Tricked

“I don’t mind if you scream or cry… It gets me off.”

Callie gritted her teeth in fury. She wasn’t so stupid as to try to pull away from him. She believed his threats. But no fucking way was she going to give him the satisfaction or the twisted pleasure of hearing her beg or cry.

She willed her tense body to relax. She managed another breath, this one deeper and more centering. As she slowly released the air from her lungs, her anal muscles loosened to accept and accommodate the large, hard shaft moving inside her. She drew in another breath and let it out, the worst of her panic subsiding.

She’d never minded anal sex—consensual anal sex. But the few times she’d done it, it had been accompanied by plenty of wine and maybe a little weed beforehand, with someone she actually wanted to be with.

Focus on the positive, she ordered herself. On the things you can control.

Okay. First off, she was still alive. If he’d been planning to murder her, he’d have done it by now, surely? And he wouldn’t have bothered with lube. The drugs were wearing off and she was feeling less muddled and confused. She might not see a way out yet, but she wasn’t giving up. She had no intention of passively accepting her situation, however hopeless it might seem at the moment.

She needed to lull the bastard into thinking he’d won. If he wanted to turn her into a zombie sex slave, that’s what she’d be—on the surface. But she’d keep her spirit alive, no matter what. And she’d find a way out. She just needed to keep her eyes and ears open.

Damon jerked her back to the moment with an especially brutal thrust. In spite of her promise to herself to remain quiet, she couldn’t bite back a startled yip of pain.

Behind her, Damon snaked one arm around her body. He cupped her cunt and rubbed her clit with fingers still gooey with lube. As when his mouth had been on her, in spite of her fear and rage, the touch sent a ripple of pleasure radiating from her core.

She clung to the sensation, focusing on his skillful fingers, instead of his grunting thrusts behind her. As her pleasure mounted, he moved more urgently behind her. His cock was buried so deep inside her that she could feel his pubic bone bang against her. All the while, his fingers continued their delicate, sensual dance.

As impossible as it seemed, she was going to come again. Her body responded to his touch like an instrument in the hands of a skilled musician, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Again, why not take pleasure where she could find it? When he slipped a thick finger inside her, his palm now rubbing perfectly against her clit, his cock filling her completely, she knew it was a matter of seconds before she lost control.

All at once, his warning words came back to her. “A slave girl never comes without first asking permission.”

Gasping for breath, she managed, “Please, may I come?”

His hand fell abruptly away from her throbbing sex. “No,” he panted, thrusting like a jackhammer inside her. “You may not, you filthy slut.” He gave a strangled, feral cry and one last, especially savage thrust. His body convulsed in a series of spasms as he came deep inside her.

They fell forward, his weight atop her causing her to collapse against the couch. His cock was still buried inside her. She could feel his heart, beating fast and hard against her back. She lay as still and silent as a trapped animal beneath him.

Eventually, he lifted away from her. He gave her a hard push, which sent her tumbling from the couch to the carpet. “Well?” he demanded, maneuvering himself into a sitting position. He prodded her with his foot. “I’m waiting.”

Hatred rose in Callie’s throat like a bubbling, corrosive acid. She swallowed it down and tried to wipe the rage from her features. Let him think she’d given up. Somehow, she would manipulate him into lowering his guard. She would beat him at his own game.

Getting herself to her knees, she lowered her head and forced herself to kiss the top of his bare foot. “Thank you, Sir,” she managed, though she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

He patted her head. “You’re welcome, puppy dog.”Chapter 7Puppy dog.

Damon quite liked the sound of that. Why shouldn’t Callie be his little pet?

He’d never had a dog growing up, though he’d longed for one. There had been that little stray he’d found when he was nine—a sweet, scruffy pup he’d named Squirt. He’d managed to keep her hidden in his bedroom for an entire weekend.

Looking back, of course it had been an unsustainable plan. Back then he had still been foolishly optimistic that he’d find a way, despite his father’s refusal to allow furry pets in the house, to convince his parents to let him keep her.