Holes (Wall Street Beasts 1.5)

She hated him almost as much as Christo did, but he understood her reasons. This kind of loathing was justifiable, immediate, and animal. This kind of fear suffused his senses and made him rock fucking hard.

“Take your pants off.”

He gave the order.

“Take all your clothes off.”

He provided no threat, no coercion besides the circumstances and his imposing, dark form looming over her.

She did as she was told, her eyes narrowed with hatred as the tediously pedestrian outer cladding was peeled away to reveal the most beautiful caramel curves he had ever laid eyes on, dark curling hair hiding her secrets for a few moments longer.

“Beautiful,” he complimented her.

To his surprise, she blushed. She wasn’t used to being complimented. Like many young women, she was ashamed of her body. No mindfuck of his could ever compare to the sustained campaign of flesh shaming she had been exposed to all her life.

“I’m not beautiful. I’m fat. Don’t fucking lie to me.”

She was so feisty. He loved it. Even her shame came with fury.

“Wrong,” he intoned harshly. He kneeled down beside her and ran his fingertips down her prone body, sweeping them over the curves of her breasts, watching her nipples tighten and rise to meet his touch. Then he proceeded further down, over the softness of her stomach until he found that dense forest of fur. She took in a gasping breath and held it as he played there, slowly exploring that terrain with a practiced touch.

He had kept her clothed to avoid this temptation. She was only worth something as a virgin. He was trading this commodity here, her physical innocence, her captive beauty.

He found her lips, their softness drawing him in. And at the apex of those lips, he found a little bud hiding. He pinched it lightly and watched her body flush with inescapable reaction.

“Yes. There we go,” he purred. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it. You made me bleed so I would strip you of every bit of dignity and find this little treasure trove of delights…”

“No!” She denied it, but there was no denying the way her hips bucked when he pinched her again, toying with that little clit of hers as she lay there, obediently disobedient, resolutely rebellious, and now flinching as he slapped her pussy with the flat of his hand, feeling the curls of her pubic hair provide just a fraction of resistance.

“I’m going to have to punish you, bad little girl,” he growled. “I’m going to have to make your cunt very sore.”

He slapped her again, listened to the hissed intake of breath, and felt the way her pussy warmed to him. He could smell her already, that desire she couldn’t help spreading in a viscous layer over his palm when he pushed it down over her cunt and held her tight.

Madness was coming over him. Indigo had made so many plans. He had known precisely what he was going to do with her. There was money to be made. More money than any billionaire on the planet had ever seen.

“I’m not sorry!” She shouted her rebellion.

He spanked her harder, his palm landing over her ass and pussy with the most disciplinary strokes he could muster. She was a bad little girl, just the sort of woman he wanted, but she would bend her will to his.

He spanked her until her ass was bright red and her pussy was leaking a clear viscous liquid of desire, her outer lips puffy and swollen with well-thrashed need. Every time his palm landed, he thrilled to the sound of flesh on flesh. And every time she squealed, screamed, and cried, he felt himself throb against her until he gave into the natural impulse to explore her body further.

Her inner lips parted naturally and allowed his finger to sample the hot, slick interior of her pussy. Her body was responding to his ire with all the defenses it possessed, that sweet smell which made him want her more than he wanted anything, that soft alluring display of flowering lips hiding beneath the thicket of hair above.

Maybe he was losing control. Maybe all he had ever wanted was to lose control. Or maybe it was her fault. He spanked her again, pressing one hand above her pubic bone to stretch her naughty pussy as much as possible so her clit and sensitive lips bore the full brunt of his whipping fingers.

She’d attacked him. Injured him. He had every right to make her wail and squirm, her pussy turning pink and then bright red beneath his punishing palm. This was what she deserved. This sexy little brat who refused to be a compliant captive, the first to shed his blood in years.

Daisy

She’d had one shot, and she’d lost. Now he was going to hurt her, maybe badly. She could feel the menace rolling off him even in the midst of his kiss. The romance of this maniac was in his intense possession, his need which would not be moderated by society or legality.