Buy My Soul (Sixty Days 2)

And then he made it hurt.

His free hand wrapped around to grip hard on my bruised ass cheek, digging into the soreness like a glorious beacon in the thrum.

“Yes…” I breathed. “Yes, please…”

“You’re the most innocent little deviant I’ve ever known,” he grunted, and I couldn’t hold back the grin.

“A paradox,” I told him. “A strange little paradox in a world so concerned with ticks in the boxes…”

I’d never shared my weird little self-assessments with anyone before. My mask well placed and my smile bland and eager to every onlooker within viewing distance.

But not with him.

With him I wanted to be myself, nearly as much as I wanted to know him as him. No mask, no tick boxes. Nothing but soul to soul.

Only he was buying mine, using mine.

Hell, one day in the not too distant future, he’d surely own mine for keeps.

The thought gave me shudders on top of shudders.

One day he’d surely own mine. All in. My soul for keeps.

Forever.

“What?” he said and pulled his mouth away. “What are you thinking, sweet Miss Emmerson?”

I had no answer, just a smile. A smile and a tighter grip on his hair.

“Please more,” I mumbled. “Please more, sir.”

“You really are a strange little paradox,” he said. “No wonder the world is going crazy over such a little wonder in the madness.”

I didn’t understand it. The world going crazy.

I didn’t understand anything more than the way his tongue resumed its amazing dance with my needy clit.

I didn’t understand anything more than the way my body cried out for his to be inside me.

“Please,” I mumbled on. “Please more, sir. I need to feel you, sir.”

His voice was thick and edged with the darkness I was coming to love so much.

“You want my cock in that pretty little cunt of yours?” he pushed. “You want that pounded little pussy stretched open fucking wide?”

“Please…” I managed, bucking against his fingers.

“Then fucking say it,” he grunted.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t say it. The thought of uttering those filthy words to a filthy god like the one before me was too much want for my body to take.

I came hard enough to hiss and groan like a whore going mad, lost to everything but the sensation of his perfect touch against my hungry flesh.

I groaned harder as he landed a slap against my pulsing clit, but he was smiling, not angry when my eyes shot down at his.

He got to his feet slowly, his cock in his grip as he shook his head at me.

“Good girls don’t ever come without permission,” he told me, and my cheeks burned hot, even in the shower steam.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said. “I couldn’t stop…”

“Just as well I can then, isn’t it?” he asked, and reached behind me to turn off the water. “Call it the punishment of denial.”

I stood open mouthed as he stepped out of the shower and hid his dick underneath a low slung towel.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said and held out his hand for mine. “The world is waiting.”Chapter Twenty-EightBrandonShe looked incredible in white lace – the perfect representation of the innocent little deviant within her soul.

Beautiful Miss Emmerson was intoxicatingly nervous as she did me a twirl in the long satin slip. The back was low. Low enough to reveal her previous whip stripes in their dark brilliance across her skin. It was delicious. Enough to set my dick pulsing.

More than that she was beautiful enough that my throat tightened.

Affection.

This really was fucking affection.

If I truly thought love existed, then I’m sure the girl had snared it within my darkness.

“Will I look ok for the cameras?” she asked, and I tipped my head.

“You look glorious. The viewers will lap you up and beg for more.”

She dared to follow up the question. “And you? Do I look ok for you, sir?”

I’d lost track of her manners when it came to my titles. Sir. Master. None of it mattered anymore, which was alien enough in itself that I should have drawn a line under the whole sorry affair and taken off to a beach somewhere to get my fucking act together.

This girl — this ensnaring little siren in the moonlit countryside — was in my veins deep enough to immunise her against slave girl necessities.

Still, I wasn’t going to tell her that. I would take my pleasure in pushing her to her limits this evening, making her beg, making her submit with her whole fucking soul.

And after that?

I fixed my cufflinks and pushed the thought aside.

She halted her twirl, her eyes searching mine. “Please, sir, I hope I look good enough.”

“You look fine,” I told her, then stepped close enough to push some hair back behind her ear. “Fine is bullshit, little girl. You look beautiful.”

Her eyes widened.

Beautiful. I registered I’d used the extravagant term too late to change it. My eyes burned hard back at hers as I faced the inevitable.