You Own Me (Owned 1)

“Good.”

I heard the rustle of leather as he loosened his belt and the zip as he lowered his fly. Then, silence.

Vic plunged his cock into me without mercy. I groaned. Grabbing my chin, Vic turned my head so I could see him behind me. “You won’t make any noise, understand?”

Vic’s grip on my chin was so tight I couldn’t nod, so I blinked my eyes in acknowledgement. He pumped into me, in and out, never releasing his hold on my chin.

The rhythm was utterly torturous. I didn’t make a peep, a feat that was nearly impossible. I scratched at the walls and bit my shoulder as orgasm after orgasm hit me. I knew he was doing it on purpose, giving me multiple orgasms.

His fingers played with my clit, drumming out each orgasm until my shoulder was bruised from my withheld screams.

Finally, he came.

He zipped up his pants and resettled my dress back on me, smoothing out the wrinkles from it having been bunched up around my waist.

I was so exhausted I couldn’t stand up from my ninety degree angle against the wall. He lifted me back up, turning me around to look at him. I rested in his arms like a noodle.

He smiled and said, “Good girl.” Then he kissed me on the forehead.

“Do I get my underwear back?” I asked.

He shook his head.

I paled.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“Well, yes, actually,” I replied. “Your semen is seeping out of me and is making a mess.”

“I thought you wanted more,” he whispered against my earlobe, dragging out the word ‘more.’

I shuddered. I had literally just orgasmed, but he was making me want to go again just with his voice.

“I’ll get it all over my dress, and it’ll stain the booth,” I said, trying again.

Vic shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?” My eyes popped. “I won’t be able to eat here ever again!”

He smirked. “Don’t you trust me?”

Back at our table, the food was waiting. It was warm, but not hot, so evidently it had been sitting out a while. I started to dig in. All this mental tug-of-war and sex was making me hungry.

“Will you tell me what happened to Dean?” I asked, sipping my water. Vic was right; wine went straight to my head. I was a bad drunk. When I drank, I thought I was the shit, which got me into a lot of trouble. I liked to dance on tables and laps. However he did order a bottle of wine, so maybe just a sip.

“Why?” Vic asked.

“I‘m worried he’s going to come back,” I mumbled, poking at my fancy-looking food. I’m not particularly fond of fancy food. The servings are small, it’s overpriced, and it tastes weird. Give me a burger and fries and I’ll love you forever.

Vic put his fork down. “Don’t you trust me to protect you?”

“Of course.” I choked on my bite of food and took a sip of water to wash it down. I really hated that he kept making trust an ultimatum. It was like I couldn’t ask questions or I’d break his trust. “I just . . . I don’t know. It would be nice to know where he was.”

“He’s not coming back,” Vic said, his voice final. It was supposed to be a direction for me to stop asking questions. I never did follow directions well.

“Is he in jail?”

“No.”