Page 18 of Bought

“You are such a fucking…” The rest of my sentence is lost in a low moaning growl as he reaches under me and pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, a punishingly tight grip that makes my pussy and ass clench. His cock throbs inside me, and I feel how much pleasure my resistance gives him.

He is playing me like an instrument, making me react just the way he wants me to. My body isn’t mine. It’s his. It responds to his commands, spoken and unspoken alike.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he growls. “I’m going to fill your naughty little ass right up.”

I didn’t know there was such a thing as an anal quickie, but Ethan educates me on that front as he fucks me to a swift climax just for him. His hips slam against my ass, pound me against the car until his roar of satisfaction heralds his cum filling my bottom hole all the way to the brim just in time for the car to slow and begin heading up the driveway to his mansion.

His cum is dripping out of my ass as he marches me up to the house. This is, without a doubt, worse than when he brought me back here as a sloppy mess yesterday. Yesterday I was whipped and fucked. Today only the fucking has happened and yet my ass is just as sore as last time.

The expression on his handsome face tells me that he has more in store. And now he’s come, there’s no urgency in it. He can take his time. It’s me who is throbbing between my legs. My pussy is tingling and aching with desire. He fucked my ass and he didn’t let me come. He is a sadist and he is not done with me. Won’t be done with me until I am broken.

He takes me to the room I left just a few hours ago and lets me go inside the door. I stand there, shaking slightly, not from fear but from the pure tension running through my body.

“Strip.”

I think about refusing, but it would be a token gesture at this point. Once you’ve held your cheeks open in the back of a car so a man can fuck your ass as punishment for trying to run away, you lose credibility.

That doesn’t mean I do what he wants in a way he wants me to do it. I pull my clothes from my body and leave them in a sullen heap at my feet, crossing my arms over my chest, under my breasts. No point hiding them. No point hiding anything.

Ethan’s power over me is shame. Maybe I’ll become shame resistant. Maybe I’ll become the girl who doesn’t even care that there’s a thick puddle of cum in the panties she just pushed off her ass and down her legs.

His eyes run over me slowly. “Beautiful,” he says, his voice husky not with desire, but appreciation. He looks at me as if I am one of the fine pieces of art that grace his home. I was feeling dirty, used, and cheap. His gaze transforms me into something sublime.

There is no faking the expression on his face. He loves the way I look. It’s hard for me to believe because the few times I actually bother to take any time to look at myself, I’m not impressed. But he is. Ethan’s genius has always been in seeing what other people can’t. He sees something in me. For a brief moment, I see myself reflected in his eyes, and a warmth flowers not in my sex, but in my heart.

The moment of tenderness is shattered when he steps forward and speaks.

“I’m tired of looking at you in these clothes,” he declares, kicking them away with a casual flick of his foot. “I want easy access to your ass and pussy.”

The words are crude and almost cold. He is in disciplinarian mode as he strides over to the closet and throws the door open. I find myself looking at rows of designer skirts, dresses, and blouses. They’re beautiful, but they’re not me. At least, not the me I used to be before Ethan Keller got his hands on me and started twisting everything I am.

I walk into the closet and stare. Someone has been busy obtaining a wide range of attire, all of which looks to be my size. There are rows upon rows of everything from formal attire to bedroom wear. I have never owned as many clothes in my life as are now displayed in front of me.

Leaving me amid the forest of finery, Ethan sits down in an armchair nearby and makes a generous gesture toward the clothing. “Show me what it looks like on you.”

“What?”

“Fashion show,” he smiles. “I want to see you in some of these things. Pick something you like.”

He looks at me as if he expects me to be grateful or impressed. But I’m not either of those things. He didn’t get this for me because he thought I wanted it. He got all this for me because how I was isn’t good enough. I need to be augmented. I need to be clad in fine cloth, because that will make this somehow better. That will make him less a kidnapper, and me less a captive. Except it won’t, and it can’t.

I am a doll to him. Something to dress up and use. Something to play with. I know what boys do to dolls in the end though, they always end up broken.

“I should take a shower first,” I say. “I don’t want to make these messy…”

He smirks and nods. “Five minutes,” he says. “And then I want your sweet ass out here. I’ll pick something for you.”

The shower is only a brief reprieve, but it is a reprieve. The hot water washes away his cum, but none of the shame. I emerge four minutes and fifty-nine seconds after I went in, pink and steamy and knowing that he will not let me keep the towel I have clutched around my body on for very long.

Ethan is waiting. And what he has in his hand is not what I expected. I figured he’d pick one of the slutty, skimpy lingerie items. I imagined he’d make me parade in front of him like the cheap whore I feel when he uses me.

But that’s not what he has chosen.

It’s a cocktail dress. Red silk, looks like it is going to be form fitting.

“Here,” he says. “Put it on.”

I’ve never worn anything like it in my life, but it’s better than being naked and vulnerable in front of him, so I do as I’m told. The dress slides up my calves and thighs like a cool caress, and then it fits snugly around my hips and unravels up over my stomach and hugs my breasts.

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