Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

“Once you sign this contract, you’re all in for sixty days,” I reiterated. “No safe words, no rethinking, no asking for release.”

“I understand, sir,” she said.

I offered her the pen and she took it in shaking fingers.

They didn’t stop her signing. Her signature was a sweeping flourish on the dotted line. Signed, sealed and delivered.

I couldn’t hold back the smile as I slipped the completed document back in my jacket pocket.

She was mine.

Mine to tease. Mine to torture. Mine to push through every fucking boundary she’d ever know.

The glint in my eyes reflected back at me in the dresser mirror as I pulled her to her feet and slammed her into the bottom bedpost. Her whimpers were raspy as I pressed up behind her and breathed hard into her ear.

“Welcome to your sixty days, little girl,” I hissed. “Let’s get fucking started.”Chapter ThreePaigeI was out of options. Shuddering as he pinned me to the bedpost.

I felt battered and bruised, both inside and out. Wobbly legs and a wobbly spine, fighting the urge to break down and sob for mercy.

Yet my skin burned for more of him. More of his weight, more of his heat, more of his punishment.

Because it was true. In the pit of me. Deep enough that it hurt.

I wanted whatever he had to give.

“Girls around me earn their money,” he said. “They always think it comes easy, so much money for two short months. But it doesn’t. Fuck, how it doesn’t. Nothing around me ever does.”

I nodded, conveying understanding, even though his words were unnecessary.

The details on the contract were still blurring and tumbling through my brain. Non-disclosure. No opt out. No physical boundaries bar the guarantee of long-term health at the end of it.

His arm wrapped around my stomach and his fingers slipped downward. I shuffled my legs apart on instinct as he curled his fingers between them, taking a breath as two pushed their way in deep.

“Did those druggie cunts dare to touch you?” he asked, and I nodded. “Did any of them fuck one of your pretty little holes?”

This time I shook my head. “No, sir,” I managed. “You came in time. Just in time.”

“Just as well I made a fucking appearance then, isn’t it?” he whispered and ground his fingers in circles. “Tell me, slut, is it me or them that made your filthy pussy so nice and fucking wet this evening?”

I hated myself.

Hated my messed up desires, even in the face of devastation.

Hated how my entire body was racked with shame as he worked the right spot with his thumb and sent me reeling.

“I asked you a fucking question,” he said, and I fought back the prick of fresh tears.

“You,” I said. “I’m wet for you, sir.”

“Hungry for pleasure, little girl?” His breath was against my ear, fingers working too hard for me to fight the thrill.

I tried to shake my head. Tried to defend the dregs of my goodness and hold onto the ray of light of my better nature. But it was pointless.

My body was a traitor. The darkness in my soul was seeping through every crack in me.

I whimpered as he dragged his tongue up my cheek. “I love the taste of guilty want,” he said. “And believe me, you dirty little slut, I’ll be feasting on plenty of it before your time here is done.”

I groaned as he pushed a third finger inside me, pushing back against the weight of him. He didn’t move an inch.

“I could make you come in an instant,” he told me. “I could drag the pleasure right out of you here and now, kicking and screaming against your pounding little good-girl heart.”

My breaths picked up in pace. His thumb was just too good. His fingers curled to stretch me, pressing tight enough to hit the tender spot. And it hurt. It fucking hurt.

I could feel the length of him against my bare ass through his suit trousers. A monster with a monster. The swell of him big enough to give me palpitations.

“Is that what you want, little girl? Do you want to come for me?”

My body answered for me. I couldn’t stop the way I moved for him, lips parting for more as I pushed against his pistoning fingers.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, sir.”

And just like that, in one single beat, he was out of me. He twisted me in one movement and my back pressed against the pole of the bedpost so hard it thumped my spine. His face was close enough that I was breathing his breaths, his grip savage as his fingers wrapped around my throat.

“Good girls always say please,” he said, but didn’t leave me time to recover my manners.

I tried to take a breath but it was nothing more than a rasp, my eyes widening on his. My hands rose but stopped before they landed on his, dithering in mid-air as he tightened his grip.