by Loki Renard
“If you had been polite, I wouldn’t be doing this,” he informs me. “I would have still taken you regardless, but I would have made it pleasurable. You’re the reason this is happening to you, Casey.”
I know he’s an asshole. I know I haven’t done anything, not really. Swearing is nothing compared to what he’s doing to me. Taking over my goddamn life. But there’s some part of me that’s buying into this. Feeling bad, somehow, for daring to be rude to the man holding me captive.
He’s in control. I can’t deny that. I might hate it, but it’s what I’m stuck with. There’s some part of my animal brain that understands. That part wants me to apologize. But fuck that.
“You’re mine now, Casey. I own you. I will do with you as I please. And that includes whipping your insolent little ass when you need it.”
His words make my head spin.
“This is illegal!” I protest.
“At a certain point, constructs like legal and illegal cease to really exist,” he says, pausing for a moment to let that arrogance sink in, along with the burn of his belt.
“That’s what criminals say,” I mumble against the table. The officers are still holding me down, so I can’t move at all. They should be ashamed of themselves, but it’s me who is feeling the shame. I’m exposed and sore. I’m at the mercy of these men, as women have been from the beginning of time.
Ethan leans over me. I hear his voice coming from somewhere just above the back of my head. “The law is made to keep the populace in line and avoid chaos. It was never intended to hamper the powerful.”
He drops a kiss on the back of my head, an unexpected little moment of affection tainted by his words.
I know he’s right. There’s no doubt about it. Everybody knows the rules are different for the rich than for the poor, but hearing it stated so boldly is jarring. Like everything about him. Ethan has never been hemmed in by shoulds and supposed to’s. He breaks rules. And he breaks people.
I let out a sob as he whacks me again, that leather biting harshly, proving the point.
“Fuck,” I gasp, no longer swearing at him, just… swearing to swear.
“You need your mouth washed out,” he says in that dark, droll tone. “Such a bad little girl.”
“I’m not little.”
“Oh, yes, you are,” he says. “In so many ways.”
The belt lands again. It snaps harder against my punished cheeks after a short break. I was becoming somewhat acclimated to the pain, but he took that from me. I let out a hiss and I try to squirm my hips away from it, but I can’t. He’s made me a public spectacle with these two silent cops. There is no modesty anymore. There’s only pain and exposure and embarrassment.
One more time the leather meets my ass, a hot flash across already heated skin. I can’t take this and stay stoic anymore. I let out a yelping cry and bury my face against the table with a sob.
“Starting to learn, Casey?”
I’m not learning anything that I didn’t already know. Ethan is brilliant, brutal, and twisted. He’s prepared to do whatever it takes to get what he wants. He does not lose. Not under any circumstances.
“Yes,” I grind the word out, not wanting to admit that he’s winning, but unable to resist him. I’m afraid of what he’ll do next if this doesn’t work. Because I’m sure he’d do absolutely anything to bring me to heel. He’s already made that clear by having me brought here, having the police themselves participate in this demonstration of control.
“Good.” I hear the satisfaction in his voice. It’s deep and resonant, comes from his core. This is a man who eat, sleeps, and breathes dominance.
The belt doesn’t land again after that. I take a deep, shuddering breath. The pain is sinking through my ass, burning on its own without fresh application of the belt. I’m still being held in place though, those strong, corrupt hands keeping me down.
There’s a sudden silence. And then his hand drifts lightly over the skin he just punished. His fingers rub over the welts that have been left in the belt’s wake. His touch is familiar, and more soothing than it should be.
“I’ve seen your browser history,” he murmurs in my ear. “I know what kind of videos you watch, Casey. I even know the one you watch the most.”
His voice sends a tremor through me. I’m not sure which one I watch the most, but I know the ones I search for aren’t in a generic romantic vein. They’re… oh, fuck.
As I come to the realization of just how much he knows, his fingers are finding my pussy, parting my lower lips and finding the little hole at the core of me. I should be dry and tight. The moment he touches me there, I feel how wet I am. The pain of the belt distracted me entirely from my reaction, but now there’s no doubt that I am soaked. So wet that he slides a finger casually inside me without almost any resistance at all. I’m being fingered in a police station. A billionaire is exploring my pussy and there’s nothing I can do about it—worse, there’s nothing I want to do about it. After all the pain, the pleasure is intensified. The fact that this is done so casually makes it worse and hotter at the same time. Ethan is no nervous nerd fumbling around my pussy. He’s in total control of me, and my cunt, and he’s making sure I know it.
“I got the idea for the belt from it,” he says, pushing his fingers in even deeper. “Underneath this innocent exterior you like to project, you’re a different kind of creature, aren’t you, Casey.”
I make a little whimpering sound. What can I say to that? He’s right, of course. He’s made sure that he’s right. He doesn’t know me at all, but he knows all the facts he needs to know. He has the data. And in this world, information is king. Even when it comes to lying over a table with my pussy spread around the digits of a man I loathe.
“You’re wet, Casey.” He makes the observation as his fingers twist inside my soaked hole. “You needed that belting, didn’t you. Needed to feel some real discipline.”
“No…” I moan.
“Yes,” he replies. “You absolutely do. I’ve seen enough of your life to know what you’re like. You’re rude, and you’re impulsive, and you’re independent because you can’t be trusted to work to anyone else’s standards. You need someone like me to keep you in line whether you like it or not. You’re going to do well with me, Casey.”
As he speaks, he slides his fingers in and out of me with a casual stroke. My pussy is gripping his fingers, trying to draw them in. It’s been months since I last got laid and he’s awakened something in me I usually try to forget about and deny.
I don’t want to want to be dominated. Especially not by him. But he is breaking down my defenses. He is making me want everything I don’t want to want.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you next, Casey?” His voice is rich and powerful as he purrs the question.
“What?” The word escapes me in a gasp.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says. “Because that’s what you need. Your ass is red, your pussy is dripping wet, and you want this.”
“I don’t!” My denial is not convincing, even to my ears.
“Let her go, boys.”
The cops let go of me. I could stand up if I wanted. But I don’t. I stay there with my ass arched, his finger toying lightly with my clit. I stay right where he wants me. Right where he put me. I stay with my legs spread, my pussy exposed, and I stay even when he pulls his fingers free of me and I feel the thick, bare head of his cock pressing between my lower lips, opening my pussy up.
“You’re being a good girl,” he croons gently as he surges slowly forward. “Keep this up and you might even earn an orgasm.”
“Oooooo…” I gasp what might have been a refusal, but is a low cry of pure desire as my inner walls are parted by his thick cock. Ethan Keller is well endowed. His hardness plunges slowly inside me, making me feel every inch of him.
I can barely believe this is happening, but it is happening. I am being fucked by Ethan Keller. His cock is splitting me open, finding the deep, hot, wet parts of my body.
I am tight, and he is large, but he works his cock into me with surprising gentleness. His hands slide over my hips and run up my back. He finds the hair at the very base of my head and takes a handful of it.
“Good girl,” he praises again, urging his cock nice and deep inside me.
I am being fucked by Ethan Keller, and I like it. My wet walls grip him tightly. He knows how to fuck. He’s not jabbing at me, or rutting like a mad jackhammer. He knows how to roll his hips to make his cock find every part of my pussy, how to push all the way in and hold himself there and let my pussy work against him because I can’t stand to be still with his hot, thick rod inside me.
In minutes, he takes me from whimpering denial to outright orgasmic moaning, my hips rolling, my back arching so my hips are higher, letting his cock go even deeper inside me.
“You haven’t been fucked properly before, have you,” he purrs softly. “Poor thing. No wonder you’ve got such an attitude.”
His words remind me what’s happening. Remind me that I hate him.
“Fuck you.”
“No, fuck you,” he growls.
He pulls partway out of me and then slides forward in a powerful surge. Now he is fucking me hard, using my hair like reins as he jerks my body back on his dick. He is using me and I am screaming with pleasure, my legs spreading wider to let him slam into my pussy and against my ass.
Ethan rides me long and hard, fucking me with pure abandon, his cock jack-hammering inside my pussy. He’s right. I have never been fucked like this before. The table is bolted to the floor beneath me, but it is banging against its bolts, loosening with every rough thrust.
I come. I come with his cock deep inside me. I come with his hand curled around my hip, his fingers strumming the bud of my clit until I scream. And still he keeps fucking me, the flat, hard plane of his stomach slapping against my punished ass as he pushes me through that first climax and right into another, his fingers rubbing the little button between my legs so roughly I wail and writhe, my legs trying to close until he kicks them wide and plunges deeper. I am going to take his cock as he wants me to. My pussy is getting more and more tender, becoming fatigued, but I’m slick with juices and he is still fucking me. The room is full of grunts and moans, the slap slap slap of each and every thrust going deep inside my cunt.
And then he comes. Inside me. I was expecting him to pull out, but he slams himself in as deep as he can go and holds himself there, pinning me against the table as his semen pumps inside my fucked pussy. And I come again, not because of the stimulation. Not because he’s rubbing my clit, or fucking my pussy, but because he just came inside me. Because I know his seed is deep inside me. He used me as a vessel for his cum. He used my cunt for his pleasure. And he made me feel it too, all the way to the very end.
I am trembling with orgasm as he pulls out, thick wads of cum slipping from my open pussy and rolling down over my clit before falling to the faded linoleum below.
I feel dirty. I feel used. I feel amazing.
He picks me up from the table, his hand still in my hair, guiding the rest of my body with his other hand.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says, speaking to me in calm, assertive tones. “We’re going to walk out of here and I’m going to take you home. Now be a good girl and pull your jeans back up. We don’t want the whole police station to see your messy pussy, do we?”
My face burns red as he releases my hair. I dip down to pull my jeans and panties back up, but I’ve momentarily forgotten how hard he whipped my ass with that belt. I remember quickly as the rough fabric touches my ass, and jump forward a half step, threatening to fall off balance entirely until he catches me and steadies me on my feet.
“Careful.” He smiles down at me.
For a moment, I am caught in the pale blue steel of his eyes. Helpless, I stare at him and I find a thousand wonderings sparking in my mind. What would it be like to be actually loved by a man like this? What would it be like if that sex had meant something to him? How would it feel to just let myself be his?
These are all very dangerous questions, and I quickly push them aside.
I’m sore. I’m embarrassed. But the enemy is no longer entirely outside me. It’s not just Ethan I have to fight. It’s whatever part of me let him do all that to me—and enjoyed it.
Chapter Two
Ethan
I am playing a very dangerous game. But those are the only games worth playing.
This young woman squirming in front of me is a prize unlike any other I have ever won. When I first received her message, I planned to pay her off. It’s usually a simple enough matter. Seven figures, an NDA, and we’re done.
But Casey is different. She has principles. She’s managed to escape her early twenties with her ideals intact. That’s rare. Most people have sold out so hard by her age, been pounded by the realities of life to the point they’ll take money for practically anything. Or maybe it just happens that I travel in circles of the particularly venal. At any rate, she is a curiosity and a rarity.
There’s something about her, an innocence I can’t help but want to defile. She’s arrogant too, so sure of herself even though she really has no reason to be. I’m sure she’d be horrified if I were to tell her that I see a little of myself in her.
I’d have told me to go fuck myself. I would have extorted me for millions too, which she didn’t do. She doesn’t want money. She just wanted me to do the right thing. It’s a sweet idea, but there are a whole lot of reasons why men like me can’t afford to do the ‘right’ thing.
I couldn’t have lied to her. She’s too smart for that. What she found has been in plain sight for well over a year. Nobody else has detected it, because it’s not obvious. You have to be a certain kind of smart to work out what the various nodes do and how they can interact. She deduced our system without ever seeing the back end. It’s the equivalent of knowing what a jigsaw puzzle looks like from three pieces.
This is one smart woman. And smart people are dangerous, especially if they have principles—especially to themselves.
And she’s beautiful. I am used to attractive women. I employ dozens of them. My world is full of models and other alluring creatures, but Casey is different from most of them. I’m sure she’s noticed that she’s appealing to the male gaze, but she hasn’t traded on it. I’d even go so far as to say her clothing is a brazen attempt to hide how attractive she is.
She has long dark hair, eyes so brown I could lose myself in them. There’s a lot hidden in this rebellious gaze of hers. Her mouth is kissable, red and pouting, not from cosmetics, but from being fucked good and long and hard. Her skin is a beautiful caramel tone, little freckles dotting her nose and her cheeks.
She smells like me. Because her pussy is dripping with me. Usually, once I have a woman, I lose interest. This doesn’t make me a good man, but that’s because I’m not a good man. Or a nice one. I’m a ruthless fucking bastard, and this woman has a light that even a cunt full of cum doesn’t dull.
Her desire was a surprise. I didn’t expect her to want me sexually. After our meeting in my office, I reckoned that she was too ideologically opposed to me to ever muster desire. But I was wrong about that. She wants me even more than the gold diggers do.
I knew from her search history that she had a fascination with kink, but that alone does not a submissive make. When my belt landed, she blossomed. She arched her hips and she presented that ass to be punished. I don’t think she knew she was doing it, but I think the officers were superfluous. I think I could have her present herself to me for whatever I liked and she would do it, because beneath that whip-smart, smart-mouthed shell, she’s a wildcat waiting to be tamed.
I drop a kiss on her mouth. Hard. Punishing. Deep.
She melts against me, her hands going to my chest, not to push away, but to draw down the length of my midsection. She likes what she feels. Poor thing is trapped by her biology. I’m everything her flesh is designed to want, but I’m also everything she
hates.
This is not going to be easy for either of us. Good.
Chapter Three
Casey
I have never been so ashamed of myself in all my life. What I just did, and how I just did it… it was lewd and filthy. It was beneath me. It was shameful. It was… so hot I can’t even bear to admit it to myself. There are some things a woman just shouldn’t enjoy, and being roughly fucked by a maniac who thinks his bank account entitles him to her body is one of them. I know better than this. I went to Ethan Keller because I thought I could convince him to do good. Instead he made me bad, the very worst version of myself.
My mind whirls as I recount his many sins. He had me taken off the street. He made me fear for my freedom and my life. He took his belt to my bare ass. He humiliated me. Hurt me. Punished me to the point I could barely take it—and then he fucked me. And I wanted it.
I wanted him to dominate me thoroughly, drive all my perfect little good girl thoughts out of my head and turn me into a screaming whore. I came more than once, after he had me held down and he beat me, after he told me he would take me as his own. My pussy clenched his cock with so much wanton fire, I could feel the effort it took for him to drag it out of me after each thrust. My body was a traitor to every ideal I’ve ever had, and it loved every minute of what Ethan Keller did to me.
“Come on, Casey,” he says casually, his hand resting lightly on my elbow as he walks me out of the station in his custody.
Nobody really looks at us. There’s far too much else going on. People being brought in on various charges, people waiting for service. Nobody notices me. Nobody cares.
As a demonstration of sheer power, this is one of the more striking demonstrations he could have given me. I’m in a police station, the very heart of law and order. This is the one place I should be able to ask for help, but I know they won’t help me.
There’s a car waiting for us outside. There’s a driver in the front. Ethan strikes me as the sort of man who would take control and drive himself, but he’s obviously got something else to control tonight. Me.