Page 20 of Until I Own You

The woman the world deems forbidden to me just because our parents decided to marry each other.

It doesn’t matter that we were already in our teens. It doesn’t matter that we never even knew ourselves before then. It doesn’t matter that we never considered the other a sibling. Everyone insists on seeing her as my sister. My stepsister.

It doesn’t help that we’ve been taking family pictures for years, having family dinners, talking about family plans.

This fixation I have for her, this yearning, this craving, it’s sick and disgusting in the eyes of society.

And with every day that passes, with every look her way, I just want her all the more.

Why do I always end up wanting what I can’t have? It used to be for my dad to come back to life. Then I met Bridget, and my impossible desire became all her.

I want to hear her begging.

So, the Bridget of my imagination begins to beg.

“Please, Sir. More, Sir. I want all of it, Sir.”

I exchange the flogger for a crop.

I’d take it slow with her. I doubt she’s ever been disciplined like this. And with her fair skin, I’d never use a whip or a cane.

I trace the empty table with the crop.

Oh, how I’d tease her…slide it between the cheeks of her ass, down to her pussy, shove it up against her clit.

I wonder what she sounds like when she comes. When she’s desperate to come.

The crop takes less work to flick. I could pepper her ass with red welts in thirty seconds, cover the area with my marks. Brand her mine.

And how I imagine she’d buck. And plead. And moan.

That fuck Dom couldn’t give that to her.

No Dom other than me can give it to her. Not like she deserves it.

Why doesn’t she understand all my efforts of control have only ever been because I want to please her? I want to be the only one to–

My imagination conjures the possibility she’ll forget herself. Won’t call me Sir. Will sing out my name with rough and curdled desperation.

The crop falls from my hand.

I am weak all over.

And my cock is aching for release.

I drop my hands onto the table, press my cock up against the edge through my pants and I rut hard, as if it was Bridget. If she was right there to take every inch of me, to accept that I am the one. The true master of her mind and her body.

“Fuck, Bridget. Fuck.” I drop my head.

Don’t care how ridiculous or how crazy I seem. I need her. Even the imagined version.

I’d make her come first. I’d last.

I’m thankful in my fantasy, I can make her come first regardless of how long I’m fucking her because I’m about to burst.

I’m about to–

“Haaaaohmygod.” The sound I release is unearthly, something I never knew I had in me.

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