Page 25 of Vow of Vengeance

“Ugh.” I feel so… full.

The fullness in my ass is a stark contrast to my pussy. I feel achingly empty like I want something inside me. Is that his goal? To make me want to beg for him?

The strange sensation of having the plug inside my ass does something unexpected. A pool of arousal forms at my pulsing entrance, threatening to draw his attention. My sweet, musky scent reaches me.

“You’re so turned on. You respond to my every touch, don’t you? Your body loves the sensations it gets from me. Look how wet you’re getting for me.”

I want to die.

He gives my ass a satisfied little pat. “All done.” He tugs my panties up my thighs and around my hips, playfully snapping the waistband back into place.

He has me turn around and sit down to put my jeans back on. I do so slowly, gently easing my weight onto the seat. Sitting puts pressure on the handle, pushing against my sensitive skin and making me feel even fuller.

My pussy gets wetter, crying for attention. Her traitorous tears dampen my panties.

This thing is his idea of a sick joke. Then a tortured realization hits me… will he have to take it out himself? Inwardly, I groan. That act will be just as humiliating as it was having him put the diabolical thing inside me.

He kisses me, cupping my face in his hand once more.

I’ve always wondered what my life would have been like if my father hadn’t died when I was a baby. Would he and my mom be together? Would money—or lack thereof—not be an issue?

Would he have protected me from Haze?

Would I have wanted him to?

What a shameful question to ask myself. Of course, I would have wanted my father to stop Haze from entering my bedroom... wouldn’t I?

But I wouldn’t want to be sheltered fromeverypart of the experience. I think of Haze’s fingers inside me, how I begged for him to get me off. The brush of his soft, dark curls against my inner thighs as he nestled his head between my legs.

Then… the heat of his tongue on me.

I’d never felt anything that good before.

Hot and wet, making me feel all squirmy inside, pushing me higher and higher up a cliff until I tumbled off the edge, sliding down into a warm pool of liquid gold. But I never reached the bottom of the pool, and I knew I couldn’t take any more of his torturous teasing. He laughed against me, and I felt the rumble of the sound, the air of his breath on my damp, swollen skin.

And he did it all again—making me experience incredible things I didn’t know existed.

He pulls away now, his hand dropping from my face. I lean against the door, peering out the dark glass, thinking.

It would have been nice to have had a dad. I love my family and know they love me, but I always felt like something was missing. Or more like they held me at arm’s length. It was almost as if they were waiting to see if I would become like my father. Seeing as they never mention his name, I get the idea they weren’t fond of him.

Maybe I look too much like him for them to feel close to me. I wouldn’t know. They didn’t even keep a photo of him.

I know nothing about him other than that he was in a gang when we lived in Scotland—some sort of mafia, one that operated out of the city where I was born, Glasgow. Or were they in Edinburgh?

I don’t even know the name of the group. I vaguely remember a curved cobblestone road leading up to a castle, like Edinburgh Castle.

My dad was carrying me in his arms, holding me tightly. Thrusting me into the arms of a woman wearing the very same pearl necklace I now own. Loud explosions rang out.

Then... nothing. That’s my only memory of my father—and I don’t even know if it’s real, or if I made it up. Mom says I was too little to remember anything, but sometimes, when I come across the scent of cedarwood, I can feel him holding me.

When I was younger, I dreamed of a mom, a dad, maybe a sister or a brother, all of us living in a white house with a yard and trees—one we would own and not move from each year, searching for a cheaper lease.

Can I help that I craved something more for my life?

As Haze said, maybe it was the search for a chosen family .

He’s found it; maybe I can, too. Perhaps it’s time to return to my mafia roots.

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