by Hannah Ford
The effect leaves her on her hands and knees, her wrists bound to her ankles, the rope short enough that it forces her ass to stay in the air and her legs to be spread.
I walk behind her.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” I whisper, so soft that I’m sure she has to strain to hear me.
I’m not sure if she does hear me or if she just chooses not to respond.
I take the anal plug and rub it over the cheek of her ass, then pull her panties to the side, ripping them in the process.
I slap her ass as hard as I can, and she cries out. Her sounds excite me.
“You think you love me?” I demand.
“Yes,” she says.
I slap her again, harder. “You love this? A man who does this to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
I place the plug at the opening of her pussy, wetting it with her own juices, using them to lubricate it.
I place the plug at the opening of her ass, and I feel her tense beneath me. “I’m going to push this inside your ass,” I growl. “And then I’m going to fuck your pussy with my cock.”
Her breathing is heavy now, and I reach down and unhook her bra, her tits dropping, her nipples hard and peaked. The constraints I’ve put her in make it impossible for me to completely remove her bra, so instead I rip the straps until they tear.
She gasps at the violence of the movement.
“If you make a sound,” I growl, tossing the torn fabric onto the floor, “or if you try to move as I push this inside of you, I will take it out and use my cock on your ass instead. And trust me, Ms. Bennett, you do not want that.”
Her whole body stills.
I remove the rest of my clothes, wanting to be ready for her pussy once she gets used to the anal plug.
I take a moment to take in her body, on her hands and knees, so trusting of me, so submissive. Her curves are endless, her breasts full and pert, her hips thick and sensual.
I push the plug inside of her virgin ass, hard, in one smooth movement.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound.
Just as I told her.
I don’t wait.
Instead, I plunge my cock into her, her pussy forced open by the violence of the movement.
She whimpers, so softly I can barely hear it.
But this isn’t about being soft or slow. This is about showing her that I am not who she should love.
“Do you still want to be with me now?” I grind out as I fuck her, hard.
“Yes,” she whimpers. “Yes, Elijah.”
I close my eyes and fist her hair, pounding her pussy, harder and harder, destroying her. Her cunt is tight but wet, and I know it’s only that she’s so turned on that’s making this even bearable for her.
I fuck her hard until she comes without warning, her pussy pulling me inside of her, milking my cock. The feel of it so snug around me, the contractions of her walls, knowing that she’s being fucked in both holes thanks to the plug, makes me come, too, exploding inside of her pussy.
When we ‘ve both stilled, the two of us gasping for breath, I pull the plug out of her and take her into my arms, gathering her up and carrying her to my bedroom.
There, we shower together, my hands roaming her body as I lather and wash her, wrap her in a towel. And then finally, when she’s warm and dry, I bring her to my bed.
Chapter 6
ABIGAIL
After, when he’s holding me in bed, I wiggle around until I’m facing him in the darkness.
His hair is still damp from the shower, his skin warm. He smells of shampoo and Elijah.
When he speaks, his voice is tinged with regret. “Abigail. What we did in there…I couldn’t…”
“Shh.” I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. “What we did in that room, Elijah, it’s not… “ I take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word it. “This thing between us, it doesn’t have to be one way or the other. The fact that you want to dominate me doesn’t mean that we can’t also be close.”
His eyes are dark and hooded, and I can almost see the fear reflected in his eyes at the words I’m saying – but I know it’s because he wants them to be true.
“I’m fucked up. I’m so fucked up, Abigail.”
I shake my head. “No. You’re responding to a trauma.” I swallow. “I guess I’m doing the same thing, by… by being with you.”
“You should be with a man who can give you what you need.”
“You can give me what I need.”
“I’m not capable.”
“You are.” My fingertips trace the outline of his bicep, his body so strong, honed by hours of lifting and working out in the gym. I shiver as his arms wrap around my waist, his lips pressing against the hollow of my neck.
“I am bad for you,” he says gruffly.
“Or maybe we’re good for each other,” I say. “Maybe we’re exactly what each other needs.”
He pushes my hair behind my ear, his eyes meeting mine. And in that moment, we don’t have to speak. We don’t have to say anything. The emotions swell around us, taking us over like a storm until it feels like it’s enveloped the entire room.
“What happened to your dad,” I say finally, “and what’s happening with him now? It’s not your fault.”
His body stills, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s about to get up, to walk out of the room, or kick me out and tell me to never come back.
But then he pulls me even closer and whispers in my ear. “I love you, too.”
I wake at 6 am. It’s still dark outside, and the room feels cold.
Elijah is gone, his side of the bed empty.
I’m disoriented, trying to figure out what’s going on, if he’s gone to work already or if he’s downstairs.
My phone rings, and I expect it to be him.
Who else would be calling me at 6 am?
But when I answer, there’s a pause, then a click. Then a familiar recording comes through the speaker. “You have a call from an inmate in a New York State correctional facility,” the monotone voice says.
My mother hasn’t called me in over six months, but that recording always gives me the same physical reaction – my stomach churns, my pulse kicks up.
I press one to accept the call.
My mouth is so dry that I can’t speak.
“Abigail!” my mother’s voice is excited, happy, almost exuberant. “I have great news!”
The End of Part Six
Look For Part Seven, Coming Soon!
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