Pleasure Unbound

The gag is removed immediately. I suck in the air like a drowning man breaking the surface. My head dizzies again, but this time from the returning oxygen. I choke on the air as I suck it in, in greedy bouts. My mind feels like it can think relatively clearly for the first time since I’ve awakened into this nightmare.

He backs away to give me some space, but I can still feel his presence. Shouting at the top of my lungs is my first thought, but I can’t see anything. Is he pointing a gun at me? Does he have a knife? Do I risk the chance since I’m literally and figuratively blind?

I make a conscious decision not to scream. To choose to comply. And it seems stupid but everything else about this situation is out of my control so I grab onto the one option that he provides me.

Besides, I’m so thankful to breathe again that I don’t want to risk having the gag put back in my mouth. I dart my tongue out to lick my dry, chapped lips and work my jaw back and forth, my ears popping from the motion. “Why?” I croak the word out in a broken rasp. It’s all I allow myself to say, fear of repercussions holding the rest of my accusations hostage.

His chuckle is soft, but I can hear the rumble in his chest and my goosebumps return. “Oh, my beautiful Lilly,” he says causing my heart to thunder and my world to stop. My name rolls over his accented tongue as if he’s fucking it, and it’s an odd mix of derision and the unexpected that courses through me.

I remind myself that I’ve been unconscious for some time; he’s had time to rifle through my purse and find out things about me such as my name. But that means he’s also seen pictures of Anderson, my family, my boys.

And the shame immediately hits me. My husband knows my body better than anyone, so how can this person I just met and who is holding me against my will bring me to orgasm so quickly? I squeeze my eyes tight, the whole premise hard to swallow. I exhale a deep sigh as I clench and unclench my fists for circulation, giving myself a moment to control the civil war of emotions raging within. My moment of peace-if you can call it that-is short-lived because he begins speaking again.

“My Bella Lilly …” his finger presses down on the top of my right foot and trails a slow path up my shin much the same way he did over my collarbone earlier. It’s as if he wants every part of my body aware of his presence-as if it’s not already. “Because sometimes a person knows just what another might need even if they never utter the words. Your eyes speak truths you don’t. You are gorgeous, no? This body of yours tempts me, taunts me…” he continues the ascent of his finger up my thigh at a lethargic pace “… begs me to take it. And look,” he says as he slides his fingertip softly between my thighs. I tense immediately as he rubs his fingers up and back through my wetness before withdrawing, the cool air of the room a sharp contrast against my heated flesh.

My exhale startles out of me when his fingertip rubs across my lower lip. “What are-”

“You want me just as bad,” he says into my ear as he coats my lips with my arousal. “You are drenched,” he murmurs as the bed dips beside me, and I try to move my head from his demonstration of my body’s blatant betrayal. He holds my jaw still, leaning in so I can feel his breath feather across my lips.

My mind races. Thoughts, threats, and prayers combine into a potent combination of resolve.

“Why you?” he murmurs. I feel his lips brush against mine, and I squirm from the touch.

Come closer, I silently dare him as I clench my fists. Come closer and I’ll bite your tongue if you try to kiss me, you fucker.

“Ahhhh,” he sighs, tapping a finger against my curled hands. “The fighter in you returns, no? Why fight what deep down you know you want?

I doubt your husband will ever fuck you like I will. I doubt he takes the time to make your body ache so much it hurts.”

His finger slides down the column of my throat before he presses his hand there. My pulse pounds against the pads of his fingers, a physical manifestation of the emotions rioting within me. His grip tightens as he leans in and uses his tongue to trace the outline of my trembling lips. When he finishes, he pulls away, but I can still feel him there, his presence so formidable he might as well be touching me.

“Does he know how turned on you are by being at my mercy? How your body craves to be violated, dominated, fucked hard, used at my every whim?” He chuckles low and deep. “I doubt he’s fucked every inch of your body like I will.”

My muscles tense, his threat causing my breath to catch in my throat, my mind visiting places I don’t want it to. Images flash of wants and desires to taboo in Anderson’s eyes, and I chastise myself for being turned on by this man’s words.

By my captor’s words.

Anger fills me and begins to consume my every fiber, but the most confusing part of it all is to whom the anger is directed. It’s not at him-no, it’s at me. Because as hard as it is to hear the words and the truths they cause, in the end, he’s right. My body trembles with the acknowledgment because as much as I deny it, this is what I’ve wanted from Anderson.

Dirty talk.

Provocation and domination.

Curiosity edged with nervous excitement as we pushed limits.

I try to shut down my mind, attempt to ignore my body, and recall the reserved woman I am, the one I used to be-because hell if I know who this woman is that wants this stranger to fuck her how he’s promising-and gain back an ounce of the fight and determination that I need right now. I shove the unwanted thoughts out, try to clear my head and it takes me a moment but I find it. At least my words say that I have, my mind on the other hand is still left to be convinced.

“Go to hell,” I grate out between my gritted teeth.

That laugh again. Amusement mingled with superiority rings through the room. “Bella, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to fuck you again. You’ll beg to suck my cock, to fuck your mouth. You’ll yearn to please me, crave my touch. You’ll cry when I leave you to go back to your everyday life.”

His words cause an intense, unfathomable ache to unfurl in my core. Blood swells the tender flesh there, and even though I have this man in front of me holding me against my will, the oddest feeling comes over me. I believe him when he says he doesn’t want to hurt me. I have no basis for this belief, just my gut instinct, but in some fucked up sense I trust him.

Now what does that say about me?NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

I divert my thoughts elsewhere. I don’t have the wherewithal to look closer at myself, a surefire way to fuck my head up even further. But all I can think is that this man captured me. He captured me and then pleased me by licking me to orgasm. He hasn’t even penetrated me yet. He could have thrust into me with complete disregard to my readiness or my pleasure, as I assumed would’ve happened, and gotten off.

But he didn’t.

He hasn’t used me and tossed me aside how I’d have expected. I shiver as the air conditioner kicks off, and I strain to hear the sounds of life outside of the room. A car honks in the distance but not a single sound in the room. My thoughts run wild again, my attention so schizophrenic that I welcome their distraction. I hold onto that-the disorder, the confusion-so that I can lose focus, lose myself, to hold onto the hope.

And then the pain hits.