Buy My Soul: A Sixty Days Novel Page 13

  “Not another word,” I said. “Your position is whatever I tell you it is until whenever I’ve decided you’ve had enough.”

  “Yes, sir,” she managed, but her voice was raspy.

  I loved the sound of the chains clinking as she swayed and struggled. She was trying to stay still, but her tiptoes weren’t nearly stable enough. Her body was a delight to watch, twisting and turning as she held back the complaints. Her stockings were low on her thighs and her bruises were prominent enough to make my mouth water. I could picture the warmth of her tight little cunt clenching and wetting the scrap of lace panties. I’d have loved a taste. To bury my tongue in that slit of hers while she flailed and fumbled.

  I’d also love to spank that slit hard enough to make her cry out loud. To shove my hand into that pretty cunt until she was a vice around my knuckles, shaking at the pressure.

  It would come.

  All of it would come.

  Her resolve was impressive. She strained as much in silence as she could manage, seemingly determined to do what she was told, even though her shoulders and wrists must be aching like sin. Her chest was heaving but she was trying to breathe quietly, quiet hisses in and out as her toes still reached out for purchase on the floor.

  When it was time to fire up the cameras, I lowered the shackles just an inch. It was enough that she cried out in relief.

  “Thank you, sir. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  The inch didn’t give her absolute stability, just a scrap of steadiness on her legs. It was enough that she smiled as I approached her front and announced the cameras would be live in just a few seconds. She nodded. Took a deep breath. Looked down at her bare tits with perky little nipples as though she should fear for her modesty somehow.

  Her innocence scorched in the pit of me.

  It wasn’t just lust. Wasn’t just the urge to defile her with every scrap of my being and turn her into every bit the submissive little slut she had the makings of becoming.

  It was more than that.

  Affection.

  It was fucking affection.

  I felt something for her. Some actual fucking emotion.

  Bullshit, I told myself.

  It was bullshit.

  My eyes glowered at hers, but hers were wide and still fucking grateful.

  And then it was on us. The live broadcast. Eyes upon eyes of horny cunts tuning in for a glimpse of this pretty little thing suffering at my hands.

  They were clammy, my hands. Actually fucking clammy as I made my way to the rack of implements.

  “Day two,” I announced, partly to her but mainly to them. “Day two is always a challenge for sweet little girls.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and I knew her eyes were on the cameras in front of her like the good girl I’d insisted she’d be.

  I didn’t want them on the cameras. I didn’t want them anywhere but fixed on me.

  “Tell me,” I said, and stepped up close behind her with a heavy flogger in my hands. I let her feel the leather on her bare thigh and she shuddered. “Tell me how wet that pouty little cunt of yours is this evening.”

  I knew she’d blush. I could picture the bloom on her pretty cheeks without having to see her face.

  “I’m… I’m wet, sir…” she managed.

  “And why is that?”

  “I’m, um…” she started. “I’m… I want it, sir…”

  “Want what?”

  She paused. Struggled. That’s when I used the opportunity to slap the flogger up at her horny little slit and get her motivated.

  It worked. The scrap of lacy panties did nothing whatsoever to ease the bite of the leather.

  “I want it, sir… please… I want the pain… I want to be good… I want you, sir. I want you.”

  It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Not under show conditions. I didn’t expect her to announce that it was me she wanted as early as day two.

  Even as I was reeling with the strength in her words she spoke them again.

  “Please, sir, please! I want you. I want whatever you have to give me!”

  I daren’t look at the wall of cameras in front of us. I daren’t risk the onlookers seeing the surprise in my eyes. The want in my eyes. The same urges for her as she was claiming for me.

  “You’ll take whatever you’re fucking given,” I growled, and slapped the flogger harder between her legs. The threads wrapped up around her mound in the most perfect of fashions, enough that she squealed and tried to close her thighs.

  She got nowhere. Those thighs were spread nice and fucking wide for me.

  “Oww,” she moaned. “Oww, sir. Oww.”

  “I said you’ll take whatever you’re fucking given,” I repeated, then tore the scrap of knickers off her with rough fingers and landed another lash.

  This time she responded with a grunt, thighs still straining against the shackles. Her weight was in the cuffs above, arms tight as she held herself. She dropped like a brick against the chains when I landed a third stroke.

  I knew it would hurt.

  I knew her pussy was already fucking sore from my abuse.

  I didn’t give two shits that she was whimpering like a collared little angel when I lined that flogger up for another.

  “Take whatever you’re given and shut your mouth,” I said, and my voice was recognisable as me this time.

  Detached. Sadistic.

  Vile.

  She managed a nod. A dainty little nod. And then she tried.

  Fuck, how she tried.

  I wasn’t kind with the flogger. I landed another two on that tender cunt before I changed position and wrapped the threads hard around those pretty little tits. How her skin pinked up. Strands of beautiful blotches with the occasional prick of blood at the end, and she took it. She held her breath and screwed her eyes tight closed and took everything she could from me.

  It was only when I was catching the flogger on the most delicate spots on her ribcage that she lost her fight and let out some whimpers.

  I walked right up to her in her bonds and pinched her cheeks tight, being sure not to interfere with the clear camera shots.

  “Quiet,” I snarled. “Good girls are always quiet.”

  And then there were tears. Soft tears as her eyes met with mine, and I felt them. Oh fuck, how I felt them.

  I loved and fucking hated them both at once. Wanted more of them with my swollen cock and less of them with my poor excuse for a sympathetic fucking heart both at once.

  My cock fucking won.

  I hit her over and over. I ripped that scrap of lacy babydoll from her body and beat her with savage swipes across the full front of her. She was a fine sight in nothing but stockings. Her ribs were prominent under her tits, begging for a beating. Her stomach was flat, concave as the muscles strained tightly down to her cunt.

  A cunt that was a beautiful mess of pink swipes. Her thighs were a perfect addition to the canvas.

  And so was her pretty face.

  Tears streaked down her cheeks. She was flushed. Eyes wide and wild as they struggled to focus on the cameras.

  How I wished she was focused on me.

  “Let’s see how wet that tight little cunt is now,” I snarled, and ploughed three fingers straight inside. “Tell me, slut, still want the pain?”

  She murmured. I pushed those fingers in deep.

  “Speak,” I said. “Good sluts answer when they’re spoken to.”

  “Yes…” she whispered. “Yes, I still want it, sir.”

  Once again, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Not after such a brutal second performance.

  “You want more pain?” I asked, and my voice was gravelly.

  She managed a nod. “Yes, sir… I’ll never ask you to stop… never…”

  I pulled my fingers from her cunt and slammed them in her open mouth. “Taste yourself. Cunt tastes hungry for more, does it?”

  She licked me. Swirled her tongue around my juicy fingers.

  I knew the clients wo
uld love the slutty want in her eyes, at odds with such pure fucking innocence in the rest of her.

  She gasped as I pulled away from her mouth, lips straining to keep hold of me.

  “Yes, sir…” she managed without prompting. “Yes, sir, I taste hungry for more… I taste hungry for you, sir…”

  That’s when I noticed it. The natural submissive glint in her gaze. The faraway desperation as her limbs loosened in her binds and she zoned into the headspace of true subservience.

  “I taste hungry… for you, sir…” she said again, and this time her words were pointed. She turned her face from the cameras and her eyes crashed into mine. “Please, sir… for you…”

  And that’s when I couldn’t fight it. Not any longer. Not for a single fucking breath in that seedy fucking room.

  There was no denying it. No way in fucking hell.

  I slammed my lips to that hungry mouth of hers, and dug my tongue in deep.

  Deep enough that she’d know for certain I tasted fucking hungry for her, too.

  Chapter Twenty

  Paige

  He wanted me.

  I hadn’t expected it in that room, not for a second. He’d been so hard. So powerful. So cold.

  He’d treated me like I was just another girl on his payroll. A nobody. A slut in a dirty outfit, ready for the cameras. But his kiss was something more. Something so much more.

  It wasn’t that I had a huge experience with kisses, especially not kisses that really meant anything. I couldn’t have put into words how I knew his meant more than the token gesture of mouth on mouth for the viewers. But I did know it.

  I felt it with all of me. My heart soared in spite of the pain. Cried in glee as the tears of hurt rolled down my face.

  I just hoped he could feel how much I wanted him right back. Fear meant nothing. The way his view on the world was so crippling in its differences to mine meant nothing. He was the only thing that meant anything in that moment as his tongue battled with mine and won.

  I would have kissed him for all time. The beautiful strength of the beautiful monster was enough that my soul soared free, my senses lost to anything bar how his painful touch felt so good.

  My arms were screaming from the strain, my skin on fire from the lashes he’d rained all over me, my thighs trembling. My clit was raw but still screaming for more. My insides felt bruised and battered, stretched hard by his knuckles.

  None of it should have felt right. None of it should have done anything other than set me screaming for release, money be damned.

  But it did feel right. All of it felt so right.

  His mouth was hot. His hands were rough as they crushed my hurting tits to my chest and tweaked my nipples. My flailing like a fish on a line was different now. Instead of squirming away from the punishment I was straining for more. Opening my thighs when I’d been doing my best to close them. Offering him the most intimate parts of me like the wanton little slut he was portraying me as for the cameras. Only it was genuine.

  I was genuine.

  My want for him was as real as real could be, and I knew he felt that. Just as I felt his from him.

  I groaned when he pulled away, mouthing a ‘please’ for more with my eyes locked firmly on his. He looked disoriented as he backed away, confused even.

  Welcome to the club, I thought, and a smile graced my lips.

  I saw his lips twitch at that, and he stalked away behind me. Hiding. He was hiding.

  He used his hand next to hurt me, slapping my ass hard and sending me forward in the chains. My nerves were fried enough that I couldn’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain. It was weird. All of me felt so weird.

  Another slap and he snaked his fingers down my front and onto my clit, circling hard as he spanked me over and over. I was limp in my chains, my toes taking the most of my weight as I grunted and rocked to the rhythm. It took everything I had to remember to keep my eyes on the cameras in front of me, not caring about anything other than heeding his instructions.

  I didn’t care that a world of rich men were feasting their eyes on my pain and punishment. I didn’t care that I must have looked a desperate mess with pinked up skin all over. I didn’t care I was being used as a filthy little doll or that I was begging for more in a pathetic whimper when his fingers on my clit did their bidding.

  The tears came back when he pulled away all over again and headed to the rack for the next punishment tool. It was a long thin whip, without all the tails of the last one. I was smiling to the cameras even as the tears rolled down my face, lost to everything but giving my body to his without a care for the world.

  The tears were mute. Raw. My smile was just as raw along with them.

  “Please, sir…” I whispered, and I had no idea what I was really asking for.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, and tickled my bare back with a taste of the whip that was coming.

  Sweetheart. He called me sweetheart in that place.

  “Please…” I said again, but didn’t follow it up with anything.

  “Watch your mouth and take what you’re given,” he told me, and I nodded. I could feel my smile was still strangely bright. Dumb, maybe. Spaced out, definitely.

  The strike of the whip took it right off my face. It hurt like a slice of liquid fire, right across my shoulder blades. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but wail and flail in the chains like a woman gone mad.

  And then I stopped. Retched. Shook.

  Waited.

  The next was just as hard. It sent me reeling all over again, another line of fire across my back.

  “Owww, sir!” I wailed. “Owww, sir, it hurts!”

  “Yes, it does,” he said. “And you will take the pain like a good girl. Yes?”

  I guess it was his voice. The difference in his voice. Still powerful, but brimming with a hint of something. Something more than the hard coldness. More than the wickedness of the cold laugh he usually graced me with.

  This was more.

  Warmth. There was just a taste of warmth in his tone.

  It made me desperate for more.

  Desperate to please him.

  “Yes, master. Thank you, master.”

  I felt him pause. Stiffen.

  “Say that again.”

  But I couldn’t. My heartbeat was in my ears as I registered my words. My mouth was bone dry as I struggled to repeat my words.

  Master. I called him master.

  “Say that again,” he ordered, and his voice was deep and dark but it didn’t matter.

  The warmth was still right there.

  I forced myself to take a breath. Forced the words right out of chest.

  “Yes, master. Thank you, master!”

  “That’s my good girl,” he said, and I felt it. I felt like his good girl. “Take your punishment like my good little slut.”

  Oh, how I wanted to be his good little slut.

  I straightened up and gritted my teeth, waiting for the next lash. It came fast. Fast and hard. Enough that I screamed out loud but didn’t move. I stayed as still as I possibly could on tiptoes, focusing in on the heat of the stripe on my lower back.

  Fuck, it hurt.

  Pain that sliced right through me and exploded in my head.

  It took my everything to keep staring at those cameras and not look back at him, just to see him for one tiny second.

  My skin was strangely tingling when the next swipe came. It hurt but felt further away. My scream sounded loud but distant, my ears ringing with some weird buzz.

  It was me. I was buzzing.

  My nerves were wired and spiking like crazy. My body was confused, conflicted by the sensations from all over. From between my legs where I was desperate for more of his touch, to the searing skin across my shoulder blades. It merged and writhed and lapped together and came back with nothing short of a mashed up daze of endorphins.

  Euphoria.

  It was a weird sense of euphoria.

 
Of freedom.

  Of release.

  Of submission.

  Of course. It was submission.

  This must be submission.

  There’s no way I could recall how many lashes I took on my back that night. I was lost to everything but the sensation, my eyes drilling into the wall of cameras and making sure I was being as obedient as I could for my master.

  I couldn’t recall when he changed the whip to the solid thump of a wooden paddle, right on my ass over and over.

  I couldn’t recall when he moved to my front and turned his attention to my inner thighs until I was crying out with new vigour.

  I could recall when I first felt the swell of him pressed to my bare ass through his trousers. It was electric. My whole body thrummed with need. For him. All for him.

  My wrists were numb when he finally loosened the shackles and set me back on hard flooring. My legs were like jelly, barely able to take my weight as I adjusted myself. As it turned out, I didn’t have long to worry about it.

  I was against his body in seconds, the heat of him burning my sore skin through his shirt. His arms were strong and pained me as they folded around my shoulders. I let out a moan as he dropped me to my knees and guided me backwards. I went easily with his movements, my lips opening for his as his weight came down onto mine.

  This time he didn’t give me his mouth. He went for my neck instead as he pinned me flat, teeth nipping hard as he let out a moan of his own.

  “Let’s show our viewers how hungry your battered little body is for cock,” he said, and his voice was cold again.

  I didn’t care. Couldn’t care. My sore thighs were spreading before he’d even finished speaking, my hips rising up for more before he’d even unbuttoned his suit trousers.

  I wasn’t ready for him to flip me onto my front and pin his weight down hard a second time. I wasn’t ready for him to yank my tear-ripe face up to the camera glare by my hair, his breath hot and ragged in my ear as he held me firm.

  I was ready for his cock inside me though. I couldn’t hold back a whorish moan as he shunted in deep.

  “Yes!” I managed. “Yes, please, master!”

  His hips slammed hard enough that my words came out jagged.

  “Tell them how fucking good it feels,” he grunted, and I did.