Blyssful Lies (The Blyss Trilogy 2)

In a bemused voice, Nick teases, “Oh, now she says please. Please what, Princess? Please fuck your wet pussy? Are you ready for me now, ready for a real man?”

“N-no! Please, st-stop!” I blurt out quickly, panic constricting my lungs as my breath comes out fast and shallow. Suddenly, I feel his other hand come into play as he begins to rub in a slow, tortuous circle around my bundle of nerves. I can feel something beginning to build inside me. Tingles race down my spine as I throw my head back against his shoulder, my mouth falling open as pleasure begins to topple over my fears. I’m on the edge of a sweet release as his strong, calloused fingers plunge in and out of me relentlessly.

He chuckles against my ear, his hot breath rippling through me as he speaks condescendingly, “You think you’re so special to Travis, so different from the rest? Do you think you’re the only one here?” My hands feel clammy as I fist them together, and I can feel myself breaking out in a nervous sweat. “Oh, sweetheart, first love’s a bitch. He treats all the women here the same. Know why he doesn’t fuck the merchandise? I’ll tell you why—because he’s in love with another woman, and that woman is not you.”

As the last of his harsh words are being spoken, my legs quake. Both of his hands suddenly disappear, and even though I’m blindfolded, I can feel the second he steps away from me. Since I can’t see what he’s doing, I strain my ears to hear. Of course, not knowing where he’s standing, I wonder if this is it, the beginning of the end. I keep telling myself he won’t go through with this, and he’s just trying to scare me like he did with the oversized whip. The deafening silence is killing me, so I begin to hyperventilate. I’m terrified of the unknown as I’m left wondering if he’s actually going to unleash his madness upon me.

His voice booms from behind me, startling me. “This is my kink, Princess. Travis has been too slow to teach you, so please allow me the honors of introducing you to my world.” His voice is deep, but lined with remorse. “I’m only sorry your first experience with my superior skills will not be for pleasure.”

My muscles tense as I hear a rustle behind me. Then suddenly, a loud whistle sounds through the air, and before I know it, the whip strikes me on my back with a loud, explosive pop. I give a long, loud, piercing cry on contact. The pain is searing, and I scream so loud I wonder if the outside world can hear me through these concrete walls. Another harsh sting quickly follows, then another in quick succession, each lash of the whip striking me somewhere different across my back. Searing pain immediately follows and spreads to every nerve I own.

An uncontrollable, screaming rant consumes my lungs as he lands three more strikes, all choreographed to hit precisely where he wants to inflict the bite. By the time he finally stops, giving me a moment to catch my breath, I realize the blindfold is soaked with my tears. I can’t believe someone could get off on this shit. It fucking hurts!

Sobbing heavily, I plead for my life. “Oh, my God! Please...please stop!”

“Wrong answer,” he bellows from behind me.

Anger and fear swirl and mix together in my chest simultaneously, but before I can give him a piece of my mind, another crack sounds out, striking my shoulder blade. I swear this lash breaks the sound barrier as the leather makes a small sonic boom against my flesh and bone. My back instinctively and automatically arches away from the scourging.

Bright stars glisten and shine behind my eyelids, my throat is horridly dry from my screaming, and my verbal rants have turned into hoarse, croaky squawks. Frantically, I attempt to twist my body in such a way as to lessen the blow of the whip’s tail, but there is no escaping this hell. My restrained attempts to move are pathetic at best as I squirm like a worm on a hot rock.

“Hold still! Not unless you wish to have permanent marks, or worse, need stitches.”

“I feel like I already need stitches every-fucking-where!” I scream in protest. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute. I no longer care about being naked; the past humiliation he put me through seems like child’s play. Naked and mortified is better than pain any day of the week. It feels as if my back and legs are covered with thick, hot blood, and I can feel the welts pulsate in time with my heartbeat. Prickly stings are assaulting me from every direction, and it feels as if I’ve landed in a huge hornets nest. Every lash feels as if he’s breaking the surface of my skin, causing deep, gaping gashes.