Page 102 of The Sadist and the Brat

“What is it, brat?” he asked, a hitch in his gravel-like voice, and she was perversely pleased to note that he didn’t sound so smooth anymore. Didn’t look it, either. He was sweating, his teeth gritted, and his eyes were blazing. “You need something?”

She tried to shift her mouth into a pout, but she was too far gone for pretense. “Yes.”

Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “What?”

She shook her head, the loose bun flopping, and pressed her face to the cushion in front of her. “I don’t know. I can’t…I don’t know.”

“More of this?” he asked and pushed hard into her.

It stole her breath, had fresh sweat breaking out on her skin. He kept going, hammering her with short, sharp thrusts that made his balls swing forward and slap against her wet pussy. “Is that what you want?”

She would’ve answered him, but her voice had stopped working, and all she was capable of doing was moaning.

“Or do you want more of this?” he continued and dragged his hand down her back.

A scream ripped from her throat and her vision went white as her back erupted in agony. She dimly heard him laugh, full of triumph and delight, but all her focus was on the sharp, stabbing pain that couldn’t possibly be just from his hand.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she managed to look behind her and saw he’d slipped on a black leather glove. He saw her looking and waved at her, the tiny metal teeth embedded in the palm gleaming in the light.

Vampire glove, she thought, blinking through the tears, then closed her eyes on a fresh wave of anguish washing over her when he stroked it, oh so gently, over her hip. Her whole body seemed to clench, and she fought to ride the pain, to let it carry her.

“You like that,” he observed.

“I hate it,” she choked out, only half lying.

“Liar,” he accused.

“Sadist,” she countered, and tried to gather her scattered wits. She was so close now, the orgasm almost within reach. Her asshole was clenching around his dick, her pussy around nothing, and an insistent throb had taken up residence deep in her belly. “Boss, please.”

“Again?” he asked and raised his hand.

“No, no, no,” she chanted, flinching away. She yanked at her hands, forgetting they were tethered in her desperation to avoid another stroke of that glove. Part of her recognized that it would bring the orgasm closer, that every time he hurt her, pleasure followed pain, but her lizard brain was overloaded, and all she could think wasplease.

“Please,” she said, putting all the frustration and fear and longing inside her into the word. She twisted to look him in the eye, hoping he’d see the plea there as well, and licked her lips. “Please.”

“Please what, pain slut?” he asked. He was holding himself still, his dick pulsing inside her, his groin pressed hard against her ass. His gloved hand hung at his side, the other clamped on her hip in a death grip. “What do you need? Ask me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“My pussy,” she said, the words ripped from her belly. “I need to touch my pussy.”

“But your hands are cuffed,” he pointed out, all reason.

“Undo it,” she begged, lifting her left hand as high as she could. “Please, Boss, undo it. I need it to come, please.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he crooned, and a purely evil gleam lit his eyes. “I can’t do that.”

Her breath gushed out on a sob, and her pussy gave a hard, desperate clench.

“But since you asked so prettily,” he continued, the cartoon-villain smile curving his lips, “I’ll touch your pussy for you.”

Relief and gratitude rushed in only to be cut off by horror when he lifted his gloved hand, and realization dawned.

He moved slowly, pressing himself into her back, crooning and shushing in response to her babbled cries ofno, please, don’t. His hand slid around her hip to her belly, the leather smooth against her sweaty skin, and for a moment she was confused. Then he turned his wrist, and with deliberation, he closed his hand over her soft, wet pussy and ever so gently, squeezed.

Pain was a living, breathing thing, snaking under her skin and into her blood in little licks of flame. But through it was the insistent throb of arousal, the pulse and hum of need, and amazingly, the ball of tension in her belly began to tighten. And when he began to pound into her…

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” She pressed her forehead to the cushion, all her focus on that roiling, churning ball. It was picking up speed, spinning harder and faster. “So close, I’m so close, please.”

He was hammering into her now, hard, fast thrusts punctuated by growling grunts and the slap of his balls into the back of his hand. He squeezed her labia harder, sending the pain spiking, and with a thrust that jammed her into the headboard ordered in a harsh, almost guttural growl, “Come.”

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