MADDISON
We start slow, but he soon takes the reins.
Heâs clear about his desires and doesnât plan on waiting for me to fulfill them.
After sharing a passionate kiss and exploring his body in ways Iâve only fantasized about since my arrival, he gently guides me to my knees.
I instantly understand his silent request, reaching for his pants, unzipping them, and revealing him.
The idea of having a manâs member in my mouth used to disgust meâthe mere thought making me gag.
But Iâve trained myself to not only tolerate it but to find pleasure in it.
Without wasting a moment, I run my tongue over him.
I savor his unique musky scent, mixed with the lingering aroma of his morning body wash.
I playfully tease him, not immediately taking him fully into my mouth, which seems to frustrate him.
His throaty growl echoes as his fingers weave into my hair.
He guides my head, positioning my mouth at the tip of his arousal.
I know I shouldnât want this, shouldnât crave the taste of him at the back of my throat, but I doâand I let him guide my head until he slides effortlessly down my throat.
To his disappointment, I donât gag or choke, but instead, I swallow around him, adjusting to the obstruction in my airway.
Initially, he guides my head in steady strokes, my eyes open and looking up at him, knowing this is exactly what he wantsâwhat all men want.
To see themselves disappearing into a woman, be it her mouth, her core, or her backside.
But surprisingly, Jonathon doesnât continue with his initial plan.
Instead, he pulls back, taking himself in his hand, pleasuring himself at the same pace he was thrusting into my mouth.
âYouâre such a beautiful girl. Your eyes are captivating,â he grunts through clenched teeth. âDo you know who you belong to?â he questions.
I know heâs not asking the obviousânot asking if I belong to him.
Heâs referring to the club, to the syndicate operating from within, trafficking women and girls across several countries for the perverse pleasure of their male clientele.
I nod, acknowledging that I now belong to these men who run this illicit operation.
My father sold me to them, offering me a life different from the one I had.
But sadly, this life is no different from the last. More men are using me for their own pleasure.
âOpen your mouth, kitten; stick out your tongue,â he commands.
I want to resist, to vehemently refuse, knowing he plans to climax on my face, to mark me in the most primal way a man can. But despite my internal protest, I obey, opening my mouth wide, extending my tongue to catch whatever lands there.
He grins. The rest of our interaction is communicated through our eyes. He knows I donât want this, yet he proceeds, and I flinch as the first spurt of his release hits my nose and cheek, trickling onto my tongue.
The salty taste of his release churns my stomach, but I remain still, allowing every drop to slide down my nose and cheeks.
âI own you, Hopey. Youâre mine; youâre Sanctumâs. Youâre our property, and youâd do well to remember that, my little kitten. Now swallow my release, taste my desireâthe things you do to me,â he murmurs, a hum of satisfaction resonating from his throat.
I swallow his release, my throat tightening as it descends, leaving his distinct flavor as an aftertaste. His grin widens as he pulls me up from the floor, smearing his release into my skin with his thumb until my face is sticky with it, the cool air causing my skin to tingle.
I want to wipe it off, to cleanse my skin of him, but I canât, and I know better than to try. I suppress a sigh as he spins me around toward the bed so quickly it leaves me dizzy, pulling my pants down to the floor, his hands caressing my skin as they follow the fabric.
He lingers at my ankles, probably the only part of my body unmarked from last nightâs encounter. I step out of my pants reluctantly, my skin prickling from the cool air, my heart pounding with uncertainty about what lies ahead.
Jonathonâs intent is clear; he wants me on the bed. He guides me there, his hand on my back, nudging me forward as if weâve both agreed to this.
I accept his hand, climbing onto the bed as heâs directed.
My knees sink into the mattress as I turn my back to him.
The sound of his shoes tapping against the tiled floor echoes in the room as he moves behind me. I find myself counting his steps, a desperate attempt to ground myself as I wait for his next instruction.
~Why am I doing this again? Why am I here?~ The questions loop in my mind like a broken record as he gently pushes my chest down toward the bed, leaving my bottom exposed to him.
His hands grip my bottom, not harsh enough to cause pain, but firm enough to promise something I know I shouldnât crave.
âWho knew youâd be so cooperative when freedomâs on the line?â he murmurs.
His words reach my ears, but they donât truly register. They pass through me, not making any sense as I retreat into a mental safe haven, a place where I can exist without truly living.
My mind drifts away, leaving my body to switch into survival mode once again.
Before I know it, itâs over. Jonathon is lying next to me, pulling me into his chest as if weâre two lovers basking in the afterglow of passion.
Despite the soreness in my bottom, I try to find comfort in his warm embrace, seeking some form of solace from the situation.
~Did I meet his expectations? Was my resistance to anal enough to earn my freedom?~ I hope so. I pray with all my heart that Iâll finally gain the freedom Iâve been denied since the day I was born.
I wait for his verdict, lying in complete silence as I stare at the stark white ceilingâa ritual Iâve come to know all too well after every man who uses me. Then his words come, crushing my soul and making my heart ache.
âOne week, kitten. Iâll give you one week to get him out of your system, then you come homeâ¦â