Page 69 of He Hate Me

“Yellow,” she gasps, her voice clogged with tears. I’m gratified to see that I finally have her weeping, hot tears flowing from the corners of her eyes like a natural spring. I caress her ribs and flat belly and kiss her face, licking away the salty tears. I give the chain another little tug, and more delicious fluid leaks out of her eyes. I could drink her tears all day. I even love the way she looks with snot coming out of her nose.

I shift down between her legs and kiss her gently on the clit. She jerks, moving her hips in the small radius allowed by her bonds. Ignoring her clit for the moment, I lick her from top to bottom, probing her opening with my tongue. I nip at her labia, now so engorged they look like they were injected with fillers. I find it extremely erotic. Even my lightest touch draws a reaction from her, either of pain or of pleasure. I take a few minutes to luxuriate in the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. I reach for the riding crop and push the handle inside her, coating with her slick essence. I pull it out and press the slightly rounded tip to her nether hole. It’s about the thickness of my finger and I guide it in until the whole handle has disappeared between her butt cheeks. Her face is the picture of embarrassment.

“Is it humiliating having a whip handle in your ass, Deja?”

She nods.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir, what?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s humiliating when you fuck my ass with a riding crop.”

“You want me to exchange it for my cock?”

“No, Sir. Whatever makes you happy, Sir.”

Oh, fuck. Gold star.

“You are such a good girl, Princess. I can’t imagine a more perfect girl.”

Amidst all the other emotions she’s experiencing I can see the pleasure my words give her.

Leaving the crop in her ass, I don the condom and ram my cock inside her pussy with deliberate roughness. I hook a finger over the chain between her tits and give it a gentle tug every time I thrust inside her. She cries out in pain each time, then suddenly throws her head back, a choked scream erupting from deep inside her chest. Her body quivers and I feel her pussy fluttering around my cock. I pull off the clothespin and angle my body lower so that my pubic bone grinds against her sore clitoris with each thrust. Not two minutes later she comes again, this time spasming like she’s having a seizure. I pull the nipple clips off and cup her breasts, gently soothing one with my tongue while cruelly pinch the other with my fingers. For the next few minutes I don’t know if she’s having one long orgasm, or her senses are just generally overwhelmed. When I can no longer resist the incredible pleasure of her tight cunt, I come with a cry.

I hold her tightly, trying to catch my breath. I don’t want to fall asleep without taking care of her, even though that’s all my body wants to do. Reluctantly, I ease away from her and dispose of the condom. I remove the crop and take it to the bathroom to sanitize later. I return to her and take off her handcuffs, then clean her up with a washcloth.

I pull the covers over us, and she curls in my arms as trusting as a baby.

“That was amazing,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t know my body could feel like that or that I could come more than once in a row.”

“You gave me just as much pleasure,” I tell her. “I love watching your reactions to what I’m doing. It was so erotic. I…”

There’s a lump in my throat. I don’t think I can tell her how I feel. I don’t even know where to find the words. Somewhere along the line I fell in love with her, but I’m scared to say the words because I don’t know if she feels the same way I do. But I can take pleasure in seeing her complete relaxation. Her skin seems to glow with peaceful energy. She rests her head on my chest and drifts off to sleep.

Twenty-Five

Deja

When we enter the house, Mom and Devin are in the family room. They’re both wearing their church clothes, but obviously didn’t go to church. I don’t think we can talk our way out of this one. Though showered, we’re both wearing the same clothes we had on last night.

“Where have you been?” my mother asks, stalking into the foyer. Devin is right behind her, his expression angry.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We fell asleep and overslept.”

“You both fell asleep? Where?”

“Um, a friend’s,” I say.

“Rourke’s,” Brandon says, as if he’s daring them to object.

“Isn’t he the one who uses drugs?” my mom asks.

“We didn’t do drugs,” I say quickly, but Brandon undercuts me, shaking his head.

“We only smoked weed,” he says.