I gave in to him completely, begging between moans for him to go harder, faster.
He found my clit and began circling it with his finger, and the sensation was too much, making me moan and groan as his cock filled me with heat while sharp, cold shooters of electricity darted all the way down to my toes. It was too much for me to handle, and I thrashed wildly, the pain forgotten in this storm of pleasure. I barely understood was happening as I hit my peak, like falling through hot air and slamming into cold water. I was a passenger in my body as I thrashed and wriggled against him.
He barked out a sharp “Fuck!”, and grabbed my hips. I leaned over the desk, grunting like an animal through clenched teeth as he shoved his cock into me to the root and held me against him so hard it would leave welts on my hips, burying his shafts in my depths as he spilled inside me, hot and slick. When he drew out of me it left his cum sliding down my legs, he’d pumped me so full. I almost fell, all the strength going out of my knees, until he turned me around and laid me out on the table. I felt totally used up and spent, like every muscle had been stretched out, like taffy. I lay there as he wiped down his dick and tucked himself back in his pants, then gave me a wet wipe to clean myself off. I could still feel him inside me as I pulled up my underwear and shorts and did up the button. I was sore and satisfied at the same time.
As I stood up, shakily, he slipped the handcuffs back into their case on his belt. He was watching the video. I could hear myself squeaking and moaning, my voice tinny from the little speaker.
“You can ride up from this time.”
I didn’t say anything as he drove me back to my car. He gave me my keys and my stuff back and drove off into the night. Hurriedly, I got back in my car and locked the door, looking around. It was pitch black, almost three in the morning, and I was well past my curfew.
When I walked in the back door, my mother was waiting at the kitchen table.
“I hope you had a good time,” she snapped.
“You have no idea,” was all I could say.
I was eighteen years old for less than a day when I learned my father had sold me.
My return home from boarding school was a whirlwind. Sixteen hours on a plane that left me tired and sore, my legs cramped from sitting. The dull ride home from the airport, constantly on the edge of sleep in the back of the car. Every time I was almost out there would be a hooking curve in the interstate that would jolt me awake. I was almost asleep when the car finally rolled to a stop and the driver leapt out to get my door for me as the servants rushed out to retrieve my things from the trunk. I stepped out and yawned, eager to get a shower, get in bed, and begin readying myself for college in the fall. Dad was waiting for me, standing by the opened doors, under the portico. He ignored the servants as they carried my things. When I stepped up with my arms out to huge him, he took my arm and led me inside.
“Don’t get settled,” he said, his voice strangely tight.
There was a man in the foyer. He faced away, so I could only see the back of his silk suit his clasped hands, and slicked back hair. I swallowed, hard. Something about this made Dad nervous, and that made me nervous. I looked at him and he looked at me.
“This is Will Carlyle. You’re going with him.”
“What?” I snapped. “Why?”
He looked at the floor. “Please, Victoria. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
The stranger turned around and approached. He was tall, narrow in his build but strangely graceful. I found myself staring into his eyes. One was dark blue, the other so pale the iris was almost white. I expected him to offer a hand to shake, so I stretched out mine, only to pull back and wipe it down my side when he failed to reciprocate. He stared at me hungrily, his eyes appraising. I felt like a prey animal behind glass, with a panther stalking back and forth outside, dreaming of sinking fangs into my flesh. I shivered.