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My core pulses with desire, and I have to fight the urge to slip my fingers between my thighs and fill my sex with my fingers to relieve the ache my memories are leaving me with, but I don’t because he told me I couldn’t.
He told me my pussy was his, and even though he’s not here, even though I don’t answer to him or the fact that he’ll never know, I still keep my hands above the water. It’s ridiculous to allow him to dictate how and when I can touch my own body, but as much as I shouldn’t, I want to be his good girl, and good girls follow the rules.
I have so much to mentally unpack from the short amount of time we’ve spent together, but first, I need to figure out if wanting to please a man I barely know yet have had a lot of sex with is weird.
Prior to my mom meeting Bruce, she didn’t exactly neglect me. We had an apartment and food in the cupboards, but it wasn’t me and Mom against the world. It was me, then there was Mom and whoever she was dating at the time.
After she met Bruce, she paid more attention to me, mainly because he did. But both before and after Oz became a part of my life, there wasn’t anyone cheering from the sidelines telling me what a great job I was doing.
Maybe the lack of praise and affection I received when I was a kid has molded my desires as an adult, and I just didn’t realize it until Oz purred the words good girl into my ear. Whatever the reason, I know I won’t be touching myself there, even though the urge to be full and satisfied is almost overwhelming.
Instead, I part my folds and find my clit, rubbing my finger over the bundle of nerves and closing my eyes and remembering how it felt to be beneath him. How it felt to be under his control, completely owned.
Minutes later, I’m crying out as an orgasm washes over me. When my eyes flutter open, I stare up at the ceiling above me and wonder what the hell is happening to me.
I’ve never sought out sex beyond boring missionary and, on occasion, doggy style. But even in the short amount of time Oz and I have spent together, he’s already given me a glimpse into a world I never imagined.
Allowing him to dominate me was eye-opening. I’ve always considered myself weak-willed, but am I really just submissive instead? The guys I’ve dated in the past were nice, but any signs of toxic masculinity felt like red flags that had me running in the opposite direction.
Oz is waving a red flag in each hand while grunting, “Me man, you woman, you mine.” And I’m not fleeing, I’m bending over and begging him to fuck me and tell me I’m his very good girl.
The sheer number of things wrong with everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours is startling, yet I’m still here. I’m still scared of him, and a part of me still worries that this is all just a cruel joke, but I’m still here.
Do I want to be his? A part of me does. A part of me craves to belong to him, to have someone claim me, even if it’s in a terrifying way.
When my cell beeps, I lean over the side of the tub and grab it from where I’d put it on the floor.
Oz: Good morning, did you just wake up?
Me: Yes, I slept late.
Oz: I wore you out. I can’t wait to do it again. You haven’t sent me a picture of your breakfast yet.
Me: I haven’t eaten yet.
Oz: You’re not allowed to skip meals; you know the rules.
Me: I’m not skipping, I’m just in the tub.
Oz: Send me a picture.
Me: I’m not sending you nudes, that’s single girl 101.
Oz: You’re not single, and I’d never let anyone else see you naked.
Me: I’m not sending you pictures of me naked.
Seconds after I sent the last message, a video call request comes through. Sighing, I can’t help the smile that spreads over my lips as I press accept.
“Good morning, Little One,” he purrs.
“Good morning.”
“For the first time in years, I really wish I wasn’t at work. I want to be there with you, sitting behind you in the tub. Show me what I’m missing out on,” he orders sweetly.
“Oz, someone could see,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“No one but me gets to see you naked. Ever,” he growls. “I’m in the bunkhouse on my own, I promise.” Turning the camera away from his face, he shows me a large room full of several sets of bunk beds, and just like he said, the room is empty.
