Page 26 of Little Puppet

As he drives in and out of my body, our greed amps, turning ravenous. His cock fills every aching space inside me, massaging muscles, battering my inner walls.

His eyes are frenzied, confused, as if this isn’t what he usually does with the women he kidnaps. I know I shouldn’t be allowing this right now. Fuck, he’s done so much to me that he should repulse me. But all I want is more.

“Cain, harder. Please,” I whimper.

Every sinew of his body is taut and beautiful as he writhes inside my body like he owns it. He left me here last night, bound and starving for him.

It only grew as I slept.

When I awoke with him over me, there was no going back. No way this wasn’t going to turn into this.

Kissing him will likely bite me in the ass because hesaid he doesn’t kiss, so I don’t know what my punishment for that will be, but I don’t care.

He feels so good.

In a swift movement, he flips us, and I’m riding him.

My hoops tug, and I realize I’m back on my strings, but he’s only attached a handful or less.

But the tug of them against the pleasure of him filling me makes me moan.

It only adds to my pleasure, the knowledge I’m tied up for him—his little doll.

It’s so fucked up. I know it is, but I lean into it, reaching overhead and grasping the strings for leverage, writhing my pussy back and forth, riding him slow and methodical.

“Fuck, Grace,” he says, gripping my hips, watching me as I let go further than I ever have with any other man.

“You like this? Seeing your little fuck doll tied to her strings while she rides your cock?” I ask him, not knowing who the fuck I’m becoming in this man’s house of horrors.

“I do. Fuck, I hate you for this,” he growls, digging his fingers into my hips, adding a bite of pain with the way he feels inside me.

I nearly lose my breath.

“You hate me?” I ask, rolling my hips as he lifts off the bed and fucks into me from below, stealing my breath with how deep he is.

“I. Fucking. Hate. You.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust inside me.

“Show me.” I let go of the strings, moving them with me as I get off his cock and get beside him on all fours.

He lets his head loll to the side, and his cock glistens against his stomach, where it falls, hard and covered in my arousal.

“Show me how much you hate me, master.”

A ferocious snarl rips free from his chest as he gets behind me, grasping my neck with both hands firmly, slamming home in one thrust.

He’s so deep that even if he wasn’t stealing my air with his hands, that one movement would have knocked me out.

“You need to mind your fucking mouth, darling,” he tells me, skin slapping as he fucks me as hard as he can.

My eyes cross as my lungs burn, begging for air.

I let my eyes fall closed, fully ready to die in this man’s hands, which is pure lunacy.

Who the fuck am I?

A survivor? No, I think I’m more than that.

Part of me wonders if he found me because he saw a bit of himself in me. He knew who I was before even I did.

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