Page 57 of Savage

I know better, though, and it makes the rage inside of me threaten to spill over with each movement she makes.

I get her out to the street, giving a few terse excuses to the people who try to talk to me. The car I’d requested is already waiting, thankfully, and the driver only says a cursory greeting before he’s driving us back to my condo.

I keep an arm around Stef’s shoulders the entire time. She’s completely tense, and I see her thigh jittering. I could turn off the vibrator, but she deserves to suffer after what she did.

She deserves to suffer a lot more than this.

We’re the only ones getting onto the elevator at the condo building. Its mirrored walls show off Stef’s mussed state. Her mascara has smeared and the lipstick on her trembling lips has faded, no doubt left behind on those other men’s’ cocks.

I tighten my grip on her shoulders.

She lets out a quiet, surprised sound, and unsurprisingly, she’s already crying as she tries in vain to pull away from me. Any high she’d gotten appears to have faded, and while nothing she could do can please me at the moment, I enjoy the fact that she didn’t get to enjoy it at all while she was ruining the body that belongs to me.

When we finally arrive, I shove her through the door to my condo and lock it behind me.

“Strip,” I order harshly.

Stef doesn’t look up at me, only trying to obey. She fumbles with the zipper at the top of the dress for a moment then finally whimpers, “I can’t… get it unzipped, Master. I’m sorry. I… I’m so sorry about everything, I really, really am…”

“You’re only sorry I caught you,” I growl, going to unzip the dress. It takes every last bit of self-control not to simply rip the whole thing off her. I should burn the thing anyway. It’s probably covered in those other men’s filth. “I trusted you. You swore you would behave.”

From the way she flinches at those words, it’s like I just hit her—and that only makes me angrier, because I’m not saying anything she didn’t already know.

“I didn’t mean to—” she begins before cutting herself off, daring to look up at me for only a split second.

“Didn’t mean to?” I stare at her incredulously. “You accidentally stumbled into the men’s bathroom, onto your knees, and opened your mouth for those men? You accidentally inhaled drugs?”

She sobs, burying her face in her hands as she hunches in on herself. “It just hurt. Everything hurt. I needed… I needed something to make it stop hurting. I’m sorry,” she repeats.

It’s the same excuses the addicts always give. They never bother to think about anything more than that momentary high, chasing something that won’t even last for more than half an hour.

My fingers itch to break something.

“I fucking told you to strip,” I say. “And then we’re washing you. You’re disgusting. Filthy.”

Again, she flinches as though the words are somehow physically hurting her. She takes the dress the rest of the way off, folds it over the nearby chair, then works on the bra and panties. When she’s standing there only in her heels, she dares to give me another pleading look.

I go over to her and grip the back of her neck. “Shower. Now.”

I don’t take her to my bedroom. I take her to the shower in the guest room, where she’d been confined to at the start.

Where I should’ve kept her confined instead of letting her humiliate me.

Stef stumbles along, either blinded by her tears or simply having trouble keeping up with my brisk pace.

I was too lenient. I let myself get lulled into complacency by her pretty words. Of course she isn’t truly mine yet. She was only pretending.

I’m going to fix that, though.

She quickly kicks the heels off when we pause. She tries to duck her head, but I dig my fingers more insistently into the nape of her neck to keep her upright. “Please,” she whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You can’t make it up to me when you’ve purposefully sullied yourself,” I say, shoving her into the shower stall. I turn the water on, and I don’t care that it’s still freezing cold when it hits her.

She yelps, letting out another loud sob as she tries to shy away from the stream of water.

Where else did they touch? Just her mouth? Did she let them fuck her cunt, her ass?

“On your knees, ass up,” I order harshly.

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