Page 15 of Drag You Down
I can’t tell her about the kiss.
I shake my head. “No. It’s nothing. Thank you for tending to me, Eve.”
She sighs, but she’s used to me keeping my thoughts to myself. Part of me wants to confide in her, but while I trust my sister, I cannot expect her to lie or keep things from her new husband.
Why does he need a third wife, though?
The other men only have one wife. As God’s prophet, Father Zachariah deserves some privileges, but I can’t imagine sharing with another person.
I would want to be the sole focus of my partner’s attention, and know that they loved only me, and would do anything for me.
But that’s selfish.
We fall into silence as she spreads the cool ointment over my skin and slowly bandages it all up.
Would the Devil tempt me with soft touches like these, or would he only whip me as Father Zachariah does?
“Okay, you’re done,” Eve says. “Do you need anything else? Water? Food?”
“No. Thank you, Eve,” I say. Before she can go, I reach out and tentatively touch her hand. “Truly. I wouldn’t be able to survive without you, Eve.”
She gives me a crooked smile. “The same goes for you, brother. I hope you’ll remember that the next time you do something stupid like volunteer for penance. Let the others have a turn. Surely by this point, you’ve completely cleared your soul of sins?”
I laugh along with her, although there’s nothing funny about what she said.
I’m still dirty.
Eve shuts the door as she leaves my bedroom, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My back tingles from the ointment. When I flex my back, I have to stifle a moan.
It hurts, but I deserve it.
It hurts, but I need it.
It hurts, but I love it.
My cock, which had settled a bit while Eve was here, grows rigid again. I thrust my hips against the mattress, giving in to the shameful desires.
I’ve never been able to stop myself from doing this.
I try, so hard. I attempt to resist.
Don’t I?
No. That’s a lie.
I’ve never been able to wait more than a few minutes before I give in. I reach into my trousers and wrap my hand around my cock, that simple touch alone already making pleasure zap through me. Every movement makes my back twinge in pain, but none of it matters.
I stroke myself quickly, because the faster I do this, the faster it’s over with.
What’s the rush, little lamb?
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. No, no. I won’t fantasize about him. Whether he’s the Devil or not, he’s a temptation I need to shove aside completely.
But I’ve already failed to resist. I’m already masturbating like an animal.
My hand slows, and I remember his breath against my cheek, his strong hand on my hips.
Would he stroke me fast or slow? Would he simply watch as I did it, and call me alamb, as if a lamb would ever do anything so shameful as this?
