My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 8 Questions by Marita A. Hansen Page A

“Now, that’s what I call
payment. That’s one pretty impressive bulge you got there. I love cock. I totally
want to see yours, but I won’t.” She exhaled. “I’m not like that.
Still, you are totally my type. Okay, all guys are my type, the hot
ones anyway, but you … you’re every woman’s wet dream.”
    She brushed my hair back, jabbering on
about my looks. I wanted to tell her to stop touching me. No, I
didn’t just want to tell her, I wanted to yell at her to get her
grimy, stalker hands off me. I didn’t know why everyone had the
fucking need to touch me as though they had a God given right.
First that freak priest, followed by all those needy fucking women,
then that repulsive bastard Alberto, and now this female, whoever
the hell she was. I just wanted to tell them to all fuck off, that
it was my body, not theirs.
    “ Well, sleep
tight ,
handsome,” she said, giving me a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see
you in the morning when you’re awake.”
    A blanket was pulled over
me, followed
by her footsteps receding. I lay there, my mind fuming, no, fucking
seething. All the things I could do to her ran through my mind,
because I wasn’t going to let her get away with touching me. No one
was ever going to use me again. And anyone who had hurt me—was going
to fucking pay.
    ***
    The weight of a body pushed down on me,
the feel of breasts against my chest making me open my eyes. I
blinked, not sure if I was hallucinating, because a
seventeen-year-old Sophia was lying on top of me. I had wanted her
so much in my youth, but now, as she writhed against my body, I
felt nothing for her. She was naked, yet my cock was completely
soft, not even a twitch for the first and only girl I had fallen in
love with. I didn’t understand it, because I still loved her, and
wanted to get her back from the Black Russian.
    She continued rubbing on me,
using me for her own pleasure, which she wouldn’t have done,
especially since she’d turned my sexual advances down. My gaze
moved to my
body. It was skinny, like I had been at sixteen. Now even more
confused, I looked back up at Sophia, but instead saw Rita. Her
long dyed-brown hair was hanging over me like a curtain, the
softness brushing my cheeks. As with Sophia, I didn’t feel a thing,
no attraction, just a sense of nostalgia, which was strange
considering I had only recently met her.
    She lowered her mouth to my
neck, mumbling, “I love your cock.” The words didn’t belong to her, the
voice sounding unfamiliar. No, I did recognize it. It belonged to
the woman who’d cleaned my back. She kissed me, then moved down my
body. I couldn’t see her face, everything becoming a blur. She
removed my briefs and put my cock inside her mouth, making me yell
out for her to stop.
    She pulled
back , the
face now staring back at me belonging to Honey. Her blonde hair was
messy and her curvaceous body was naked. She took a hold of my cock
and penetrated her pussy with it, making me want to push her away,
but instead I cupped her breasts. My mind screamed at me to stop,
but my hands refused to obey. She bent down to kiss me. I closed my
eyes, not wanting to see her face, nor be inside of her. It felt
wrong, like with every woman I’d ever slept with. It wasn’t as
though I wasn’t attracted to them or didn’t feel pleasure: I did.
Instead, it was the guilt that followed which ruined everything. It
made me feel dirty as though I was using them the same way
the Padre and Alberto had used me.
    Honey’s kisses grew rougher,
devouring my mouth. I opened my eyes, jerking back in shock at the
sight of Alberto on top of me. I no longer had my cock inside of
Honey, but the brute was inside of me. He muttered words of love
against my lips. Horrified, I hit out at him, desperate to get him
off me.
    He grabbed my
throat .
“Stop fighting me!” he barked.
    Unable to breathe, I clawed at his
powerful arms, feeling worthless and weak against him. He loosened
his grip a little, then pulled