“I … I know you… You don’t think I’m pretty … or … or sexy; like the others … but. …”
“I … I’m not … not like them. I … I don’t know how to … to dress sexy, or … or wiggle … wiggle my hips…”
“But … but I … …”
“I … think about you. Alot. About … about you … “
He stopped her then, a finger on her lips, then two fingers, confidently, casually, between her lips, pushing deep, slowly, relentless…
She took it, as he’d known she would, letting him make her choke, eyes widening, blush rising to her cheeks, body working — but she kept her hands down, and didn’t fight him as he played with her gag reflex, making her convulse, helplessly, watching her let him do this to her.
After a while, after long enough for it to be clear that this was no accident, after backing out and then smoothly going back in again, he steps back, wiping his fingers on his handkerchief, studying her.
She was bright pink, couldn’t meet his eyes, breathing fast, uneven, catching sometimes, half panicking, but holding herself in check, not wanting him to give up on her.
“You know I have a reputation? That I’m cruel, right?”
Increased agitation, now — she is fighting herself to keep her pose, not to shrink from him, cover up, run away. He decides he might keep this one — assuming she isn’t a disappointing fuck. His judgement is that this won’t be the case — or he’d have told her to take a hike rather than putting his fingers into her throat — but he’s been wrong before, and will be again. It doesn’t bother him — he has no need for ego about this.
Her answer, when it comes at last, is a frightened whisper;
“Yes”.
“So are you into being hurt, or is it the money?”
Blushes deepen, breath slows; she takes a desperate, momentary look up at him, eyes round, fearful, needy, slightly wild; her chest heaves — making the modest tits swell deliciously (they’ll have to be fixed, have her understand that even her most intimate attributes are his). Her head drops again, Something about her vulnerability makes him eager to hurt her, and he grins harshly — definitely a keeper.
“I … I want … I want to … to be f-fucked. Hard.”
Again, this is almost inaudible, but there’s a fierceness, too, and he knows she means it. His dick strains in his pants. He makes himself be calm, leans over, speaks soft but clear into her ear;
“You know it’s a two year contract. If you flunk at any point you get nothing but minimum wage for a 40 hour week, no bonus? I’ll be requiring the body modification clause and the extreme punishment clause.”
He straightens. Evidence of powerful inner turmoil again — but her nipples stay cutely stiff, he notices.
At length, her voice firmer, clearer — obviously the result of great effort;
“Yes, Yes. I understand. Please. …”
And then, realising that she has nothing to plead for, that she has nothing, not anymore, not for two years; nothing at all but his will, and her ability to satisfy it. Realising this, she tails off, voice fading into a weak little bleat;
“please …”
She tries not to squeal as he pulls her by the hair down the stairs, somehow still clinging to some forlorn hope that her shameful new status might be kept a secret, but he yanks and twists until she cannot suppress her yelps of pain and fear. There is no resistance, though — not once does she touch him with her hands, which simply flap around uselessly; another positive sign.
Dragging her into the den where the two investors he’s been entertaining are still drinking brandy and bragging to each other, he throws her down in a trembling heap onto the rug in front of the fire;
“Gentlemen, a little entertainment. She wants to be fucked, hard, she says, so don’t take any nonsense, have no pity, and don’t let up until you see her crying, please. Have fun, now.”
He’d asked his stepdaughter to invite some of her college friends for a pool weekend, and specifically requested some vulnerable poorer girls. He’d only really expected eye-candy — college girls were usually too self-absorbed — but he’d have to increase Mindy’s allowance for bringing him this one.
He’d have her sit with the men tomorrow, in a skimpy bikini, serve them drinks at the trot, have the guys put their hands on her, tell her she’s not allowed to look at or speak to her friends anymore.
Not now she’s an indentured whore.
And tomorrow night she’ll find out what it feels to have her little titties thrashed with a dog whip while impaled on a fat and vigorous vibrator, arms tightly cuffed behind her, all her friends looking on.
He will pay attention to the feisty blonde, too — she’d been looking at him strangely since she got here, and her brashness doesn’t ring true; you never know, he might get two in one weekend — it wasn’t unprecedented.
