Page 90 of Loving the Liar

He cocks an eyebrow, carefully getting closer. I’m frozen on the spot, helpless as I watch him bring a hand to the back of my head. Gripping my hair, he twists until I’m wincing, having full control of my movements. He keeps me from going anywhere, from fighting. That fact alone has my pussy tingling. My nipples start aching, and I subconsciously push them forward.

“I’m going to say this for the third time. So heed my warning when I say, watch. Your. Language.” He twists harder. “I don’t like foul words coming out of your mouth.”

With my neck strained, I struggle to gulp the air I suck in. I’ve never understood why, so I decide to finally take that leap and ask.

“Why?”

“Because that’s how your dad talked to you. All violence and insults. I hate it. That’s not an appropriate way to communicate with someone you love. I don’t want you to bring it into our relationship, our marriage, our family.”

“Marriage?” I choke. “F-family? Are you alright?”

“Uh-huh. Perfectly fine, thank you.”

His other hand parts my robe, and he taps the inside of my right thigh. They part on instinct, and the first thing I do when I realize is close my legs again. Or at least I try to, but I’m too late, his hand already cupping my pussy. He doesn’t part my lips, doesn’t try to push inside me. A simple power move to tell me he could do whatever he wants.

“What did I tell you when I came to pick you up yesterday?”

“I-I don’t remember,” I pant, lost as to whether I should completely let go or scream for help.

He shakes his head, disappointed. “Try harder. That I was going to bring you home, and then?”

Our conversation at his house comes back, tasting like acid at the back of my throat. My eyes must be wide because he notices the second I remember.

“Go on.”

“That you were going to take care of me,” I rasp.

“Check. What else?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Let me sober up.”

“Check. Anything else?”

I try to shake my head, but he tightens his grip. “Don’t lie.”

“Punish me,” I hiss from the pain.

He hums his agreement, and the sound rumbles through his chest. “You shouldn’t have let me into your room, Sweets. Look at you now, already dripping on my fingers when I’ve barely touched you. Eager for my cock when you still have a punishment to go through.”

“I was drunk,” I whimper.

“And I refused to give you what you wanted when you couldn’t think straight. But it’s sober you who’s wetting my fingers, pussy already begging for me.”

He lowers himself, purring in my ear. “Now get on your stomach, feet on the floor, and present your beautiful ass to me.”

My heart beats harder, dancing along the bones that keep it caged. I look at him as he releases me, and my conscious mind even convinces itself I’m going to walk away. I’m going to run to Peach’s room and scream at her to get Chris out of the house.

By the time the whole scenario unfolds in my head, I’m lying on my stomach, bending over the edge of the bed, my toes pushing against the plush carpeted floor.

“Push up higher.”

It’s the mix of dominance and gentleness that gets me. I try to convince myself it’s the reason I do exactly as he says.

“Good girl. Put your hands by your head.” And I do that too, squirming with excitement.

“I’m going to spank you. You’re going to stay still and take it, and when I’m done, you’re going to apologize for letting Henry touch you. Because bad little girls apologize once they’ve learned their lesson. Is that clear?”

I lick my lips. “Y-yes,” I squeak.

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