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“Do you want me, Lula? In this pretty pussy?” He pets it, and every stroke of his fingers is delicious. “Will you be good for me?”
In the distance, an alarm bell is ringing. Under the silk, I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Good girls get to come on my cock.” His fingers slip down into the cleft of my ass. “Bad girls get something else.” The tips find my back hole, tickling the tight skin there. A shock runs through me.
“Has anyone ever taken you here?” He leans close, whispering like a lover. I hold my breath as he circles my rim. I clench my buttocks, but it’s no use. He’s pressing in, and his finger is so slick from my pussy that he’s able to breach the tight ring of muscle. Just a millimeter but it burns. “Have they? Answer me, Lula.”
“No.”
“I will be your first.” He sounds so confident that a tremor goes through me. “Soon.” His hand falls away, and I feel relief, but it’s short-lived.
He steps away, and the crop falls again, this time on my unprotected pussy. He alternates smacking it and using it to probe my folds. He uses it to work me up to orgasm again, and it’s wonderful and awful. When he finally releases me from the table and gathers me into his arms, I cling to him like he’s my anchor in the ocean. If I let go, I’ll drown.
Lula
“Why Stephanos?” We’re in the shower after another long session on the table and then the cross. We’ve fallen into a routine: he ties me up and works me over. Every time he gives me an instruction, he uses the hand signals I’ve now memorized. I’m made to beg for my orgasm, and then he gives me so many I beg him to stop. I wake up in the cage. I’m fed and watered and allowed some privacy, but he’s always near. He bathes me himself, either in the bath or, this time, in the shower. Sometimes, he keeps me blindfolded. And he always keeps me shaved.
There’s no more talk of earning privileges, but I know he’s keeping track of my behavior. Sometimes when I beg him to stop, he shows mercy and doesn’t make me cum. Instead of figuring out how to free myself, grab one of his many knives and plunge it into his heart, I find myself thinking of ways I can please him. And as much as I tell myself that pleasing him will lead to more freedom, which will give me a chance to escape, it’s only a partial truth.
He’s wearing me down.
“Lula,” Victor sing-songs and tweaks my nipple. He’s introduced me to the clover clamps, and I’ve never known such pain. I go to great lengths to keep him happy when I’m wearing them.
What was he asking me? “Stephanos? He’s our enemy.”
“He’s a petty thief compared to the Regis family. A fly buzzing around a pack of lions.”
“He’s stolen from us.”
“He’s stolen from all the families. For many years. He’s a scavenger. It’s not enough to explain your lifelong vendetta.”
It seems impossible that Victor doesn’t know of my mother’s death. It’s more likely that he knows and is toying with me, wanting me to bare myself and my reasons to him. “Maybe I don’t like thieves.”
He smacks my ass. The sound echoes in the tiled space. “You defend them for a living. Don’t lie to me.” His hand cups my rear, massaging it. “You know I do not allow lies between us.” His touch grows bolder, slipping into the crevice of my ass. With a foot, he nudges my feet apart and bows me forward so he can play with my ass. He’s been encroaching on this forbidden territory more often, in the deepest part of a pain session when I’m too limp to protest. He pushes his fingers deep into my cleft, finding the slick skin of my seam and massaging. It feels weirdly good. I press my palms against the tile, partly to brace myself and partly to pretend I can push the sensation away.
“You know I’ll find out eventually,” he taunts, the blunt edge of his knuckle pressing onto my rim. He has long, elegant fingers, but they feel impossibly huge when he works one into my ass.
“If you won’t tell me why you went after Stephanos, you will tell me why you ran into danger so recklessly and without backup. Practically unarmed.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“It was stupid.” He stops threatening to penetrate my ass and grips it hard, squeezing so tight I’m sure I’ll have violet bruises on my skin. “One word and you’d have the full might of the Regis family behind you. And maybe even the other families if you formed an alliance.”
I swallowed. I never thought of an alliance. But get too many people involved, and there would be a chance that Stephanos wouldn’t die from one of my bullets.
“So why, Lula? Why were you so foolish? I’m sure your cousin would back you up?—”
“There’s a mole!” My voice rings out, too bright and loud, and I bite my lip to keep from saying any more. Victor’s not a judge I have to convince by making my case. He’s my captor, and every second, every hour, he worms deeper into my psyche.
“Ah.” Victor lets his hand fall away. “A mole. That explains why Stephanos has survived all this time.”
“He’s a rat.”
“Who attracts other rats. Have you uncovered this mole?”
“If I had, I would’ve had backup. I wouldn’t have done something so. . . so stupid.”
“Suicidal.” His voice is flat, but he presses himself to my back. I rise, and he grips my hips, pulling me gently against him. He’s hard—he’s always hard. It takes an inhuman effort to sate him, and he’s been holding back during my torture sessions. I arch my back, leaning into him, but he doesn’t kick my feet apart and take me. He picks up the soap and lets his hands roam up my chest, sliding over my skin under the pretense of washing me. I hold my breath and let him touch me. It feels wonderful, and I know this is part of his plan to break me. In a minute, he’ll drop the soap and take up the straight razor, gliding it over my skin and smoothing my stubble away. There’s no part of me that he hasn’t thoroughly touched. No part that he doesn’t own.
