Page 35 of Make Me A Sinner
I watch myself as my hand moves against my folds, over and over again in slow circles, searching to end my misery.
"You have cameras..." I murmur, another shocking thought coming to mind. "Did you watch the footage of us when I was gone?"
"No. I wasn't in the mood," he snaps, changing his attitude completely. Judging by the look on his face, the images must have been too painful for him to watch. Still, I'm glad he didn't make a movie night out of them. But I can't stop my cheeks from burning, knowing he has them. That he's watching me… That he could watch me whenever he wanted.
"Why do you even have cameras?" I snap, furious he’s filming me without my consent. Well, he's done plenty of things without my consent—or knowledge. So, I don't know why this even surprises me.
And his mood didn't seem to have improved, "For moments like this, when you go do something stupid after I told you not to," he snarls, making me watch the whole video of how I managed to humiliate myself to death.
There’s a weird tension when the footage ends. I'm waiting for him to say something, but the silence stretches long enough to make me break it. "I... I should go to bed. I'm tired." I try to make my getaway. And even though I know it won't be that easy, I owe it to myself not to back down without a fight.
"You weren’t tired earlier," he whispers at the back of my neck, already ready to give me another order. "Get on your stomach. On that chair." His voice lands, and my eyes widen, my skin instantly prickling.
"Set, please, I'm tired," I whimper, hoping he might show me mercy, just this time.
But this is Set we’re talking about, "Chair, now."
Still, I don't move. I think it's my body's way to protect itself from whatever he’s planning.
Not that he gives a fuck. Next second, I'm up in the air, my head and hands dangling, ass up, draped over the chair like a rag doll.
"What are you doing?" I ask, but don't try to fight him. He's like a damn lion—the harder you fight him, the harder he corners you.
"You thought what I've done to you so far was torture?" he asks, voice barely restrained.
"I won't do it again," I reassure him, especially since I know I'm being watched in every damn corner of this house.
Though he doesn't look so convinced by my words. "You will," I feel his hand moving over one of my ass cheeks, gently massaging it.
"Set," this time I almost beg him. Though I don't know exactly for what, maybe just to have mercy.
"You’ll listen next time, or things will only get worse for you." His hand moves to my panties, testing that thin line that goes down between my legs. "You're still wet. Or is that from me?" He pauses, letting out a heavy breath. "Did I do that to you?" hisvoice turns sinfully smooth. "Answer," he says, his heavy palm spanking my ass.
"No.... Yes." I cry out, not even sure what the question was. I just can't focus with him holding me like that.
"You're undecided," he says, fingers playing at my entrance. "Let me help you make up your mind." Two of his digits enter me up to the knuckles, and my body jolts from the intrusion.
The moment is so brief before he withdraws them, I barely register what's happening.
His hand moves to my ass again, smearing one of my cheeks with my own arousal. And the gesture does something that sends my haze spinning. It's like I feel the cold air in the room brushing the exact spot he tainted, sharp against my skin. But it's not cold he's going for. He’s after the heat.
His palm lands on the skin he marked, making the imprint of his fingers sting against my flesh.
I whine, trying to rise from the chair, not from the pain, but from the depraved craving I find satisfaction in.
He doesn't let me move, of course, just puts his other hand to the small of my back, keeping me glued to the chair while he repeats the move with my other cheek. And I just get wetter and wetter, praying to every god he wouldn't be able to resist me like that—and take me already.
But Set's will is unbreakable. So he repeats, massaging my cheeks between slaps, gradually increasing the intensity until I'm sure I won't be able to sit for days. And I want more. I don't know what it is about this man, but he brings kinks out of me I had no idea I had.
I'm so wet that I'm beginning to think I’ll come from his next slap—and as always, he stops just in time to make me crawl in my own misery.
"Do you want me to let you come?" he asks, like he was about to give me the answers to my prayers.
"Yes," I cry out in the sweetest voice I can muster, hoping to lure him into actually doing it, praying this isn’t just another one of his tricks.
But he always has Plan B. "Okay, I'll let you. But you'll have to do it yourself."
Well, I could’ve done that hours ago—if he hadn't interrupted me in the first place.
