Her Beast_A Dark Romance Page 5

  So, I continued to fight him, clenching my body and gritting my teeth against the spin of the coil, winding faster, tighter by the second.

  He increased his pace even more, determined to overcome my resistance, and I almost gave in. God, how I wanted to give in. The sensations were overwhelming, the first bit of real pleasure since I’d ended up in this wretched place.

  He moved faster, his finger gliding easily, soaked in my own juices. I was so close. So damn close. No. Yes. No. No! I had to fight. But as I neared the top, my body took over. It refused to fight, to resist. All that existed was his finger on my clit. But then his other hand was on my ass, squeezing my stinging flesh. God, it hurt, and it felt so good as if the pain and pleasure had combined to create a new sensation—one I hadn’t known existed.

  I writhed against him, and the moans I’d fought so hard against turned to cries. “Please,” I cried, but I wasn’t begging him to stop. I was pleading for something else, for the release that hovered on the brink.

  And then I was toppling over. I’d asked, and he’d delivered, springing free the coil that had wound tight inside me and sending out waves of blissful pleasure from my sex.

  I sagged against him as the waves receded, and only realized then that with his hand on my backside, that meant he hadn’t been holding me down. I could have scrambled away, but I hadn’t. I’d laid there, writhing, on fire and begging for the orgasm he’d given me.

  I did scramble down off his lap then, and he didn’t stop me. I ran across the room to the corner—my corner.

  He didn’t demand that I come back. He didn’t even laugh at me like I’d been expecting him to do. In fact, he seemed to ignore me completely as he turned his attention to the tray of food. He seemed relaxed as he sliced the food and began to eat, but there was a tension that radiated from him, all the way across the room.

  It wasn’t anger—what did he have to be angry about? He’d humiliated me more than I thought was possible for a person to be. He was probably quite pleased with himself at the moment. Still, the tension remained through bite after bite, and eventually, I recognized it. I couldn’t not. Not when it had been the same tension that had held my body in its grip when he’d had his wretched fingers on me. Spanking me, or turning my body against me, or some combination of both had turned him on.

  Without my permission, my eyes darted to the fly of his pants, looking for confirmation. And the massive bulge I found there left no doubt.

  So, this was sexual for him. Then why had he spent so much time tormenting me with silence? I’d dismissed the possibility after what must have been days of near-total solitude. And it wasn’t that I wanted it—I didn’t want this to be sexual, no matter how much my body had just proved otherwise. But I needed to understand, to know what exactly my future held in store. Or maybe I just needed to think about something—anything—other than how my body had just turned against me and responded to the devil’s touch just moments before. Trying desperately to fight back more tears, it was easier to try to analyze him than to turn the looking glass inward.

  It dawned on me then what he was doing. He was eating my food. When it was gone, there would be no more until he returned. And I had run back to the very spot this had started. If I wanted food, I would have to crawl over to him—to the man who had taken humiliation to a whole new level—and kneel before him like a good pet. But I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want to see the knowledge in his eyes of what I’d let happen.

  No, I would rather starve.

  He finished my meal while I huddled in the corner. I tried not to look at him, but sick curiosity kept drawing my eyes back. I’d never seen one before—the thick bulge in his pants. I’d seen drawings in health class and had learned that a penis increased in size when a man was aroused. But I’d never imagined it could grow that much.

  Against my will, the image came to mind of him trying to force that enormous bulge inside me. I cringed, thinking I would certainly split in two. But the thought appealed to the sick, depraved girl inside me, the one who had writhed against his fingers and moaned in pleasure despite how wrong it was.

  What the hell had he done to me? Before this, I’d never…well…there’d been the occasional strange dream, the kind that would wake me, sweaty and aching, and disgusted with myself for conjuring the dark scenes.

  But they had been dreams—nightmares by any normal standard. And this was reality—bitter, harsh reality. I couldn’t simply wake up from this nightmare and shame-facedly relieve the ache before drifting back to an innocent slumber. But maybe that’s all this was. My body was simply responding the way it had in those dreams. I’d rewarded it often enough for it, rubbing hard and fast to the last snatches of the dream until my body convulsed with its relief.

  It didn’t make it any less humiliating now, but it helped to explain why I’d responded the way I had.

  “You are very unique, Pet,” he said, drawing my attention back as he rose from the chair. And then he left with the tray.

  I debated going to check around the chair, pathetically hoping he’d left some kind of scraps behind, but I knew he hadn’t. It would be hours before I had the chance to eat again, and who knew what horrible thing he’d make me do for it.

  It seemed I no longer paid for things with money—of which I’d had precious little, to begin with. The price he demanded was my pride. My humiliation bought me food, but what happened when he’d extracted every bit of it from me? Then what would he demand in payment?

  I closed my eyes and shifted tighter into my corner. The carpet rubbed against my abused bottom, providing a fresh reminder of what had happened and making the tears in my eyes well over. Maybe it would be better to get it over with—to stop resisting, stop trying to hold onto the pride and dignity he was just going to take away from me in the end.

  I’d been right about this being sexual for him. And I’d been right that he’d been trying to slowly drive me insane. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to stop until he turned the girl he’d taken into nothing but a complacent shell he could use any way he wanted. Why try to stop it from happening when it was going to happen eventually?

  I breathed a deep sigh, trying to cleanse the fight from my body. It held on tight. I could feel it wrapped tight around somewhere in the center of me, woven into the fabric of my being. I kept breathing, trying to disentangle each strand.

  My eyes grew heavy, and I didn’t fight them. Every moment of sleep had been a struggle, but now it seemed like the exhaustion had finally caught up with me. I welcomed it, willing it to help me slip away. To escape the pain, the uncertainty, the humiliation…even if only for a little while. I would struggle to offer it all up later. I would worry about handing over whatever pride I had left later. Later.

  I drifted off quickly, but he followed me there. In my dream, he teased and tormented me. He tied me up and he hurt me. And he held me down with my arms pinned above my head and he rammed his massive cock deep inside me.

  When I awoke, I was sweaty, and the aching throb between my thighs was all too familiar.

  But when I looked up, he was there. He was staring down at me with an amused grin on his too-handsome face. My cheeks flamed, remembering the scene in my dream and wondering what clues my sleeping body had given him about what had been going on in my head. Had I moaned? Begged? Touched myself?

  “Hello, Pet. Sweet dreams?” he queried with an expression that said he knew too much. “Kneel,” he said and I struggled up onto my knees, hoping he’d abandon the subject and feed me. I’d gladly crawl all around the room if he’d just leave the topic alone.

  Instead, though, he crouched down in front of me and he slipped his hand between my thighs.

  I tried to back up, but my corner gave me nowhere to go.

  He didn’t run his fingers along me this time but shoved a finger inside me. Oh god. Sensation. Too damn much sensation. On top of the dream that still clung to my body, his touch was too much.

  “Hmm, very sweet drea
ms it seems,” he said as he removed his finger and raised it to his lips.

  My wetness glistened on his finger and I squeezed my eyes shut as he slipped it into his mouth. And then I felt him pressing his finger against my lips, trying to force it inside. I kept them closed until a low growl rumbled up from his chest in warning. Reluctantly, I let him in, and I tasted myself on the invading digit. It wasn’t crepes, or either of the other meals he fed me. It was something different. New. Earthy, with a soft sweetness like honey. The new sensation fed my depraved brain.

  “Tell me about your dream,” he persisted.

  “I-I don’t want to,” I said, finding it difficult to concoct some mundane dream with the man who’d starred in it in front of me and my body taut with unwelcome arousal.

  “You know what you want is irrelevant,” He told me. “You can tell me, or you can fight me on it and I’ll strap you to the bed and whip you until you do.”

  Something told me he wasn’t bluffing. “You,” I blurted out. “…you were inside me,” I confessed miserably.

  He looked surprised—I’d actually surprised him—but it was short-lived. “If you wanted me to fuck you, Pet, why didn’t you just say so?” he asked, but he was just taunting me. Even if I did want it—which I didn’t—if I had asked him for it, he would have denied me just to torment me more.

  “I-I don’t.”

  “I don’t think your body agrees with you,” He said as he slipped his finger back inside me. I tried to squirm away. I really did try. Or at least, I wanted to. But it felt so good; like a thousand sensations all at once. Besides, it would make no difference. If I shot to my feet and tried to get away, he’d just stop me and punish me for it. Maybe if I stayed still, he’d tire of me.

  But he kept it up, plunging in shallowly, again and again, making my body clench around him innately, trying to draw him in deeper. And then he did. He thrust in deeper, and his finger glided against too many sensitive nerve endings for me to stop the quiet moan that escaped my lips. But then he froze, right there inside me.

  I wanted to run, and I wanted to make him move inside me, both wants warring against each other and keeping me just as frozen in place.

  “You’re a virgin?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question. However, the surprise in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “Y-yes,” I sobbed, knowing that if there’d been any hope of him leaving that part of me alone, it had just vanished.

  “You’re nearly twenty years old. And you look like this,” he said, motioning to my body with the hand that hadn’t stilled inside me. “How’s that possible.”

  I didn’t want to like what he was saying. I didn’t want to take it as a compliment, that he thought I was attractive. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. And yet, a small, despicable thrill traveled through me, realizing it was true.

  But he wanted to know how it was possible I was still virgin? Maybe because I’d spent every day of my life since becoming a teenager trying in vain to prove I wasn’t a whore, that I would never be a whore. Not like my mother. Every day I spent trying to show my father I wasn’t like her.

  But it turned out…I was just like her. There was no denying it now, now when all I wanted to focus on was the finger inside me, the finger that I desperately wanted to start moving again, preferably back to my clit like he’d been doing before, rubbing until the fire inside me culminated into something exquisite.

  He didn’t though. He moved around inside me as if just enough to make sure I didn’t forget that he was there—as if I could. And then, all of a sudden, he withdrew completely and stood up. I didn’t watch where he went—it was too humiliating to look up, and I didn’t want to see what he was doing. I kept my eyes glues to a speck of fluff on the floor by my feet.

  He returned a moment later, and I wished I’d paid better attention—not that it would have made any difference in the outcome. He hauled me to my feet and shackled my wrists in the restraints that must have been the ones attached to the bed. I tried to pull away, but of course, it was useless.

  He pulled me over to the bed and hooked the restraints high up on one of the posts, which pressed hard against my face and the valley between my breasts. Had I made him angry? Why was he doing this?

  But when I turned my head to look at him, he didn’t look angry. “What are you doing?” I whispered frantically.

  “You’ve been full of surprises, Pet, and I think I’d like some answers,” he explained. “This is how it works. I’m going to ask you a question. When you tell me the truth, I will reward you with pleasure. For every time I believe you have lied to me, you will get the belt. Do you understand?”

  No! Of course, I didn’t understand any of it. But I kept my mouth shut and nodded once. What difference did it make? He’d do what he wanted regardless of whether I understood.

  “Good. Let’s get started then,” he said as he reached around from behind me and palmed my breasts. I tried to wriggle out of his hands but stretched tautly, I couldn’t move more than an inch. And even if I had been able to get away, would I have? The fire between my thighs was anything but extinguished and what he was doing was feeding it. Would I have stopped him, even if I’d been able to? Not so long ago, I would have said yes, with absolute certainty. But it was harder to believe that now when I could feel my chest straining against the post between my breasts, trying to press harder into his hands.

  “Have you ever let a man do this, Pet?” he asked as he toyed with my nipples, sending rivulets of desire to my sex.

  “N-no,” I answered honestly.

  “Really? And what about this?” he persisted as his hands grazed down to my backside and cupped my cheeks.

  “No…” I answered as the pulsating between my legs intensified.

  “What about this?” One hand circled around in front. “Have you ever let a man play with your hot, little pussy?” His fingers pressed against my clit and started to rub.

  “No…never,” I whispered, certain I was red with embarrassment from head to toe.

  “You have a beautiful body, and you’ve kept it to yourself your entire life—why?”

  I didn’t want to answer. It wasn’t just my body or my pride he was after, but my secrets, the things that made up who I was. But what would be a feasible reason? Why did a normal girl abstain from sex?

  “I just…I’m not good with people. I’m awkward, that’s all.” Yes, it made sense. A socially awkward girl would have a hard time getting a date.

  “I didn’t ask why you don’t have a boyfriend. I want to know why you don’t fuck.”

  “It’s the same thing!” I yelled and then tried to rein it in. “I mean…I couldn’t just go up to some guy on the street and…you know…”

  He chuckled. “Actually yes, Pet, you really could.”

  He meant it. He really thought I was attractive enough that I could do that. I hated how much I liked hearing that. He rubbed faster, making my body jerk against him.

  “But you lied to me, didn’t you?” His tone had grown serious.

  How could he know that? He couldn’t possibly know the reason I’d done my best to be a good girl, to be anything but what he was turning me into.

  He stopped rubbing, and I heard the quiet slide of his belt as he slipped it off his pants. “No, please. Don’t,” I cried.

  The belt landed with a thwack across my backside, and it jolted my whole body, pressing my clit hard against the post directly in front of me, and making my body respond with a fiery ache. Oh god, no. Not this, too.

  Another lash, crisscrossing the first. It stung, making me cry out, but it made the fire in me blaze hotter, too.

  Two more, and then he dropped the belt on the bed in front of me. “Let’s try this again. Why?” he asked as he ran his fingers lightly over where he’d struck me.

  “Because of my father,” I sobbed. “Because he always said I’d be a whore.” Now was he satisfied? He’d wrenched that private piece from me.

  He
didn’t move for a moment, as if he was taking time to process what I’d said. I thought he was done—he’d gotten his answers. I needed him to leave. I needed to be alone, and as much as I hated to admit it, I desperately needed to quench the fire he’d created that was making it near-impossible to think about anything else.

  But then he reached around me and his fingers made contact with my too-sensitive flesh. I moaned—I couldn’t stop it. And something inside me snapped.

  I’d confessed. I’d admitted out loud what had dictated my life for so long. But with the admission came the acceptance that I’d failed. The way my body was burning, the years of dark and twisted dreams, and the thoughts running through my head right now of just what I wanted this man—my captor—to do to my body.

  Whatever he’d done to me had vanquished a lifetime of keeping my body and thoughts in check. And what I hated most, what made me wish I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him to death, was that it felt so damn good. To thrust harder against his fingers and feel him rubbing faster. And faster. To feel him driving me higher.

  There was no sense in denying it. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. He knew what I was, how my body responded in ways it shouldn’t. He knew I was the whore I’d tried to deny being for too long.

  And I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to stop.

  “Oh god, yes,” I cried when I was nearly there. I didn’t want to bite back the words, or the moans. And I didn’t want to stop my body from writhing against him. I’d kept it locked up all my life, and my only reward for it was this hell, this devil.

  God damn it, I just wanted to come. If he was going to make my life a living hell, then I was going to take what pleasure from it I could.

  And when I was there, when I’d reached the brink, I didn’t try to stop it. I threw myself over the edge as wave upon wave of depraved pleasure pulsed through me.