She’s still stiff. Unable to believe me.
That’s not a good sign. I wouldn’t call myself a dom or anything. I’m not really into this BDSM shit. I know just enough to have fun every once in a while. I’ve never actually tried to train someone to submit. It was always just a quick game. Little bondage, little spanking, then I come and forget about it.
But that’s not what this is now.
I could probably fuck her up worse than she is if I make the wrong move. But if I’m careful with her, if I’m fair with her, if I can earn her trust and then not blow it by going back on my word… well, I think we’ll be OK.
I don’t really know what her stepfather expects me to do. When we were in the office just before he left I questioned him about that directive to break her.
Break her.
I don’t want to break her.
He stammered and stuttered and then changed the wording to tame her. Calm her down. Make her sensible. But he still meant break her.
Break her of this wild thing living inside her mind. Make her want to be married.
So OK. I take that to mean he wants her to be polite. And respectful to others. And realize her self-worth. Which, come on, wasn’t that his job? Didn’t he teach her those things? He’s her fucking stepfather.
What he really wants me to do is parent her.
Which is weird because I’m doing it with sex. She’s motivated by it. That’s really all I know about her. If I knew what else motivated her, I’d try that.
Maybe.
I stop playing tickle with her feet and drag my fingers back up to her thigh. She clenches her ass cheeks together when I do that. Which tells me she likes it and it’s probably turning her on.
It’s wrong. I know that. I don’t really have a name for what I’m doing, I just know it’s wrong. I might just be some dumb bounty hunter. Some guy who takes jobs that involve kidnapping rebellious corporate princesses. But it’s almost an honest living. My mother taught me right from wrong. I don’t kill people, for fuck’s sake. Up until this job, everyone I’ve hunted down was a criminal who jumped bail.
Legitimate, all of them
But this one… isn’t. She’s not a kid, for one thing. Her stepfather has no real right to make her endure this. But I have to do what I have to do to give my mother another chance at life.
I trace one of the bright-red welts on her ass. This makes her hiss in pain. But I don’t do anything other than that. Just trace the outline so that she knows I know what I did to her.
My other hand drops to her hair and I pull it away from her face so I can see her cheek. I really did mean it when I said she didn’t need makeup. She’s very young and very pretty. She opens one eye to look at me and I smile at her.
She doesn’t smile back.
“You OK?” I ask.
She shakes her head no.
“You wanna talk about it?”
She shakes her head no again.
“Do you want me to make you feel better?”
She bites her lip and then nods yes.
My fingers trace a line between her legs and then push their way past the skin of her pressed-together thighs until I find her pussy.
She’s not wet so I go slow.
“Like that?” I ask her. “Because you can tell me no if you don’t want me to.”
She nods yes, then closes her eyes.
I continue playing with her. Pushing one finger in and out of her pussy until she begins to get wet.
One deep breath in, then out, and her body relaxes a little.
Something is wrong with this girl. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.
I’ve had my share of wild ones. And they are all a little fucked up. So that’s not so unusual. But she’s… damaged. Maybe badly damaged. The way her voice shook when she told me not to hit her with the belt. That was real fear.
It bothers me because she’s gone to a lot of trouble to cultivate this wild thing persona. She likes it. She likes being unpredictable and tough. But it’s an act, isn’t it?
“Should I make you come, Lyssa?” I ask.
Because I now know she uses sex to deflect. And she’s faced enough truth today to earn her default defense mechanism.
“Yes,” she mumbles.
“OK,” I say. But I just continue what I’m doing. Slowly pushing my finger in and out. She earned it. She earned a nice, long, quiet morning of undivided attention.
When she’s so wet my finger slides in and out with ease, I drag that wetness down her leg again. Stopping to make little designs in the dent behind her knee.