Page 19 of The Enslaved Duet
“Yes,topolina,” he breathed, looking down at me like a deity. “Earn your reward. Worship your Master.”
I rankled against his title. Hated that I was forced to my knees before him, enslaved to a man whose arrogance and entitlement knew no bounds.
But there was also something dark and curious peeking out from the depths of my soul, something more animal than spirit and not even close to human. It was intrigued by the dynamic between this godlike man and my prostrated person.
There was something deeply arousing about feeling wholly vulnerable and knowing your only power could be found in giving a stronger person pleasure.
Unbidden, a second pulse began to beat in my swollen clit being manipulated shamelessly by Alexander’s expensive shoe.
His hands manipulated my movements faster, slamming his thick length in and out of my throat, uncaring of my inability to breath, my constant gagging and choking.
In fact, I think he enjoyed it.
“One day soon, you will come to love sucking me off so much that you’ll orgasm with one touch to your clit after pleasuring me,” he told me, nothing in his clinical voice giving away his desire even though I could feel his pulse beating hard against my tongue each time he slid down my throat.
He pulled out fully, his dick glistening obscenely as it bobbed angrily in front of my face. I spat some of the excess saliva in my mouth on the ground at his feet and glared up at him with tears in my burning eyes.
“Vaffanculo a chi t’è morto,” I cursed, telling him to go fuck his dead family members.
It was a horrific insult in Italian, one I didn’t think translated well into English, but Alexander’s face clenched with instant fury at my words, so clearly, he understood.
With his furious eyes burning into my own, he pulled me slowly, firmly back onto his cock, tunneling deep into the back of my throat and holding me tightly to his lightly furred groin. One hand slid from my head, down my cheek to rest over my throat where his thick length swelled. I gurgled in protest as his fingers wrapped tightly over my pulse, completely unable to breathe or move past the dual obstructions.
Without leaving my throat, he thrust in and out of my mouth, his grip tightening with each pump until he cursed viciously and came straight down my gullet. I couldn’t taste the brine of him on my tongue, and for one horrifying second, I was disappointed by it.
He held me against him, his cock softening slowly until it lay half-turgid on my tongue. I was surprised and disconcerted when he began to pet my hair, but he continued with it long enough that I started to relax slightly with my cheek pressed to the inside of his thigh.
The moment I did, he wrapped cruel fingers in my hair and tipped my head back so that I could look up into his coldly furious eyes.
“If you mention my dead family ever again,topolina, I will chain you to the wall and flog you until your skin peels off in gold ribbons. Is that understood?”
I felt his threat in my bones. My nod was truncated by the flesh in my mouth, but he took it for the promise it was.
His hands disappeared from my skin, his cock pulled from my mouth so quickly that I nearly vomited on the floor at his feet.
I braced myself against the cold floor as I coughed and then looked up at Alexander with hatred and fear in my eyes like flashing neon signs.
“Why me?” I asked, wiping my wet mouth with the back of my hand. My throat burned from his disuse of it. “Why do this to me?”
I’d saved this man’s life, and he was repaying me with sexual servitude?
It didn’t make sense.
“Why you?” he asked on a callous hiss. “You have done nothing to deserve the answer to the question.”
My skin flashed hot and cold in shame and fear, a potent concoction that disorientated me more than any drug. The situation was too surreal for me to understand. A month ago, I’d been a teenage girl living a poor but pleasant life with her family in Naples.
Now, I was a slave kneeling at the feet of her Master in a country I didn’t know with nothing to my name but whatever he deemed to allot me.
Without another word, Alexander tucked himself back into his trousers and turned on his heel to walk to the door. Only when he reached it did he turn to look at me, my chin still wet and trembling, my knees tightly closed but their insides glistening with my own traitorous arousal, the same arousal that coated the toe of his left shoe.
“I will tell you this, Cosima Lombardi,topolina, my slave,” he said, his words lugubrious. “Your assumption of this role is as vital to your life as it is to mine. Even a predator is prey to something, even me.”
I had the dream again, the one about Persephone being abducted by a cruelly handsome Hades who dragged her into the dank underworld and forced her to take the throne at his side. Only, this time, the Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Dead was not wholly reluctant. She marveled at the beauty of the dark world and found surprising enchantment in the power she’d been granted as its ruler. The only thing she couldn’t find delight in was the cold, mysterious man at her side.
“Who are you?” she asked the dark god. “Who do you want me to be for you?”
When I woke up to the sound of rattling chains, those questions were burned in my psyche.
