Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
For now, I claim her with my palm, but I am not immune to the sight between her legs, a very pretty pussy covered in glossy dark hair already starting to pout for me, her outer lips swelling and her inner ones presenting themselves like sweet midnight blooms.
My lust surges. I have waited to feel this intensity of connection all my life. I need her, and I know that she needs me. I can see it. I can smell it. I can feel it in my fucking bones.
I pull her head up, my hand fisted in her hair, a thick chunk so it doesn’t hurt, but does control. I lower myself over her body and murmur in her ear.
“Why are you so turned on, if you don’t want this?” I ask the deeply unfair question, knowing full well she cannot help it. Her reaction to me is powerful, chemical, and preordained.
“Tell me you want to be bred. Tell me the only thing you can think of right now is my cock, knotting in your virgin pussy.”
She lets out a moan that very quickly turns into a feral growl. If I had any less control, I would throw her on the floor right here on the stage in front of strangers, sold girls, my pack, and more and breed her until we were both sated.
But she is my mate, and she is hurt enough already, and adding humiliation to punishment in this moment feels cruel. I need her under control, but I do not want to destroy her entirely. I have no idea what the act of being pinned and mated would do to her bruised psyche, and so I restrain myself to simply whipping her like the feral stray she insists on emulating.
She hisses, writhes, and curses at me, her passion and her strength on display. She is putting on every bit of the performance I need her to, almost as though she had been given stage notes. She behaves as though she hates me, as though she cannot tell the difference between me and the director, as if I am a new captor, and not her savior.
Fortunately, I do not have to rely on her behavior. I can scent her true reactions, her real feelings. At first there was fear and loathing, but now there is so much more. Arousal is mixing with fear, mixing with hatred, with outrage. She is furious at being disciplined this way, but she is not shocked by it. She is melting into it, bit by bit, moment by moment becoming more mine.
These brutal fools have clearly given her more than one beating in her life. There is a big different between whatever rough punishment they handed out and what I will do with my discipline.
“Settle, submit, cry if you must, but stop acting out like this.”
Beatrix
I hate him, I hate all men. I hate all women too; they’ve not been any better. I hated a lot of the girls I was left with in the dormitories, but them the least—or sometimes more because I never understood why they didn’t see what I saw. They clung to these ideas of being happy even when we were all obviously miserable, and even though I’d been right so many times before, they didn’t listen when I warned them about this.
He leans down and he bites me on the back of the neck. Not a savage playground bite. He settles his teeth over my spine and he holds me there. It’s not a move that feels particularly human. It makes something rouse inside me, something that has been getting bigger and bigger, something I have been struggling to control for years now.
At first, it was just something I felt from time to time, a playful wild thing in my belly. But it has grown to the point I now feel as though it is stretching against my spine and my skin. It is uncomfortable, and it is often angry.
But when he places his teeth on my neck, and when his hand clasps the curve of my heated, punished ass, I feel a sudden calm, as though the storm has always had an eye to it that I was never able to find.
I stop. Not because he told me to, but because he made me feel a little moment of peace in the midst of internal and external chaos.
“Good girl,” he growls, just barely coherent against my skin. “Do you want me to make you feel better?”
He rubs his hand over my cheeks, his fingers just brushing against the seam of my most private place. He touches me as though he owns me, as though my body is his to explore as publicly as he pleases. I should hate him all the more for this, but I am aroused. I don’t know why. It’s a fucking weird reaction to being spanked. I have been punished many times before, but never felt even remotely like enjoying it.