Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
If I had thought that sort of manhandling—being lifted in the air and slung over a man’s shoulder—had an urgent, visceral effect on my body, this kind seemed to go straight to my spinal column and, much worse, my pussy. Having a muscular, fully dressed man keep my nearly naked body in place through the sheer strength and weight of his masculine frame put one thing beyond any doubt in my mind. Something deep inside me responded helplessly, out of sheer instinctual, animal compulsion, to the sort of easy brutality Christian seemed terribly comfortable employing to get his way.
I cried out in protest anyway, though, because another part of me knew I could never give in willingly. I struggled hard against him, as he stretched out first my left arm and then my right, and cuffed my wrists in the Velcro-fastened restraints.
“Apartment, tighten arm restraints,” Christian said, his voice not the slightest bit rough with the apparently insignificant effort of keeping me in place. The whirring came from under the mattress again, and I let out a desperate, defeated sob as the webbing straps retracted until my arms were spread wide across my bed.
I kicked with my feet, despite knowing very well that I had not the slightest chance of getting anywhere with the struggle. Even twisting with every ounce of strength, trying to get traction with my ass and thighs so that I could at least win the tiny, meaningless victory of making Christian work to hold me down, got me nowhere except further down the road to exhaustion.
He reached over my head.
“What…?” I started to ask, but Christian showed me immediately the reason for the movement: he pulled down from some unguessed-at compartment in my headboard another cuff attached to another strap. The circle of the cuff seemed a good deal larger than the ones he had used for my wrists. I didn’t understand fully until Christian turned to his right and gave another order.
“Raise your legs.”
“What?” I repeated, this time with much more fear audible in my voice.
“You heard me, Leah,” Christian replied. “I’m going to restrain you so that I can close your pussy.”
For the first time since he had delivered his horrid ‘sentence,’ in his seemingly self-proclaimed role as judge, jury, and executioner, it fully sank in that he truly meant to carry out the terrible threat. I had thought about… it… in the intervening days, of course. Really, I hadn’t had the capacity not to think about it, but something in my mind had always remained convinced that even if some lunatics might actually consider doing… it… to a young woman—maybe even with her reluctant consent?—Christian Guzman, billionaire director of Moonglider, a man who clearly liked me, would never, ever do it. Not a clearly reasonable, intelligent, if arrogant and dominant, man like Christian—he would never use some kind of superglue to seal up a girl’s pussy lips.
Least of all the lips of the pussy he had enjoyed deflowering just a few days before. Surely Christian would want to fuck my pussy, not seal it up.
Don’t pretend, said the reasoning voice from the edge of the galaxy, as I watched myself resist in vain, try to twist out from under Christian again without gaining so much as a millimeter of free movement, that you didn’t think about the alternatives he’ll have to secure his own pleasure, once he’s taught you that most important lesson.
The essential thing I had to learn: not yours… his. My most private places, and by obvious extension, the rest of me too.
Bought and paid for. Acquired. Kept for his personal use.
My voice started to speak as I exercised every remaining shred of strength to tighten my core and press my legs down against the mattress. It sounded like it came from very far away, and it spoke with such desperation that I felt bizarrely sorry for the girl who couldn’t even talk properly.
“Apartment…” I heard myself say. “Apartment…”
“I’m listening,” replied the calm, pleasant, feminine voice, after the second time.
“Cancel sponsor… call… cancel sponsor agreement!”
Her voice replied so quickly I knew my sense of time had gone away. Everything seemed to be happening at once: the apartment’s reply seemed to come out of the hidden speakers at the same time as Christian, leaning back a little, grabbed my left knee and pulled it upward, bending my leg with ease despite my best attempt at resistance.
“Sponsor Christian Guzman has been assigned priority control. Disciplinary measures detected. No threat of imminent harm exists.”
He had the big cuff around my lower thigh, Velcroing it tightly.
“What?” I demanded. “He’s going to… he’s…”
“Apartment,” Christian said, still speaking with utter calmness, “retract headboard right.”
“Oh… no…” I sobbed as I felt the strap pull on the cuff, steadily and very firmly, until the front of my upper thigh came up against the twill of Christian’s shirt. I felt the lacy front panel of my thong slide a little against the part of me that already felt much too warm. The feeling of being opened, despite all my efforts to remain closed, brought a shameful jerk of my hips that I hoped Christian would mistake for more resistance.