his gaze.
His greasy thumb flicks one nipple, and I feel like I’m going to aspirate. Heaven help me.
I expect him to do more, but he doesn’t. He simply puts everything back into his medicine cabinet and dumps the trash. When he’s done, I pull the towel back up, covering my bare breasts. “What about you?”
He looks down at me. “What about me?”
“Your face.” I study the angry red gashes from my fingernails when I fought him earlier. He steps closer and touches my lips, staring me deep into my eyes. I can’t decode the undecipherable look in his inky eyes.
“They’re fine. I like seeing them on my neck, Countess.”
I stare at him and then down at his dick. It rises slightly, pushing the towel up. I swallow, and he loosens the towel, letting it drop.
“I like having them on my body.”
I reach out and touch his cock, suddenly needing to know. I want to know how it feels to have him in my mouth. I drop to my knees, and it surprises him, and he holds onto the sink, laughing.
“You want it here? Now?”
I nod once, and he caresses my jaw. “Go ahead, Countess, show me. Put those lips on me. I want to feel your warmth.”
The smirk on his face shouldn’t make me feel good, but it does. It makes me wetter. I kneel, automatically wanting to feel his cock in my mouth. I hold onto his thighs as my body relaxes from not being on my feet.
His cock is directly at sight level, and I lick my lips, curious to see what it feels like to have all that metal in my mouth.
I trace the metal adornments, playing with the one that goes through his crown. “Which one hurt the most? This one?” I flick it with my tongue.
He touches my lip, dragging it down until it bounces back in place. “They all hurt, Countess, but I like the pain. I like to give it and receive it, especially when I’m fucking.”