he knows the speculative thoughts tramping through my mind, Trevor looks at me and doesn’t look away.
The limo glides forward for him, backwards for me. I sit there silently; all the inane things I think I will say to him evaporate in the chill of his intense regard.
I feel his stare like a living thing. It slides down from my severe, scraped back hair, across my painted doll’s face, and further down my well-dressed body.
Trevor doesn’t compliment me on my appearance. He merely takes it in, a man surveying his possession and looking to see if it’s maintained its appearance.
Or maybe to see if it still is worthy of being his possession.
Perhaps I’m perverse. Spoiled by male attention, I find his distance arousing. He knows this about me, just as he knows all my little secrets. I tried to keep a wall between us at the beginning. I never wanted him to see how much I needed and loved him, how he dominated my entire being. I couldn’t bear the thought of being so vulnerable.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Trevor picked me apart, finding all the chinks in my armor, and used them against me at one time or another. He’s utterly ruthless that way.
I should hate him. Maybe I do in an impossible world.
Clever Trevor knows exactly how much affection to bestow on me. He knows all my favorite things. He knows what sets me off. He knows what makes me cry.
He knows exactly how much pressure to use when he sucks my clit to make me come immediately.
Trevor is dangerous. I know it, honestly I do. I should stay away from a man who has the power to easily destroy me.
But as I already said—I’m obsessed. I can no more leave Trevor than I can stop breathing. The end game on both is the same. I would exist no more.
Dramatic, isn’t it? It’s in my nature. I am a creature created to exist for drama.
Trevor’s stare lingers on my ruby mouth. I wonder if he imagines it wrapped around his long, thick cock? I know I already do. I like it best when Trevor fists it in his hand while gathering my hair in a loose ponytail with the other. Wrists locked behind my back I am completely vulnerable to his pillage. I can only remain on my knees, jaw relaxed and lips wet as he fucks my mouth to his satisfaction.
I keep my legs crossed at the knee and squeeze my thighs. The pressure only teases my pussy but it will have to do for now. Trevor would never do anything so gauche as to make love to me in his limo or have me make love to him with my mouth.
I suggested it once and suffered the withering effects of his narrowed stare. It was terrible; like Death come to life. I had never known how much I could be reduced to a pleading, babbling mess by one censuring glare. Trevor punished me for the first time that night. Before he had spanked me with his hand and belt but it wasn’t punishment. It was foreplay and a sharing of abundant emotions.
What happened when I angered him that night was anything but foreplay.
Trevor bound me to a padded table and gagged me. He then proceeded to use my holes thoroughly. He didn’t let me come once. Afterwards, I got dressed while crying hysterically, mind awash in the vivid burn of rejection. Trevor sent me off with a slap to the face punctuated by a stern warning, “If you want to act like a whore, be prepared to be treated as one.”
I swore I’d never, ever, ever, ever see Trevor again. He was lucky I didn’t call the police and report him. Hell could freeze over and pigs could fly. No man was worth that kind of humiliation.
Strange thing humiliation.
Do you know what the messy, funny thing about humiliation is? It’s that it can turn into thwarted desire just like that .
During the days following, I began to think of my ordeal with a strange longing. Trevor had reduced me to an object and a significant part of me liked it. Perhaps, liking it isn’t exactly accurate. I was drawn to the memories.
I tossed and turned at night, angry and confused that each time I fingered myself I couldn’t
The limo glides forward for him, backwards for me. I sit there silently; all the inane things I think I will say to him evaporate in the chill of his intense regard.
I feel his stare like a living thing. It slides down from my severe, scraped back hair, across my painted doll’s face, and further down my well-dressed body.
Trevor doesn’t compliment me on my appearance. He merely takes it in, a man surveying his possession and looking to see if it’s maintained its appearance.
Or maybe to see if it still is worthy of being his possession.
Perhaps I’m perverse. Spoiled by male attention, I find his distance arousing. He knows this about me, just as he knows all my little secrets. I tried to keep a wall between us at the beginning. I never wanted him to see how much I needed and loved him, how he dominated my entire being. I couldn’t bear the thought of being so vulnerable.
I didn’t stand a chance.
Trevor picked me apart, finding all the chinks in my armor, and used them against me at one time or another. He’s utterly ruthless that way.
I should hate him. Maybe I do in an impossible world.
Clever Trevor knows exactly how much affection to bestow on me. He knows all my favorite things. He knows what sets me off. He knows what makes me cry.
He knows exactly how much pressure to use when he sucks my clit to make me come immediately.
Trevor is dangerous. I know it, honestly I do. I should stay away from a man who has the power to easily destroy me.
But as I already said—I’m obsessed. I can no more leave Trevor than I can stop breathing. The end game on both is the same. I would exist no more.
Dramatic, isn’t it? It’s in my nature. I am a creature created to exist for drama.
Trevor’s stare lingers on my ruby mouth. I wonder if he imagines it wrapped around his long, thick cock? I know I already do. I like it best when Trevor fists it in his hand while gathering my hair in a loose ponytail with the other. Wrists locked behind my back I am completely vulnerable to his pillage. I can only remain on my knees, jaw relaxed and lips wet as he fucks my mouth to his satisfaction.
I keep my legs crossed at the knee and squeeze my thighs. The pressure only teases my pussy but it will have to do for now. Trevor would never do anything so gauche as to make love to me in his limo or have me make love to him with my mouth.
I suggested it once and suffered the withering effects of his narrowed stare. It was terrible; like Death come to life. I had never known how much I could be reduced to a pleading, babbling mess by one censuring glare. Trevor punished me for the first time that night. Before he had spanked me with his hand and belt but it wasn’t punishment. It was foreplay and a sharing of abundant emotions.
What happened when I angered him that night was anything but foreplay.
Trevor bound me to a padded table and gagged me. He then proceeded to use my holes thoroughly. He didn’t let me come once. Afterwards, I got dressed while crying hysterically, mind awash in the vivid burn of rejection. Trevor sent me off with a slap to the face punctuated by a stern warning, “If you want to act like a whore, be prepared to be treated as one.”
I swore I’d never, ever, ever, ever see Trevor again. He was lucky I didn’t call the police and report him. Hell could freeze over and pigs could fly. No man was worth that kind of humiliation.
Strange thing humiliation.
Do you know what the messy, funny thing about humiliation is? It’s that it can turn into thwarted desire just like that .
During the days following, I began to think of my ordeal with a strange longing. Trevor had reduced me to an object and a significant part of me liked it. Perhaps, liking it isn’t exactly accurate. I was drawn to the memories.
I tossed and turned at night, angry and confused that each time I fingered myself I couldn’t
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