Page 41 of Butterfly

Okay.

See? Complete sociopath. And yeah, it takes one to know one.

Still, he was right.

So I went to my bedroom, popped a Vice (another black market drug that was basically Viagra on steroids; no refractory period, no side effects), opened my laptop, navigated over the application that accessed the cameras in Leslie’s room, wrapped my fist around my cock, and settled in to watch the show.

Leslie’s dorm room was empty. Where was she?

As I waited, I scrolled back to yesterday’s footage. What I saw had my jaw stiffening and my cock going soft. I watched in rage as that asshole RA forced his way into her room, collapsed on her bed without her fucking permission, and said something that clearly made her upset. I cursed myself for not installing mics, so I could hear what he said. No matter, whatever it was had made her uncomfortable, and no one made my butterfly uncomfortable but me. Leslie’s RA was about to learn a very important lesson: You don’t mess with what’s mine without consequence.

As I ran through ideas of how to handle him, the door to Leslie’s room opened and she appeared in the camera. As she frantically pulled off her clothes, I settled in to watch the show.

The RA could wait. Seeing my stepsister lose her inhibitions to the drug in her system? And then giving her exactly what she needed, exactly how she needed it? That took priority.

But I’d deal with him later. He wouldn’t fuck with her again, not when I was done with him.

16

LESLIE

Idesperately needed to come. But when I got back to my dorm room, stripped down to my underwear and lay on my bed, something stopped me from reaching under my panties and touching my clit.

I’d always been too embarrassed to touch my clit without underwear on, even by myself when I knew no one would see me, and I couldn’t seem to rid myself of that silly embarrassment now. I also couldn’t bring myself to get myself off. It was like Mason’s order had latched onto my brain and I had no choice but to listen to him.

My only class today had been our lit class. Afterwards, I’d gone to the dance studio to try and work out some of my frustration. After an hour of pushing my body to extremes, I was no less frustrated. My body burned, my panties were soaked, and I needed to come so bad I wanted to scream. My clit physically hurt.

Who the hell cared about Mason’s demand? I needed to get myself off.

The second my fingers touched my clit, I convulsed in an orgasm. Everything tightened and released so quickly I was worried. But when I was done, the relief wasn’t there. In fact, it only got worse.

I started rubbing my pussy—direct contact this time—needing to get off again and for the desperate desire to go away. There was something freeing about my desperation; I needed another orgasm so badly, my shame about taking pleasure in my own body no longer mattered. If I’d been fully coherent, I would’ve marveled over it, maybe celebrated it. But the desire was too overwhelming. And every time I got myself off, I just needed more, and more.

After what felt like hours, I ended up curled into a ball on the bed in tears, my hand between my legs, completely raw. My pussy walls clenched around nothing. I needed more than an orgasm, I needed human contact. Connection. And as scared as I was, there was only one person I wanted it from.

Someone knocked on my door.

Oh god, what if it was Chris?

The knock came again. “Butterfly,” Mason called.

Relief filled me. I’d felt so empty. But he. Was. Here. I’d needed him, and he’d come. I went to unlock the door, uncaring about my nudity. There he stood in jeans and a sweaty t-shirt. He smelled musky and filthy and I wanted him all over me.

He growled but gently guided me back into my room and away from prying eyes, shutting the door.

“How are you doing, butterfly?” he asked, his voice tender.

“I need you,” I cried.

“Yeah?” He stepped into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. An alarm bell sounded in my brain, but it felt dreamlike and far away, especially once he backed me up against the bed like he had that first day.

Except this time I wasn’t confused, or ashamed.

This time, I didn’t doubt myself.

This time, I could admit how badly I wanted him.

“You need Daddy, butterfly? Need him to make you feel all better?”

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