Page 45 of Dance with Death

I force my mind to jump the hurdle of shame and give the fuck in.

This is my life now.

No more Nikolai.

No more Ezra.

No more Ezra?

That thought fuels an indignant fire in my chest, burning through the barrier of my ribcage and ripping deep down into my belly. I let the blaze take over, my stomach clenching and drawing wanting into my swollen, aching pussy.

“You want me to fuck it?” I hardly recognize the sound of my voice, rising to a pitch of hysteria. “Then let me go and watch me fuck it.”

He releases my fingers, though his hands only draw as far back as my wrists, resting there lightly. He stops rocking, but I take over for the both of us. Clamping my thighs around the stupid pink bunny, I roll my hips, holding it in place with my hands so my clit can rub against the soft surface.

“TellPapàhow you feel.”

“Dirty.” It was the sad, sorry truth.

“You feel like a dirty little girl?”

“Si, Papà.”

“Don’t stop, dirty girl.”

His hands slide backward along my arms, though his body stays in place, his hips moving with me as mine rock. I’m thoroughly disgusted with myself, but I’m taking my fucking power back. He’s gonna make me do this, like it or not, so I’ll let myself like it because I have nothing else.

He pulls his hands away and I feel him shift behind me. At first, I think he’s unbuckling his pants, but that’s not what happens. He’s shifted his body so that he’s leaning a bit toward the left and he holds my hip with his left hand. I don’t know where his right hand is.

Probably on his dick.

Though, I know it’s not on his dick because I feel his hardness against the small of my back.

“Take a look at this…” I hear him say as I rock and rub. “Daddy’s little doll. Sweet and dirty and aching for it. Do you like it, doll?”

“Si, Papà,” I hiss with sarcasm on a whisper.

I’m determined, so fucking determined to relieve this ache in my body. It’s the ache of everything I’ve been through, everything that’s been done to me, everything that’s to come. It’s the ache of finding hope, finding love with Ezra and having it ripped away from me so callously. It’s the ache of knowing I may not see him again…

“Come on, Anya, get there.”

Tears spring to my eyes and I shout at him, though I continue to defile this stupid toy. “Shut up, shut the fuck up!”

He lets me go and leaves me there, stepping back, and I know he’s just standing there, watching me as I writhe like a whore, fucking for nothing more than a quick, fleeting release.

It coils in my pussy, throbbing, pulsing, screaming at me to rut and fuck and claim my release. It builds and builds before it crests and I feel the familiar break, the crippling tension just before, then the exploding release of an orgasm.

But it doesn’t feel the same.

It doesn’t feel good.

There’s not an ounce of that pleasurable feeling through my clit. All I feel is a flood of painful emotion rushing through the released tension in my muscles with the absolutely ruined orgasm.

I remain powerless.

There was never any power for me to take back.

“Very nice, Anya,well done.”

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