He made me claustrophobic and prickly.
I want to run!
But then, everything else faded as the tip of my finger entered me.
Stop!
I deplored it.
I loathed it.
I…hated, hated, hated it.
My finger was so slim and small compared to what normally brutalised me. My nail was sharp as it slid inside me with the aid of Mr. Prest’s domination. My body stretched to accommodate the skinny digit and the strangest sensation of feeling myself made me shiver with wrongness.
I’d never touched anything so weird in all my life.
I wanted it over.
Now!
“Does it feel strange?” Mr. Prest angled my hand, pushing deeper.
My face contorted as the pad of my finger found an odd ridge inside me—something not quite as flexible or as warm as the rest.
Was it a scar from the mistreatment I’d endured? An injury that would never fully heal? Whatever it was vanished in importance as he forced me to sink further.
His deep voice rumbled from his chest to mine. “Do you like it?”
Like it?
No, I don’t like it.
I suffered guilt and shame and confusion.
He chuckled softly. “You’ll grow to like it…just wait and see.”
I doubt it.
He laughed again, his wrist shifting to capture my first finger and dip inside me, too. This time, the pressure and stretching was greater. However, two of my fingers were still far narrower than Master A’s cock.
I turned rigid as Mr. Prest’s hot breath fluttered my hair, his erection jamming against my hip. “You need to come, Pim. I need to give you that so I’ve paid in some small measure for the things I’ll take from you.”
No way.
No chance.
Mentally, physically, spiritually, there was no way I could do it.
Come?
Ha!
I didn’t buy into such elusive make-believe. No way could I switch off my self-preservation, give into someone so completely, and trust that they wouldn’t hurt me at the pinnacle of my surrender.
He was a damn comedian if he believed I could do such a thing.
Let me go!
I squirmed, glaring into his black gaze.
Leave me the hell alone!
“Close your eyes.”
Fuck you.
He cocked an eyebrow when I disobeyed him, keeping my gaze wide.
“You want to watch?” He added more pressure, pulling my arm downward so my fingers disappeared entirely inside me. “I can get a mirror if you’d like? Talk you through it. Show you what your naughty hand is doing.”
I desperately wanted to shake my head—in case he thought my silence was a request for such revolting things. But he just chuckled at my discomfort and pulled my fingers free. “Let’s see if you hate this as much.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, he glided my touch upward until it brushed the one part of me that’d shed its protecting numbness and flared with foreign feeling.
My clit.
The moment my fingers slipped over the hard bud, I jolted.
His smile was hell itself. “Ah, there you are, little mouse. Slowly coming alive.”
Once again, the name ‘mouse’ tightened my muscles, revoking everything that I’d lived through. Any other name I could tolerate. Any other rodent noun or whore’s address—even a dreaded verb would be better.
But mouse?
How could he use that?
How dare he use something that meant so much to me?
Gritting my teeth, I shoved aside the memories doing their best to rise. I hadn’t let myself think about him in years. It was too damn hard. My mother wasn’t often in my thoughts, but at least she was still alive and blissfully unaware what had become of her daughter.
My father, on the other hand, was dead.
He was in heaven watching me from above, mourning my circumstances and seeing every foul activity I was made to do.
Horror and self-pity sat so heavy, I couldn’t breathe. I fought to sit up, to remove my hand from Mr. Prest’s hold and unlock my leg from beneath his.
I needed space.
I needed to block certain memories before they drove me mad.
But he didn’t let me go. His thigh merely tightened, his fingers forcing mine to swirl around my clit. “You hate that even more than when I call you girl.” His mouth moved, but his voice was soundless as a breath, almost apologetic while coaxing my secrets. “Tell me why.”
How when I refuse to speak?
Why when I don’t know you?
Never because you don’t deserve to know.
I hated how handsome he was reclining beside me, stealing my freedom with the artistry of his exposed torso and tattoo. His raven hair matched the opaque lines of the cavernous cavity where his organs ought to be, his lips so damn intoxicating.
But beauty did not hide a beast, and I wouldn’t be fooled.
I was done with this.
“Close your eyes, Pim. It’s much easier to let go when you’re—”
I bucked, breaking his sentence, determined to remove his control.
I refused to do what he ordered—not when I didn’t trust him.
Wait, you don’t trust Master A, but you obey.
That was true, but I knew what would happen if I didn’t. I was smart enough to choose the least painful journey. With Mr. Prest, I didn’t know what he would do in retaliation.