Page 17 of Twisted Little Thing

I do as I am told, feeling simultaneously exposed and safe as I stretch my naked body on the cool, soft sheets.

"Hands up," is his next command.

He grabs my left wrist as soon as I comply and places something around it. Leather, it seems. A leather handcuff. It closes with an audible sound and – judging from the sounds I hear – appears to have a small hook attached to it that he fastens at the bed post above my head. He does the same with my other hand, so that both my wrists are secured to the bed posts on either side of the bed.

I am helpless and naked, and I instinctively try to cover myself by drawing my legs together as well as I can. Of course, there is no point in trying to do that, but I cannot help it. I feel something like fear spreading through my body, joining, but not replacing, the excitement from before.

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

"I have to trust you, don't I?" I reply.

He chuckles. "Sassy girl. Spread your legs."

I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I contemplate his order. Spreading my legs would be the opposite of what I am doing right now, as I am pushing my thighs against each other, trying to expose as little as possible of my most intimate body parts.

"Now!" he snaps – and I instantly comply.

I open my legs with one sudden movement, in response to the commanding sound of his voice.

"Good girl," he praises, and pets my head.

He moves his hand between my legs and I squirm, moving my hips from one side to the other, my legs twitching as I fight the urge to close them again.

He places the tip of his finger on the inner side of my lower legs, slowly trailing upwards, closing in on my trembling center. My breathing accelerates. I yearn for his touch. I want to feel him between my legs again. His wonderful fingers caressing my...

A desperate moan escapes my lips when he reaches my wet entrance. He doesn't hesitate, immediately spreading my folds and moving another finger between them to gently massage my throbbing nub.

The anticipation, the long build-up has made me so charged, I instantly start to shiver with lust at his touch. He hums with approval. "Good girl."

I yank on the cuffs around my wrist as I start to struggle, writhing under his touch, desperate with lust and so incredibly hungry for more, for him. I want him inside me.

"What do you want?" he asks then, as if he could read my mind.

I bite my lower lip, fully aware of what the answer should be, but too embarrassed to actually say it.

"What. Do. You. Want?" he repeats, now inserting his index finger and underlying each word with a brute, delicious shove inside me.

I catch myself leaning into him. My entire body is begging him to fuck me – my motions are intuitive, so why do I need to say it out loud?

Because that is what he wants. And it is what I need to give him to get what I want.

"I want you to fuck me," I breathe, low and hoarse.

"Louder," he demands.

Oh, for God's sake.

"I want you to fuck me!" I yell out. "Please, Sir! Please fuck me!"

My cheeks are burning, just like the rest of my body. Lust and embarrassment are forming a toxic team that takes over my entire body and mind.

He removes his hand from my fiery center. I hear plastic ripping – a condom package, I assume.

"You are such a good girl," he exclaims before I can feel the tip of his hard cock at my entrance. "You deserve this, you truly do."

I arch my back, inviting him in. But he needs no more invitation and begging. With one forceful thrust, he spreads me apart, easily sliding inside my wetness as I moan beneath him.

I wish I could see him, but my vision is still concealed. He bends my legs and pushes them up to my chest to gain more leeway as he starts fucking me.

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