Page 9 of King of Depravity

“Done what? Let a customer spray you with cum?” He opens my bedroom door and sets me down. Slapping the money on my nightstand, he yanks my jacket off my shoulders, and then starts unbuttoning my shirt. I can’t help it, I shrink away.

“I’ve never done any of it,” I whisper, and a tear manages to slip down my cheek. I don’t like being vulnerable in front of men, so I don’t date, I don’t have sex, I don’t even flirt, except for at the bar and that’s more of a professional courtesy.

“Never done any of what?”

I try to consider the angles. Should I lie? Will my words make him want to hurt me less or more? But he’s stripping me raw, and I can’t think straight. “Anything with a guy,” I whisper. “I don’t date.”

He undoes the last button of my shirt and pulls it down my arms. I’m still in my heels and pants, my plain black bra exposed to his view.

He stares at me then, his nostrils flaring before he reaches up and places his thumb on one of my ribs, his hand wrapping around my rib cage.

I jerk back. “You said no touching.”

He bares his teeth. “I meant no fucking. Take out your ponytail.”

My hands shake uncontrollably as I reach up and pull out the elastic. I’m trying to remain calm. The elastic gives and my hair tumbles down my back.

But his eyes aren’t on me. Instead, he’s staring at some of the pieces I’ve hung on my wall. “Who painted these?”

My hands fall to my sides again as I swallow. No one sees my stuff. “I did.”

He looks at me then, his gaze still unreadable in the dark, but something in his energy shifts. Calms.

He steps around me and walks up to the first painting. My arms immediately wrap around my middle, like that will somehow protect me.

But I do pivot toward him, watching as he studies the piece. It’s a self-portrait of my face but it’s broken into several pieces and scattered across a cement floor of a dark basement.

He moves to the second, a red room where I kneel on the floor, my head hanging low, painted in all hues of blue.

A third landscape, a picture of the campus where I take classes. People say landscapes are emotionless but when I first arrived here, I loved the quad. I felt immense joy to be free from my past and to be here to learn.

Every stroke of that landscape I made with love.

He turns to look at me and for the first time, I see a spark of something real in his eyes. They dance with fire. It’s just a moment, and then it’s gone. His eyes shutter, go black, all I feel is the emptiness.

“Take off your pants.”

My throat is so tight, I can barely swallow. I try to undo the button, but I can’t get my fingers to work.

With a rumble of frustration, he pushes my hands away, undoing them himself. Then he’s peeling them down my legs, squatting in front of me to get them down my ankles.

“Lift your foot.” I do as he commands, turning off the part of my brain that feels, just following his instructions like a robot. It’s easier this way. But instead of removing my pants, he takes off my shoe.

“The other one.” I do it, and he takes the shoe off, the smallest sigh escaping my lips to be out of the shoes. I can’t believe I let it escape my mouth, that I gave him the satisfaction of knowing that something felt good.

He’s still bent in front of me, but he looks up then, his fingers resting on the back of my calves. “You smell delicious.”

My lips part, trying to decide how I feel about those words. It’s so weird, I’m being forced to serve this guy, but my body responds the smallest bit. Like I feel my sensitive flesh between my legs twitch, notice that my scent gets stronger.

He smells it too. “I want to taste you.”

“No.”

He rumbles out a protest, but I shake my head. “You said no touching.”

He stands, not bothering to take my pants the rest of the way off as he undoes his belt and then shucks his fitted slacks down his thighs.

His junk springs out from between the open slit in the bottom of his dress shirt and I gasp in a breath. “That cannot be normal sized.”

---