Page 100 of Saint

Saint: Playing without me, kitten?

I shouldn’t be playing at all, given the disturbing dream still settling in my thoughts. But as I slide my fingers over my core, my underwear is drenched with excitement.

I start to pull my hand up to type again, but a message comes through as I do.

Saint: Don’t stop now. Let me see what I do to you.

It’s like he can read my mind.

My dreams.

My nightmares.

He’s inside my head, my bones, and my skin. A connection unlike anything.

Pulling my underwear aside, I bare my pussy for him, and even if I don’t know where the cameras are in my room, I sense he can see it.

Saint: Put those fingers in your beautiful pussy, kitten. I want to see you play.

I bite my lower lip and dip a finger inside myself. And as much as I wish it was him and he was here, there’s something about the knowledge that he’s watching that’s even better.

Saint: Another.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I push a second finger in, and my body stretches around it. I drive them in, grinding the heel of my hand over my clit with the movement.

Saint: Another.

My eyes widen at his command. It’s one thing when he fucks me, and he forces me to take it. With his guidance, I’m able to adjust slowly as his cock stretches me open. But it’s another thing when I’m alone here in my room, doing it to myself.

Saint: I want all those fingers in your pussy, Violet. Let me see you hurt for me.

My breath is racing as I read the message again and again before setting my phone down on the bed.

With one hand, I grip my sheet, and with my other, I pull out to shove three fingers in. I’m really stretching now, and even if Saint is larger, it’s not the same. He’s in control in those scenarios, and I trust him to set the rhythm.

Pulling out, I wrangle my four fingers together and drive them in. It hurts for a moment as I stretch around them, like how it stings when Saint starts to fuck me. My entire core aches, turning slowly from pain to pleasure, back and forth again.

My phone is silent as I glide my fingers in and out, slowly easing around them. And I close my eyes, imagining it’s him. I consider what Saint might be doing right now, thinking the same.

I wonder if he’s stroking himself to thoughts like the ones that brought me to this ledge. Sick, twisted things that only he makes me feel safe enough to explore.

I drag my fingers out, and my core clenches. So I reach up to one nipple and pinch it.

Saint would pinch harder. He’d bite me, scar me, mark me. He’d paint me in blood and cum. And he’s conditioning me to need that. The pain from his rage and the heat from his fire. I can’t get off without it because he makes me feel safe in my darkness.

Tipping my head back, my teeth sink into the inside of my cheek, and I taste the blood that coats my tongue when they cut through.

I bite harder, needing more.

Needing him.

“Very good, kitten.”

My eyes fly open to the sound of Saint’s voice in my room, and I find him standing over my bed, wearing his black ski mask.

Pulling my hand out, I try to sit upright, but he climbs on top of me and pins me down before I get the chance.

“Don’t get shy now.” He lifts the hand that was inside me and peels his ski mask back so he can suck on my fingers.

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