Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Maybe I’ve been starved for touch longer than two months. Maybe it’s been much, much longer…
I should be walling myself off to him. But in the darkness, as warm cloth after warm cloth massages my body so delicately, I’m half delirious with the intimacy of human contact.
And then, as if seeing my defenses weakening, the relentless fucker leans over and starts to whisper in my ear, “You’re such a good, good girl. See how good it can be between us, my sweet little pet, when you give in to me? I can make it so, so good. I’ll bring you pleasure, and I’ll bring you pain. I’ll make each so sweet for you, pet, you won’t be able to tell one from the other.”
I want to shake my head no even though I strain towards the warmth of his chest against my back. I should scream red and leap off of the bench to scramble away from his drugging voice and touch.
Instead, I fight the urge to whine when I feel his chest move away. Another cloth rubs down my outer hip. Then back around to my buttocks. He doesn’t squeeze or anything. But I can still feel the firm pressure of his hand guiding the cloth.
It disappears and a fresh one begins to slide upwards from my knee to my inner thigh. I suck in a breath, my stomach clenching. What will he do? Something sexual? I bite my bottom lip, and not because I’m tempted to say red. I’m dangerously curious about what he’ll do next.
But he just nudges my legs slightly further apart and washes me… there. Then he pulls the cloth away. He washes my backside just as efficiently. All the breath whooshes out of me when he pulls away and I feel a cold, confusing rush of emotions.
I don’t want him to touch me, do I?
You don’t know what you want, I chide myself furiously. You’re all mixed up. He’s intentionally mixing you up, and you’re falling for it.
It’s probably true. I relax my face into the soft padding of the bench. But why not worry about it another time? The soft buzzy feeling is settling in. God, what if for once, I don’t fight? What if I just enjoy being bathed, and feeling the touch of someone’s hands on me, even if it’s through a warm cloth?
Maybe the win today is stealing the energy of some touch. I’ve so desperately needed to be touched. I’ll let the rest wait for another day. I’m trying to establish trust through obedience for a little while, anyway. So today, it’s all right to give in.
My whole body melts as the warm cloth moves down to my ankles. By the time he’s massaging my feet with his strong hands, I’m drifting in the buzzy place. It feels so good. I’ll just steal this pleasure for myself. It’s so, so, so nice. This luxury of touch still feels wildly unfamiliar, like I haven’t known it for a long, long time.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I went to spas all the time and had foot massages on the regular before I got mugged that night in the alley. Maybe I’m a secret heiress and when I get out of here, I’ll find a huge, globe-trotting family that’s been searching the world for me but just never thought of looking in Dallas, Texas.
I sink further into the bench, warmth suffusing my whole body. In whatever deep, knowing place remains inside me, though, I don’t think that was my story. I don’t think there was ever much touch in my circa twenty-three to twenty-four years of walking this earth. Nothing in any of my now relaxed nerves, at least, says this was ever anything familiar.
“That’s my good girl. Curling up like a little kitten, all but purring, aren’t you?” His warm breath is back in my ear. The scent of fresh mint wafts in my nose. And a delicious cologne. He always smells so good. “Now you’re all fresh and clean. You’ve pleased your owner well, pet.”
“That’s good,” he continues, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ll give you a treat for being such a good, good girl. It’s time for our next bit of training.”
I startle from my sleepy state at his words. A treat? I’m anxious even at the same time I can’t deny the yearning that springs up low in my belly. From the very first night, my body has craved this man.
“Will you tell me who I am?” I ask sleepily.
“You are who you always were, Mads. Now, when I leave, I want you to touch yourself.”
Wait, he wants me to what?
He must feel some reaction in my body because he chuckles low. “That’s right. I’ll be watching. Lie in the middle of the bed, exposing yourself to the camera.”
I swallow hard.