Authors: Elizabeth Finn
As she continues to riffle, she comments, “Not very … garish, are they?” She cocks her head to the side, studying my favorite gray dress. “Very … pretty.”
And she’s right; it’s “pretty,” and quite frankly, I feel pretty when I see it. None of these dresses look anything like the short mini dress I was in all day today. They are exactly as Derek requested of Jacob, demure.
Liz continues appraising the dresses one at a time, seeing the pattern emerge. Once she’s through them all, she looks at me curiously before speaking. “He doesn’t want you to look like a prostitute at all, does he? Hmmm. I wonder if that’s for his benefit or yours,” she says with a sly smile creeping across her face.
With that last statement, she stands, winks at me, and leaves my room. I like Liz, and she is definitely my first friend in this place.
Chapter 6
I wake after the sun has gone down and the night sky outside my window is brilliant with the lights of the city. After hanging each and every one of my dresses up earlier in the afternoon, I’d collapsed on the bed and fallen asleep instantly. I wake slowly and relaxed, and my phone rings. It’s Mr. Pennington. He tells me to come to his room and hangs up the phone before I have a chance to respond. I rush to the restroom, taking in my curls with a grimace. They are their ever-unruly selves, and I give up trying to tame them, not wanting to keep Mr. Pennington waiting.
I consider changing into one of the new dresses, but am not sure I should take the time. Derek’s statement was to come to him “now,” and I’m guessing he expects his directions to be followed explicitly. As I rush across the hall and knock on the door of his apartment, my mind questions why he’s summoned me. It can’t be for sex, and that leaves little else that Mr. Pennington could want from me.
He opens the door and stands aside as I enter. He’s watching me and taking in my appearance, and he’s not impressed. “You know, the dresses are only useful if you actually wear them.”
I look up to see his raised eyebrows and dark eyes staring back at me. He’s as relaxed as I’ve seen him around me, and I think he might actually be more sarcastic than upset at my appearance.
I apologize nevertheless. “I’m sorry. I just woke up.”
He turns on his heel and walks away from me. “I know.” He was watching me again…
I follow him as he walks to his bed and starts removing his clothes. I watch as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of it before stepping out of his pants. He stands in only his black boxer briefs that I’d met earlier today in the car, and shaking his head once more as he takes in my appearance, he demands I take my clothes off. My body is suddenly prickling with fear. Truth be told, the warmth settling between my legs is telling me it might be just a bit of desire too.
As my eyes question his, he reassures me. “Relax. I’m not going to fuck you. I know how to follow the doctor’s orders. I will, however, fuck you tomorrow night, and I expect you to show up wearing something other than … whatever the hell that is.” In exasperation, he indicates my clothing he so obviously doesn’t appreciate.
I start removing my clothes as he watches, and once I’m finally standing naked in front of him, he pulls his underwear down and steps out of them. He is now fully undressed and standing in front of me. He is beautiful. I’m again taken aback by his size, and as my eyes stall out over his groin, he continues to watch me. My body is on fire as I look him over. His chest, strong and tight. His waist, lean and narrow. His hips perfectly frame his rigid cock, which juts up between them. His legs are lean and perfectly proportioned. He turns to drop his watch on the bedside table, and I’m afforded the very best view of his bottom. The cheeks of his bottom are round and firm, and I imagine touching them, caressing them. For a man that terrifies me, I certainly do find the idea of touching him and tasting him extremely intoxicating.
He moves to the bed and lies down with his legs spread slightly apart. Then he speaks to me, and the warmth that has been building between my legs turns to a flood of wetness. “Kneel beside me and suck my cock.”
I approach the bed, kneel at his waist, and then lean toward his engorged penis. I grasp him first with my hand, raising his cock to meet my mouth, and when my lips touch him, he hisses out a restrained breath. My eyes flit to his for reassurance, and he gives it. “Don’t stop.”
As I force my distended lips past the head of his penis and down along his shaft, he reaches out and pulls my curls away from the side of my face so he can watch, and he groans quietly as I continue to pull him into my mouth, and then release him back out. I reach to his testicles, tight and taut in his arousal, and at the touch of my hand, his stomach muscles quiver and contract. He’s enjoying this, and I have no idea how I’ve managed to figure out his body so easily. He brushes the pad of his thumb down along my cheek. It is an uncharacteristic gentle and tender move on his part and is interrupted only when his groans intensify and his body’s response to my mouth becomes uncontrolled and nears his threshold. Before he comes undone completely, he reaches his hand to the inside of my thigh and swiftly pulls my hips to straddle his neck. He is now face-to-ass with the most intimate part of my body, and I freeze, letting his cock drop from my mouth.
My arousal and wetness have been building since he summoned me, and there is no hiding it from him now, but as his breath exhales deeply from his lungs, I can tell I have nothing to feel ashamed of. He’s enjoying this view nearly as much as he was enjoying my mouth, which has stopped functioning entirely in my terror. I continue to hold myself as still as a statue, and he raises his head to my pussy, inhaling the scent of me deeply. As he lets out his warm breath on my sex, it tickles and taunts my flesh, but he doesn’t stop his exploration of my body. His nose brushes lightly over the sensitized skin as he continues to inhale deeply of me while he holds my hips firmly in place with his hands.
Once he’s finally done, he speaks to me again. “Finish, Ashton.”
I take him with my mouth, once again trying to focus on his cock and not on the part of my body that is in his face, and it takes only moments longer before he is coming in my mouth, filling me with his taste. He broke the rules again. When his breathing has relaxed, he rolls me from his body, stands, and heads toward his bathroom. He dismisses me over his shoulder without a second glance.
Once I’m back within my own room, I strip out of my clothes and drop to the bed. My body is electrified and unsatisfied, and as I daydream about Derek’s body, I run my hand blindly down to my own wetness. While sex may be completely new to me, pleasuring myself is definitely not. I figured out a long time ago just how much fun I can have with my own body, but it has never been with the image of such a beautiful man in my mind. I find the tight nub of my clitoris and stroke it gently. I see his eyes looking back at me in my mind as I stroke over and over. The sound of his deep and aroused breathing floats through my head as my fingers continue to stroke my body. The memory of the touch of his fingers on my skin has my own climax building steadily toward release. I disappear into my dream world, and there I stay for long minutes as my body enjoys my touch, imagining it is his touch. I hear his voice, I feel his breath on my skin, I even imagine his length forcing its way into my body, and every image and every thought make my body quiver and seek its release.
By the time I’m panting and nearing release, my heels are dug into the sheets of the bed, and I’m writhing in pleasure. I come hard and powerfully, as I gasp out words that belong in my dream world and not the real world. “Oh God, Derek.”
And as soon as they pass my lips, I clamp my hand over my mouth in horror, my eyes darting to the camera that I’ve only just remembered.
What the fuck!
Chapter 7
I don’t see Mr. Pennington the next day, though I keep expecting to catch him somewhere around the building. While I have coffee in the morning in the common room with the other girls, he stays away. Again at lunch, he makes no appearance, and as I bathe and shave that evening, expecting to be summoned to his room, I can’t help but wonder if it’s me he’s avoiding. He can’t have seen me. He must not have seen me. He was heading to his bathroom when I left… But the idea that he may have been watching sinks deeper into my mind when I’m not summoned that evening, and come nine o’clock that night, I approach his door and knock. His apartment is silent and there is no answer, but as I turn in defeat, and a bit of humiliation too, toward my own room, Liz walks up. I smile, trying to hide my emotions from her.
“Hey. He’s not here. Said he’d be gone for a few days.”
I do my best to hide my embarrassment at being caught outside his door wearing this stupid dress, my hair tamed in a long braid, and a marginal amount of makeup applied. I can feel the muscles of my face slacken and fall and my mouth twitches in a desperate attempt at a convincing smile, and it is obvious Liz isn’t buying my act.
She watches me with curiosity and concern while I struggle to find my voice. “Oh. No big deal. I thought I was expected this evening, but I must have been mistaken.”
I
was
expected tonight. He said as much when he spoke to me the night before. I know, though I don’t want to fully admit it, his absence is somehow related to the show he no doubt witnessed the night before.
I turn toward my room, wanting to slink away quickly. Liz makes no move to follow me, and I thank God for small favors. I strip out of the dress, leaving it crumpled on the floor. I’m confused, not solely by his absence, but as much that I care he’s absent. I should be thanking my lucky stars I’ll be given another few days away from him and his ever “impressive” cock. But I’m not, and I don’t like admitting I wanted this tonight. Pain and all, I wanted him. I didn’t expect that, and the vulnerable position it puts me in with him is a terrifying liability.
* * * *
The next I see of Mr. Pennington is when I’m summoned two nights later to his room. I hadn’t even realized he’d returned to his apartment until the phone rang and he demanded that I be in his apartment in an hour. I set about readying myself for him, again shaving and showering and doing my best to control my hair in a loose braid. When I zip up my favorite gray dress, I look myself over in the mirror. I’m sure black ballet flats wouldn’t be Liz’s first choice, but they’re mine. As I approach his door, my heart is fluttering about in my chest.
When he answers, he allows me entrance but doesn’t speak. In fact, he refuses to even look at me, and my spirits fall as I follow him to his bed. He strips without saying so much as one word to me, and when he finally makes eye contact with me, it only lasts the briefest of moments while he orders me to remove my underwear. He wants me clothed, and I’m not sure why, but this hurts my feelings.
Once my underwear is removed, he demands I get on my hands and knees in the middle of the bed, and as I do, I realize my body is not the least bit ready for this. My heart is as cold as his treatment of me, and I’m frightened. The warmth I wish I felt between my legs is absent, and as he reaches to my entry, he notices the same. He stands briefly, retrieving the tube of lubricant and a condom before returning to the bed. Again I hear the tearing of the condom wrapper and the cap pop off of the lubricant, and I soon feel the cool touch of his finger as he applies a generous amount to my opening. He makes no move to enter me with his fingers, or caress me either, and whatever warm and arousing feelings he might have incited the other day have now been destroyed by his distance. He is once again the dark-eyed terrifying man I met on my first day here.
He gives me one last order when he tells me to put my chest to the bed, and before I’ve even had a chance to comply, he pounds into me swiftly and I fall clumsily to my face. I struggle to brace myself against the force of his thrusts. The pain is again severe, but it fades far quicker than the first night, and within a few short minutes of incessant penetration and withdrawal, it has faded to a deep ache inside my womb.
When my body adjusts to him, I start to think I can handle this, but then he leans over me and unleashes his pent-up rage in my ear. “You like saying my name when you come? Huh?” He’s grunting and forcing his way deep within me, and the tone of his voice is cold and harsh. “If you want to say my name when you come, then you just won’t come anymore!” More pounding thrusts. “I’m not your boyfriend, not your lover, not even your fucking friend! Don’t ever forget that.” His words are dripping with hatred, and I’m pathetically heartbroken. As he pounds his last strokes into my body, he curses an angry “
fuck
!” as he pulls from my body, snapping the condom off his penis and releasing himself all over the bunched-up fabric of my favorite gray dress.
He wastes no time at all moving away from me, and before I can even right myself and move off the bed, I hear the shower in his bathroom start. He’s finished with me. I’d thought losing my virginity to him was hard. Well, this was just cruel. He executed his rage at me perfectly. He hates me once again.
Chapter 8
Over the next two weeks, he continues to use my body every night, never speaking to me and never looking at me. I’m never wet and never ready for his body. The routine has become so perfunctory, he no longer calls. I simply arrive wearing one of the many dresses I have, not even bothering to wear underwear anymore. He pushes up the skirt, bends me over either the dining room table or his bed, rolls a condom over his cock, and, using lubricant every time, he enters me harshly. It is fast, furious, and cold. He doesn’t bother dismissing me at all, and I stand the second he is finished pulling the condom off his penis and ejaculating on the back of my dress. I leave without a word, thankful only to be away from his cold, harsh hatred. Following his order of not coming is easy. I have no interest in touching myself once I return to my room, and I usually strip out of my soiled dress in my walk-in closet before tossing on some ugly old T-shirt he would no doubt hate. I’ve developed a deep resentment of him, and it is this anger that keeps me moving forward.