Page 26 of Bought

There’s a tell-tale patch, a little sliver where the red material is starting to darken along the line of her slit. She’s aroused. She can’t help it. Her pride leads to her shame, and her shame leads her to arousal. I don’t think she understands her reactions at all, which only makes it more delicious to casually sweep a finger along that little slit of hers, feel the tremor of desire run through her body, and hear the moan she tries to swallow unsuccessfully before it escapes her mouth

“Was it so hard to say sorry?” I murmur the question, playing my finger lightly over that silky slit of hers.

“Yes,” she whimpers. She’s still crying, but her hips are also trying to rise to my finger. As sorry as she’s feeling for herself right now—and I’m sure that’s the only kind of sorry she’s feeling at all—she can’t help how horny she is.

Casey was made for a man like me. She’s smart enough not to bore me, spirited enough to keep me interested, defiant enough to give me something to do, and she responds to all my twisted traits that would ruin another woman by converting them to raw desire.

She’s perfect, and I am more in love with her than I have ever been with any woman. But she doesn’t love me. Not yet, at least. And maybe she never will. Maybe the scorn she has for me will outweigh the desire forever. Right now though, in this moment, she wants me. And that is enough.

I tease her, using those silk panties like a toy as I pinch the gusset just above her clit and roll her lips gently between my fingers, feeling how soft and puffy they are. She started getting wet the second I so much as mentioned the word spanking, and now she’s soaked.

Slowly, the tears stop and her hips start to roll. Instead of whimpers, I hear moans, which become more guttural as her desire grows. I’m doing nothing but teasing her, sliding my fingers down the length of her slit, rubbing over the silk. It’s not enough to make her come, or even get her close, but it’s more than enough to make her crave my cock.

I’ve come to be very intimate with her cues, the little sighs, the sinuous motions she makes when she wants me. But she’s not going to get me. Not yet. I want to keep her on the edge until she begs. I want it to come from her.

Her panties are nice and slippery, the wetness spreading into a much wider, darker patch. I work my fingers over her sex in tantalizing motions, letting the pad of a finger slip down and run a slow circle around her clit.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Casey?”

I purr the question down at her, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” she moans.

“Well,” I say, rubbing her little bud a few last times. “Next time, be a good girl.”

Her wail as I slide her off my lap and onto the bed makes me smile. She wanted my cock. I could probably have her beg for it if I wanted to toy with her even more, but she has been fucked enough for one day, and I have business to attend to now that Jack is around.

“You fucking asshole,” she grumbles as I step away. I know she’s going to be pushing her hand between her thighs as soon as I’m gone, rubbing herself to the climax I’m not going to reward her bad behavior with.

“Good night, Casey. Sleep tight.”

Chapter Eight

Casey

Another day in captivity dawns. Three days have now passed since Ethan left me with blue ovaries, and I haven’t seen him on a single one of them.

I’ve been left in the room with only Forsyth to attend me, or rather, guard me. The man seems to have supernatural stalking powers. The moment I leave, he is by my side, asking what he might do for me. He’s keeping a close eye on me and I can’t figure out a way to do anything without him being right there. It’s not that I think he’d physically stop me from leaving if I wanted to. It’s more that I know exactly what Ethan would do to me if I was to make another ‘escape,’ and frankly, my bottom is still tender from the last time I got out.

Whatever I do next, it has to be more subtle. It has to be smarter. And it has to happen while I’m dressed like somebody who lives in a fashion catalog. The clothes are actually very nice, and I’m surprised at how quickly I’m getting used to wearing them. Silky skirts and slip dresses fit nicely and are comfortable while in captivity. Ethan has provided a more comfortable range of footwear too, some flats I can move around in without risking my neck.

I could just settle in, wait for him to come back to me. Something happened the night Jack came, I’m sure of it. It makes me curious, but there’s no way of finding out any real information, thanks to the fact that all electronics have been confiscated from me.

It’s boring. And frustrating. What Vipyr is doing is wrong, and they need to be stopped, or the world needs to know. Something has to be done.

I become more convinced of that with every passing hour. Whatever spell Ethan cast on me with his cock has faded, and left me with my original resolve. Nobody can watch me twenty-four hours a day. Not even Forsyth.

I keep testing the door, keep seeing what happens. There’s a rhythm to this house. It’s not a family home, but there are dozens of people living here. Security, mostly. More medieval throwbacks. A king must live surrounded by his army.

They don’t really seem to pay much attention to me. As long as I don’t make any moves toward the front gate, I’m ignored. And that’s a good thing, because it means that the more they see me around, and the more I do nothing, the more boring I become. And then one of them makes a mistake.

He walks past me, his phone sticking a little too far out of his back pocket. He must have shoved it there earlier and forgotten about it. He’d remember when he sat down, I guess, but he won’t get that chance because I pluck it from his rear almost like a reflex.

Tech. Gimme.

I clutch it to my chest, push it into my bra, and then I race to my room. It will probably be locked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get into it.

Retreating to the bathroom, I pull my prize out. Yes, it is locked. But it’s with a pattern lock code, and that means it’s basically useless. There are six codes most commonly used by all android users. C, O, N, S, M, L. People can’t help but spell a letter when they get to draw something in a series of nine dots. If the grid were made bigger, they’d compulsively draw dicks.

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