“Look at me,” the man snaps. I jump, my heart racing violently as I look up
into his stony face. “How many men have fucked you, willingly or otherwise?”
I forcibly swallow the lump in my throat. It takes every ounce of self-control not to look away. His brows are furrowed, and his dark golden eyes are burning into me. I want to look anywhere else. I want to hide.
“None,” I manage to squeak out.
“The truth,” he growls annoyed, taking a quick step toward me. I
instinctively backup until my knees hit the bed. I’m trapped.
The man grabs my hair again, painfully tugging my neck back as he leans over me.
“I want the truth,” he whispers coolly, the softness of his voice scarier than any screaming madman.
“I’m-I’m telling you the truth,” I stutter, barely holding back my tears.
“We shall see,” he says softly, loosening his hold on me and taking several
large steps backward. “Strip.”
“What?”
The man’s answer is to silently cross his arms over his chest and raise his eyebrows, giving me an I’m waiting stare.
My hands shake as I quickly unzip the ultra-short black pleather mini skirt.
The plastic sticks to my skin despite the AC as I push it down and let it fall to the ground. Next, I unhook the black and white trimmed corset, breathing in a sigh of relief as it drops to the floor.
Looking up, the man’s intense stare burns into me with a ghost of a pleased
smile on his lips. He’s enjoying this. Enjoying me.
I should be disgusted. Revolted. Afraid. Instead, the idea of being able to make this stoic man smile fills me with confidence, muting my fear considerably.
Reaching behind my back, I unhook my bra, letting it slide off my arms and
onto the pile on the floor.
“Stop,” the man commands as I begin to tug off my remaining barrier—the
red G-string. “Come here. I’ll unwrap the rest of my present.”
Realization suddenly hits me and my stomach clenches. I’ve been given to this man. To enjoy.
“Come,” he repeats, crooking his finger at me.
I cross my arms over my naked chest and, with unsteady steps, move closer
to stand in front of the man.
His warm hands run lightly along the skin of my upper arms before reaching
down and uncrossing my forearms. I brace myself for his touch to be rough and bruising and am shocked when he gently cups my breasts in his hands and teases my nipples with his thumbs. His hands are rough and callused, nothing like I would’ve expected from a millionaire playboy. I gasp in shock as pleasure floods through me.
“Beautiful.” He pinches and twists my nipples, making them hard, and I find
myself leaning into the pleasure.
All too soon, he’s sliding his hands down my body until they are resting firmly on my hips.
With one hand, the man grabs the thin band of the G-string and pulls; it breaks with a snap. He rips the other side and the small triangle covering me flaps down, revealing my recent and painfully naked and waxed sex.
The women in the house had enjoyed watching me subjected to the torture of
having my pubic hair ripped out by the roots. They had jabbered away as they held down my ankles for the old crone who was in charge, laughing and jeering at my tears.
Lifting his hand off my hip, the man walks around me and I feel more naked
than I ever thought possible. I jump when he thrusts his large hand between my thighs and cups my delicate flesh, commanding, “Spread your legs. I want to see if you are a liar.”
“I’m not,” I stupidly snap at him, resulting in a stinging smack against the bare flesh of my pussy. Why couldn’t he spank me on the ass like a normal person?
Slowly I widen my stance, opening my legs, my heart racing at how vulnerable I am now. Not that I wasn’t before, but this feels worse for some reason.
I’m naked. Alone. And opening myself up to this man.
One of his hands moves to grab my ass firmly in his palm, holding me steady. With the other, he raises two fingers and places them on my lips. I open my mouth wordlessly, and he thrusts them inside.
“Suck,” he growls, his golden eyes sparking with desire.
I do what I’m told, trying to ignore how good his salty masculine skin tastes, and pretending not to imagine or wonder what sucking another part of his anatomy would be like.
“Enough.” The man pulls his fingers from my mouth. His eyes widen with shock when I nip at the tips of his fingers in retaliation, and I see another hint of a sexy smile.
He moves his hand down to my pussy and spreads my lips, using his saliva
soaked fingers to probe my entrance.
“You’re fuckin’ tight,” he groans, slowly forcing not just one but two thick fingers into me.
“Please,” I gasp, grabbing onto his forearms, the strong thick muscles briefly distracting me from the burn of being stretched and invaded.
“Relax,” he snaps, squeezing my bottom roughly.
“Sir. Please,” I groan as his fingers continue their inspection.
“You weren’t lying,” the man says casually as his thumb pushes its way between my outer lips. My body jerks when it hits my clit. He begins caressing it gently with his calloused digit. My traitorous body responds, relaxing under his spell. The man’s fingers are still inside of me, and I can feel myself aching in places I didn’t know existed.
