Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“What are you doing? These are my favorite shoes, you moron!”
He watches me as he throws the heel into the water. It lands with a plop, and before I can jerk my other foot away, he repeats his actions. I am getting ready to unleash the fires of hell, like only a woman who lost a beloved pair of pumps can, when he jerks me so that I am forced to roll over on my stomach. I raise my head up, or else I’d be eating marshland. I put my hands on either side of my body and try to push up so I can get away. He doesn’t allow that. Instead, what he does next, takes my breath.
He roughly handles me so that my lower half is arched over his body. Somehow, and I don’t even know how, he reaches his hand under and unbuttons my slacks and then crudely pulls them down exposing my ass. None of this is gentle in the least, especially since my clothes are wet and trying to stick to my body. I want to scream, I might have. I’m just not sure. I’m definitely in shock. That’s surely the only reason why I’m not kicking and screaming to get away from Max. His large hand lands on my exposed ass and the impact of his hand on my skin resonates around us. I’m wearing my pink, no line panties that rise high on the ass and feel like silk. They’re my favorite pair, and I’ve loved them up until this point. The contact of his hand, half on the skin of my buttock and the half on the silk, stings badly. I inhale at the pain and try my best to wiggle away from him, but Max clamps one hand down on my lower back and makes it impossible for me to move. He delivers another slap, and the tears sting my eyes.
“Don’t do this Max, I…”
Slap.
“Max!”
Slap. Slap.
I stop protesting. Something in the way he delivers his reprimand lets me know that objecting will only make it worse. The contact burns and the cool air hitting my skin only makes that worse. But somewhere around eight or ten spankings, it stops being something I endure. The pain is there, but it’s different. He’s careful to never hit the same spot twice, he just grazes as his hand finds new flesh. When the last sound of his hand connecting on my ass is ringing in my ears, and nothing else happens, I find my body reacting against my will. My ass pushes up into the air, searching out his touch, wanting it—needing it. He spanks me again, and I bite my lip. It doesn’t stop the moan that escapes. His rough hand moves over my ass, caressing it, almost as if praising me. I’m confused by my response. I’m aroused and ready to beg for more. I should be terrified. I’m not. He slides his hand under my panties and touches the stinging skin. I whimper as his fingers stroke against my opening and the moisture there is exposed.
“Fuck,” he groans and then slides his fingers inside of me.
I want to say that wakes me up, that I’m no longer in some lust-filled haze where I’m allowing a total stranger, an escaped criminal who is holding me hostage, to finger fuck me out in the open after having just spanked me. I would love to say that. I can’t. My head goes down, and I whimper as his fingers slide farther inside of me and stretch my walls.
I haven’t been with a man in well over a year, and even his fingers make me feel tight. It brings back memories of skin against skin, hot breath on my body, being filled by another person and being close to someone. They are all things that I’ve missed in the past year and are none of the things my vibrator fulfils. I shouldn’t be finding anything with Max. I need to stop this before it goes any further, but I don’t get the chance. His fingers slide out of me and then his hand cups my pussy as he bends down to whisper in my ear.
“For however long this lasts, you will listen to what I say and obey me,” his harsh voice rumbles in my ear and it should scare me. It should infuriate me. Why do I feel the urge to do everything he tells me?
Slowly he removes his hand, and I waste no time sliding off him and standing up. I’m pulling my clothes up; the heat is coming off me in waves. I’m embarrassed. I’m humiliated, and yet, I want more. I don’t even feel like I know myself. Is it the danger? Is this what happens to women who suffer from Stockholm Syndrome? I dart a glance at Max, and I guess he is waiting for me to do that very thing because he waits until our eyes meet before he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them. I’m already drenched with need, and that only magnifies it. I look down at the ground, wishing it would swallow me up.