by Sky Corgan
“I didn't bring any workout clothes,” she informs me.
I scowl but shouldn't be surprised. When Amory was delivered to me, she was holding a small duffel bag with all of her possessions. There couldn't have been more than a few outfits inside. I haven't gone through it yet, but I will later.
“Well then, go put on something you can workout in. I'll meet you in the gym in ten minutes. Don't be late or there will be consequences,” I warn her before pushing my chair away from the table to take my leave.
As I sit waiting on the bench in my home gym, I'm almost certain Amory is going to test me by being late. To my surprise, she shows up a minute early. All of my irritation fades away as she walks through the door in nothing but a black bra and some pink shorts that can barely even be called that. They hug her ass like a second skin. And fuck, Pop was right. Her legs do go on for miles. How in the hell am I going to get through this workout when she looks like that? The front of my shorts are already tenting crudely. It's beyond obvious, and I don't give a fuck.
“Alright. Let's start with some cardio.” I try to tear my eyes away from her long enough to get her started on the treadmill.
Her large breasts bounce as I turn up the speed until she's jogging. There's a distinct aching between my legs that won't be ignored. There's no way I'm going to be able to make it through this without putting my hands on her.
I take to the bench and do a few chest presses while I wait for her warm-up to finish. Every time I glance over at her, my dick surges to full attention. She has her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her body is thin and toned. Her tits are fucking huge on her tiny body. And I can see her nipples pushing through the thin material of her bra. Fuck, I can't take any more of this.
“Enough,” I practically growl, angry that I can't control my fucking dick long enough to get through this workout. “On the bench,” I tell her as I hit the big red stop button on the treadmill. I need her on her back. Now.
She follows me over to the bench and lies down like a good girl. There's the faintest hint of sweat on her brow. I hope that moisture made it down to her pussy, because I want to smell her full aroma.
She takes the position as if she knows exactly what she's doing, placing her hands on the barbell even though I haven't changed the weight yet, and I know what I have on there right now weighs more than she does. I'm no longer interested in teaching her how to lift, though. My priorities have shifted dramatically in the short span of time that it took her to get warmed up.
I kneel at the base of the bench, curling my fingers around the waistband of her shorts and underwear. “These shorts,” I curse before pulling them all the way down.
She gasps, looking up at me. There's alarm on her face, but I couldn't fucking care less about it. She's mine, and I'll do whatever I want to to her. Right now, I want to eat her pussy.
I pull the shorts all the way off. To my surprise, she gives no resistance. She simply rests her head back on the bench. Again, I feel a tremor of irritation race through me. There are mirrors on all of the walls of this room, not an inch of them uncovered. There are no mirrors on the ceiling, though. Of course, she has to look at the one place where I can't see her expression clearly.
It doesn't matter. I'm not half as interested in her face as I am in her pretty pink cunt.
“Spread em'.” I tap her on the knee. When she doesn't immediately listen, I grab her thighs and pry them apart. Her pussy lips are disappointingly dry, but the pink petals within glisten with wetness. My mouth waters to taste her.
I use my grip on her legs to lower myself to her. She casts an uncertain glance in my direction before her eyes shoot back up towards the ceiling.
I drag my tongue up her inner thigh, the scent of her sex getting closer and closer. I stop when I reach her V, listening as she sucks in a breath. When I peek over her mound, I scowl. The view could be so much better. “Take your bra off. Let me see those nice big tits of yours.”
Her hands go to work immediately unclasping her bra and pulling it off. The hesitation and resistance from yesterday are gone. She seems more than willing to comply with my demands now. I like that.
“Jesus Christ, you have the most perfect tits.” I stare appreciatively at her plump breasts resting heavily against her chest, her perked nipples pointing up to the ceiling. I can't wait to have my hands all over them, but I need to practice some goddamn restraint. Pleasing women is an art, especially when they fucking hate you.
“Mmm.” I return my focus to her cunt, sliding my hands up to rub my thumbs over her folds. She doesn't shave, but I don't really give a shit. I've never been a snob about pubic hair. Pussy is pussy.
I pull her lower lips apart, exposing all of her pink inner workings. Then I dip my nose down to inhale her scent and my cock throbs as pure heaven fills my nostrils. Amory makes a tiny uncomfortable noise, trying to close her legs, but I bar her from it.
“Nuh uh. Keep them open. I want to see everything,” I whisper against her swollen clit before giving it a gentle kiss.
There's a disturbance in her breathing, but I've heard it enough times from other women to know that it's from pleasure and not fear. I can see the wetness starting to pool at the entrance to her channel too. Despite her loathing of me, she's starting to get really turned on. All of the signs are there. Her perked nipples. Her wet cunt.
“I have to taste you,” I tell her before I lick her from asshole to clit. Her back arches from the bench when I circle her cleft with the tip of my tongue, and I feel it pulse needily. “Oh, you like this more than you would ever admit,” I muse. “I'm going to make you like it even more.”
I plunge my tongue into her, lapping up her juices. Then I circle her clit with my mouth and suck fervently, dancing over the tiny nub with my tongue. My hands slide up her body, and I pinch her nipples, tweaking them between my fingertips. She lets out a very audible moan, her body shivering slightly just seconds before she comes all over my face. Boldly, she writhes beneath me, her cunt pressing tightly against my mouth. I know what she wants, and I refuse to disappoint. I continue to tease her nipple with one hand while the other moves down to rub out the rest of her orgasm. My mouth dips to fuck her with my tongue, drinking her arousal as it leaks into my mouth. By the time the contractions have stopped, she's a panting mess.
I crawl up beside her, sliding my hand behind the back of her neck and twisting it into the leash of hair there. Then I use the leverage to crash my mouth down onto hers. The kiss is deep and wrecking, my tongue demanding entry between her lips so that she can taste herself on me. I half expect her to bite me for being so rough, but she doesn't. Her lips part, inviting me in, and I taste her tongue and teeth and saliva. When I finally pull away, she looks stunned and aroused. There's a sheen of wetness left behind on her lips, and I know exactly what I plan to use it for.
Without letting go of her hair, I stand, forcing her into a sitting position while I pull my cock out of my pants. It's been leaking ever since I put Amory on the treadmill. The tip is shiny with pre-seed. I guide Amory's mouth to my cock, and she opens up like a good girl. I hiss as her full lips close around my shaft and her small pink tongue swipes across my glans. Knowing that she's tasting my cock for the first time has my balls already begging for release. I can't come yet, though. I need to take my time and enjoy this.
I fully expect to have to guide Amory up and down my dick, but to my surprise, she takes the initiative to worship my cock. Her lips form a tight seal around me, her hand coming up to jerk my shaft as she bobs on me, her tongue giving me ample attention. I'm so fucking impressed that I release her hair to let her do her own thing. She pops off of my cock, taking a few moments to drag her tongue down my length before sucking on my balls one at a time.
“Holy fuck.” I tilt my head back, rubbing her shoulder gently. It's like I've fucking died and gone to heaven. Who knew that this girl would be such a good little cock sucker.
My dick throbs as she makes a tiny pleasured moaning noi
se before taking me back into her mouth. The pressure she uses around my cock is so perfect. I'm close. So fucking close. And when I look down at her and see her gazing up at me, that look on her face that I've been dreaming about—pure pleasure—I lose my shit.
Knowing that she'll probably try to retreat, I take hold of her hair again, pushing her down on me as my dick shoots its load down her throat. She gags, momentary panic racing across her face before she gets the memo and starts swallowing. A tear rolls down her cheek from having her face so full of my cock. It's so damn hot that my balls ache from spilling into her.
When I let go of her hair, I expect her to repel away from me. But she surprises me again by licking me clean.
“That's a good girl. Suck my dick clean,” I tell her as I stroke her hair. And for the first time since she's come into my possession, I silently thank my father for bringing her to me.
CHAPTER FIVE
AMORY
“Go buy yourself some clothes today. I don't want to see you in those rags anymore,” Ryder tells me as he hands me a credit card and shoos me out the door.
Big Jeff flanks my side. I was first introduced to him this morning after Ryder told me about the shopping trip he had planned for me. The guy seemed menacing when he came to my parents' store. Now, he's as friendly as he can be, acting like a gentleman by opening doors for me, calling me ma'am, and saying please and thank you instead of bossing me around.
To be honest, I'm not hating this as much as I was sure I would be. Ryder is a little rough around the edges, but he's not unkind. He hasn't hurt me or made me feel unwelcome in his home. And while I thought I would absolutely loathe being molested...the truth of the matter is that I can't get enough of it. He looks at me like a man starved. Every time I see the tent in his pants, my heart speeds up a little. I love it when he touches me.
I want to hate being here with him, but I can't. I'm starting to worry that I'm getting Stockholm Syndrome. But Ryder isn't really my captor, he's just my keeper. And he seems pretty lax on that front too.
He told me to go shopping wherever I wanted to, so I head to Walmart and spend a good two hours walking around trying on clothes. Big Jeff follows me like a puppy. He's truly a gem, pushing my shopping cart and standing patiently outside of the dressing room while I change.
I make sure to stock up on new bras and underwear. Then I grab a few nightgowns, smirking to myself as I come across some lacy lingerie and hold it up to Big Jeff.
“Do you think that Ryder would like this?” I ask him.
His face flames, and I grin wider than the sun. It's amusing to see such a big powerful man blushing. He simply nods and looks away, as if he feels that even glancing at the lingerie is inappropriate. I stick it in the cart for shits and giggles before continuing on to the sportswear section.
Lord knows why Ryder wants me to buy something to workout in. We didn't even make it through this morning's session before he mauled me. Not that I minded in the least. His mouth felt amazing on my pussy, the way his tongue danced over and pressed into my clit until I came. Just remembering the feel of his fingertips on my nipples makes me aroused. I lick my lips and press my thighs together, hoping he'll want to play more tonight. Then I shake the thought away. What in the hell is wrong with me? I'm this guy's prisoner. I'm not supposed to be liking this.
I grab a few blouses and pairs of jeans before we make our way to the register, gasping as everything totals up to close to $200. Ryder is probably going to kill me for buying so much, but I want to be well stocked up. This will be an expensive lesson for him in why you shouldn't send a woman out shopping with your credit card. The ass deserves it, though. Maybe it will make him think that I still hate him. I kind of like that he thinks that. He looks super sexy when he gets angry and rough.
Big Jeff loads my bags into the trunk of the car, and we drive back to the high-rise. If my parents could only see where I live now, they'd be a lot less worried about me. Neither of them could ever be able to afford something like this. And I'm living here rent-free.
A prisoner. I remind myself. You're a prisoner.
We ascend the elevator to the twentieth floor, and I put on my deadpan face as we approach the door to Ryder's loft. I refuse to let him see that I actually enjoyed the shopping trip.
As soon as we walk inside, he insists on going through my bags to see what I've bought. He scoffs the second he realizes we went to Walmart. Where else was I supposed to go?
I sit on the sofa in the living room like a good little girl while he riffles through my things. At first, I think he's pissed because I spent so much money. But then I realize he just doesn't like anything I picked out. The only item of clothing that gets so much as a nod of approval is the lingerie.
His eyes meet mine as he holds it up to me. “Really?”
Warmth crawls up my neck, and I turn away from him, desperately fighting the urge to smirk.
“This won't do.” He shakes his head, pulling himself up from the floor and extending his hand to me. I gaze down at it like it's a foreign object. “Come on. We're going back out.”
By back out, he means shopping. And holy Madison Avenue. I literally want to cry at the price tags of some of the things he picks out for me to try on. One item of clothing could feed my entire family for a month. It seems like such a waste to spend so much money on pieces of fabric with a fancy name attached to them. The first time I try to argue with Ryder over it, though, he shushes me, and I know that I'll be in for a punishment if I defy him any further, so I simply submit, thinking about my parents living in squalor as I try on fancy outfit after fancy outfit. It's a dream shopping spree, and I can't even enjoy it because I'm not thinking about myself.
Of course, there are small distractions throughout the day, like when a store will allow Ryder to walk into the dressing room with me. He molests me every chance he gets, his hands running over my body and groping my breasts. But it's a small reprieve from the depression that I'm feeling from being parted from my family. As I slip into a dress that easily costs over a thousand dollars, I think about my father manning the counter at his grocery store, reading the paper while he waits for a customer to come in. As Ryder kneels before me and slides a designer pair of shoes onto my feet, I wonder what my mother is going to make for dinner tonight. There's not enough money in the world to buy what I'm missing. Well, maybe there is. It's however much it would cost to pay my parents' debt to Giovanni Bianchi.
I gaze down at Ryder, so handsome and carefree. He's being kind to me—more than kind—but he's still part of the problem. I'll never be free so long as I'm bound to him. And I'll always be bound to him as long as my parents' can't pay up. The money that Ryder has spent on me at just one store would be enough to cover their debt plus some. I wonder what he would say if I told him that I preferred being returned to my parents over the clothes. I know better than to do that, though, and I don't want to throw his hospitality in his face.
By the time we return to the high-rise, we're inundated with bags. My mind is still reeling from the amount of money that he spent on me. I thought that $200 was a lot. Apparently, I have no comprehension of what a lot is to someone who is wealthy.
“That's better.” Ryder stands with his hands on his hips, assessing our haul proudly. “Nothing but the best for my woman.”
His woman? Where did that come from? I'm not sure if he meant to say it, but I definitely caught it.
I smile appreciatively at him, though I still feel a little sad.
“You can start putting this stuff away in the closet in your bedroom. You'll be sleeping in my room tonight,” he informs me before going to sit on the sofa.
I nod, getting to work clearing the living room floor of the bags as I think about all of the possibilities of what might happen tonight in his bed. I'm almost done when there's a knock on the door. I give pause as Ryder goes to open it, wondering if the person on the other side is his father. A sick ball of nerves forms at the back of my throat. Even though I'm no long
er scared of Ryder, the thought of seeing his father again spikes fear in my heart.
But when the door opens, there's a woman standing on the other side. A beautiful woman with long dark hair and blood red lips. Ryder glances over my shoulder before telling me he's going out. Then he disappears without another word. The uncomfortable feeling in my throat settles somewhere else, and it takes me a few seconds to believe this new emotion that's taking over me.
Jealousy.
There's less pep in my step as I finish putting the rest of the clothes away, stacking the boxes full of shoes in the closet since there's not enough room to set them out side by side. Thoughts of the things awaiting me tonight are replaced by wondering who the woman is. She's absolutely stunning, and the way that Ryder so quickly sneaked out the door made it seem like he didn't want her to see me. That must mean...
I don't even want to think it, but I can't help it. That must mean I'm just a whore to him. That he's no better than his father, taking advantage of someone in a weakened state and exploiting them for everything he can get. If that woman is someone special to him, then that means these living conditions are only temporary. Once he's done using me...who knows what will happen?
I should be angry, and I am at myself for thinking that maybe there was something more between us. But more than that, I'm hurt. I'm hurt because I was actually starting to like Ryder Bianchi.
CHAPTER SIX
RYDER
It's Sunday night, and that means family dinner, a tradition that's been going on for as long as the Bianchi name has existed, from what I've been told. Since I've been so busy shopping with Amory, I had forgotten about it until my sister Angelica had come to pick me up. We always ride back home together since she lives in the high-rise one over from me.
“Flavor of the week?” she asks once we're in the elevator.
“Do I ever bring the flavor of the week home?” I send her a side glance.