Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

“A decent bathroom is needed to scrub the shit off you,” I grunted, and she nodded but didn’t believe my motives. Not entirely.

Hope. There was a weird shimmer of hope in those pretty eyes of hers.

That pang in me throbbed again and I hated it all over again. Hated everything about this sorry fucking spectacle and how I’d got involved with her in the first place.

Her sister was in plush fucking rehab at my bidding. Rescued from carnage at my bidding.

My business partner was likely still chomping at the bit at my tampering with the watertight logistics of our operation.

My previous sixty-day pay-out was nothing but a hole in my pocket, tossed free on my own fucking whim without a care for the debt the girl could have paid willingly at my hands these coming weeks.

All for her.

Paige Emmerson.

A sad little college girl with a tender heart in her chest and a sweet little pussy begging for punishment.

I cast off my jacket and tossed it to the bed, pacing through to the bathroom with gritted teeth.

She followed but lingered in the doorway as I turned the shower on full, pelting the bathtub with a stream strong enough to splash my trousers and cling the fabric tighter to the swell at my crotch.

Her eyes went to the toilet. No surprise there. She must have been fucking desperate.

“May I, please?” she asked.

I nodded and she darted right over. She sat down in a hurry, closing her eyes as the stream hit the pan.

“I, um…” she began. “Maybe you should…”

I smiled my most evil smile. “I’d lose your shyness of bodily functions, if I were you, Miss Emmerson. I’ll be well acquainted with every little part of you long before the sixty days are through.”

I could see her blush through the grime as she closed her eyes and did her business. It entertained me deep to witness her discomfort at my presence.

She’d have a lot more of that discomfort to come.

I made sure I stared all the while she wiped herself and struggled to keep her privacy as watertight as possible from across the bathroom.

I waited until the flush was finished and she was back on her feet before I clicked my fingers and pointed.

“Here,” I barked. “In the fucking shower, let’s get you fucking scrubbed.”

Sad little Paige Emmerson did exactly what she was told.

She was a meek little beauty as she stepped up over the bath lip and edged herself under the water jet. I was amazed at the full extent of the grot and sweat on her as the stream hit hard, her shoulders first. Her skin was a perfect picture underneath, her paleness countering the darkness of her blooming bruises like a masterpiece for my viewing.

It was glorious.

She was fucking glorious.

Her tits were mottled from my hand slaps. Her thighs were reddening into bruises. Her pussy was puffy from my assault, pink and swollen and making her groan as she spread her legs for the torrent.

I didn’t even need to ask her to.

She had the freedom to move however she wanted, but she didn’t move for her. Her eyes stayed away from mine, but her performance was all for me. I knew it was. I could sense it a mile off.

The way she moved. The way she turned to let the water find her. The way she was sure to direct her body to mine in exactly the way that would serve me best.

She was learning. Already the minx was learning to please me.

Yet still she was innocent. Unsure. Unsteady.

I squeezed a huge glob of liquid soap into my palm and reached in to lather her up. My sleeves were soaked in seconds, but I didn’t give a shit, focusing on my own roughness as I worked her skin with suds. She moved like an obedient youngster to offer herself to my touch, eyes on me with some semblance of gratitude that had my dick pulsing all over again.

Grateful for this? How the fuck could a girl like her be grateful for this? For basic cleanliness? For basic attention?

“Thank you, sir,” she said over the hiss of the jet as I soaped up her arm. “That feels nice. It feels nice to be clean. I um… I like being clean…”

I soaped her well, turning her full circle and lathering everything from her tight little ass crack to her tender cunt. I washed her thoroughly, until she was gleaming. Until the bathtub was rinsed clean of the grimy water and running clear as a summer’s fucking day.

“On your knees,” I grunted and reached for the shampoo bottle.

She dithered. I offered my arm as support as she lowered herself, dropping to her knees and slipping just a little with the torrent. I wasted no time in lathering up her hair, and she closed her eyes, tipping her head back as though it was some great honour worthy of genuine thanks, just to have her scalp clean.