by Abby Angel
Forget her wet pussy trembling on my leg.
No, when her body responded to mine, she damned herself. Poor girl. She had no idea what she has in store for her. I'm the cock that stole Christmas. Or, rather, I'll sell her to that one. Though part of me wants to forget sweating an enormous amount of capital and keep her all for myself. But this isn't just about the money. I'm fucking rich, and that doesn't just mean protecting my assets. It means protecting my reputation. I'm not to be fucked with or fucked over.
You try to screw me over in business and if I don’t respond, then people we both deal with will think it’s okay to try it too.
No, a slap to the face like that needs me to respond in only one way.
A fucking mallet to the neck.
Because if you screw me, you need to know I’m going to fucking respond.
After what Sarah’s father has pulled on me, first off, it’ll be hard to do it again with my newfound paranoia. But if you do, then I’ll do what I’m doing now - sell your pure and untouched daughter to the highest bidder on the Virgin Market, the exclusive gathering of wealthy untouchable assholes who can have anything that they want. So rich that they’ve bought everything in the world so now they buy people.
The idea of Sarah being hollowed out by those assholes—if she's afraid and shows it—being sold to someone with even sicker thoughts than mine...or being compliant for someone else?
Those thoughts horrify me. The scent of her sweet pussy still lingers in my mind. My cock twitches and I resist the urge to palm it.
I look into her wide eyes.
I'm not going to be kind.
I can't be. The urge to be kind to her only pushes me toward trying to withdraw my feelings. Being stern with her is my only option, putting her off...but if I'm stern with her, it will only set alight my darker desires.
So I'm fucked either way. In the not getting to fuck her sweet body sense.
What a goddamn waste. She had a life, she has a sweet virginal pussy, and all of it is going down the drain because her parents are scum.
Well, that's not my fucking sob story.
"Strip, and get on your knees." I let no warmth or need penetrate my voice. If I'm a mystery, I'm more frightening. I can't have her thinking that she has hope. That she can escape. I need to get the idea of being nice to her out of my mind so I can focus on keeping her compliant.
For some asshole who is going to buy her. I'll train her.
Fuck, I need to text Trevor.
"I won't repeat myself," I say, leaning forward and allowing the menace that I might harm her move her trembling fingers to work.
She makes short order of her clothes, and gets on her knees.
"Good girl," I say, pulling out my phone. I snap a picture.
Sarah gasps.
"I'm sending this to TD. He will love to see your virgin pussy, so why don't you spread your legs for me," I say, every inch of the menace in my voice now full of triumph.
I used to fuck some of the classier rich widows here in Manhattan with Trevor back in the day. It has been a while since we destroyed some hot piece of ass. And we've never had something so sweet.
He's bought girls for a night on the Virgin Market. He told me last that he thought he should make a more permanent investment. And Sarah? Well, she's goddamn perfect.
And I get to fuck her if TD buys her, he fucking loves sharing pussy with me.
Of course, that's a thing we've only done in small doses.
But one night with Sarah would be all I need, right?
I have to fucking tell myself that. It's the only thing keeping me from just fucking Sarah now.
You gotta stop me if I try to.
Something goes over her face. Her eyes hood with lust while her breathing flushes her pale breasts to pink and she's panting in fear. She spreads her thighs and I take the pictures. I show them sending to TD, with just one word.
Virgin.
He texts back: Very nice.
I let Sarah see it and her fingers tremble, but she's so obedient, not moving a muscle aside from her shaking. Trembling as she is, I can't believe I see that flicker of something in her eyes. How innocent is this sweet little girl? What lies beneath the surface of Sarah?
Fuck, I want to find out. So badly.
"Let go, turn around," I command her.
She obeys, shuffling around.
"Now put your palms flat on the ground," I tell her.
She obeys.
I inhale the scent of her pussy.
Wet.
"You like listening to what I tell you to do?"
"I'm afraid," she says, her voice shaking.
I slap my hand down to her ass, landing with a smack against her hot flesh. It pinks for me and I groan. "That doesn't arouse you less," I say with smug satisfaction. I grip her ass, letting the whole cheek fit in my palm with a firm squeeze. "You don't speak again unless I tell you to."
I believe I got the message across.
My cock jolts in my trousers. I want to pull it out and just slide it across her bare ass, skin hot from where I spanked her and now grip. Just a touch. But my hands are aching to delve lower and I have to stop.
Sarah
Damien demeans me. Makes me strip. I show him my pussy. He bends me over on the floor and spanks me. Says I don't talk to him unless he says I can.
He doesn’t know that I would do this even if I didn’t have to. If my father didn’t owe any money, somehow I’d still be here. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Maybe that’s why the heat in my body won’t subside? How can I still be attracted to him? I want to scream to release the frustration inside my body. I ache to be able to release all of the tension that he's built up inside me.
He fucking sent pictures of my naked body to this TD. I don't know who that is but they saw my naked body and I want to vomit just thinking about that. Damien seeing me naked...turns me on. I don't like it, but I can admit it.
But some stranger?
The tears start to fall and they don't stop. I can't believe I can, for a second, feel safe around Damien. I shouldn't think he isn't capable of horrible things. Doesn't this prove that he's willing to do anything he deems necessary to debase me?
So why does his hands squeezing my ass make me burn for him? Why do I start caring more now about whether or not he enjoys squeezing my ass than if I'm going to get raped by his friend, that TD person? Why is he doing this?
Why did my parents let this happen?
Damien's hand reaches out and wipes away one of my tears. I shudder. The gentle touch happens as he releases my ass, and somehow a kind touch is worse than a rough one. I don't know what to expect. My mind and body haven't caught up with each other and I don't know what to think.
He pulls my hand from above me. My palm is sweating and I feel the wetness of my tears on his hand. I stand up as he pulls me.
"This is going to be your room," Damien says as he takes me down a hallway and shows me a doorless room with a large, fluffy bed inside. The room is bare. Clearly a space for a guest. It scares me, seeing this room.
Where is the door?
I want to ask, but I know that I'm not supposed to. Not allowed to. He releases my hand and I sit on the bed.
Then he just leaves.
Oh God, this has to be some kind of test.
I'm naked and I feel weird sitting, naked.
What if TD is on his way here?
What if Damien is pimping me out? Maybe that's why he didn't fuck me.
I feel sick to my stomach and I see there's a bathroom in here.
Damien already out of sight, I rush to the bathroom. Waves of nausea roll over me, but I don't have the strong feeling that I can vomit. I can no more expel this hurt in my stomach than I can escape this situation. At least, for now.
I turn the faucet on and look at my face. I'm flushed pink and red, my eyes are puffy and dark. I look like the hell that I feel inside. But I see a fire behind the pain in my eyes. I know this
now. I splash the water onto my face and turn off the faucet. Take a deep breath.
I will get out of here. I don't know how, but I'm going to find a way out.
I hear a door close and I jump. Okay, so I'm not so tough right now. But I will be. I'm working up to it.
Should I risk leaving this room? Calling out to see if Damien left?
I don't know what the consequences of disobeying or disappointing Damien are, but I won't let myself imagine them. Tentatively, I step outside of the room and head back to the foyer. I don't encounter Damien or anyone else on the way there.
I turn back after a cursory glance at the kitchen and no one is there. Every door is locked. But I seem to be alone. For how long, I don't know. I rub my stomach. It isn't as sick, but I'm not hungry. I have no idea what's in Damien's kitchen. I want to go in there and find a knife. But something tells me that I couldn't use it, even if I needed to, but taking it might make me look like I would...and I don't want to die stabbed to death.
Of course, despite everything, my brain tells me that Damien would never stab me.
"As if I could fucking know that!" I shout in defiance. I'm already breaking because I shudder now for fear that I'll be heard. No one is here, and I'm shaking. I'm cold now. I hate that I'm naked. I immediately pick up my clothes and put them on. The cold wetness from my earlier arousal, despite everything, makes me groan in frustration.
I'm wet now. I'm afraid, but I'm wet. Why couldn't I just hate Damien? Be afraid. I don't want to find him appealing. That terrifies me more than any possibility. I have been kidnapped. My parents can't just make me the property of someone else. I need to get away. I finish getting dressed and try the obvious solution.
I go to try the front door, but the instant my hand is on the door knob, the driver's voice bellows out, "No." That single word is all the warning he offers. It's because it's all he has to say. I’m not about to try and bust through that door. I saw the muscles on him. He was nice to me, but still…he’s a tough stranger in charge of keeping me in here. Posted at the door. That’s kind of insane.
Well, fuck. I'm not alone. But as long as I'm on this side of the door and he's on that one, I'm okay with that. I go back to my room and sit on the bed, letting my mind run wild with possibilities of how to escape.
Sarah
Over the next few days, Damien settles me into the odd reality of living with him. I think, for the first two days, about all of the schoolwork I should be doing. About how college means having a thousand things to read…and I’ll be behind.
Something sinks into my stomach the third day, between the regular time when I have dinner—whether he is there or only his chef—and before I go back to my room for the night.
I no longer think about school or think I’m going back. How could I accept so soon that I don’t have control of my life anymore?
It sickens me to admit it. But I know that I’m accepting this new life because in a twisted way, I’m living better than I ever did. In some way, I’m happier than I ever was.
Even when work takes Damien away for the day, a chef prepares my meals. An unseen maid cleans my clothes. The bath products and wardrobe he supplies, well they cost more than a semester’s tuition of the school I no longer miss. I don’t know how I can possibly feel this way. I should be horrified. Missing school. Missing my life.
I certainly don’t miss my parents, and I don’t have a problem with that. From what I’ve managed to piece together after long hours in thought and reflection, they owed Damien a large sum of ill-gotten money. But they had already spent it. So they sold me off to Damien like I was a chair or a desk. So what if they didn’t realize I wanted to get away and this was more an escape from them for me as much as I was a ticket to debt release for them?
The fact of the matter is that whether or not I—dare I say—prefer my life right now has no bearing on how wrong it was for them to give me away like they did.
Of course, I like this time because right now, nothing is happening. Damien gives me looks that are pure hunger when he thinks I’m not watching. I obey what he says and I say nothing. The first day, I was too nervous to realize we never said anything to each other. The next day, I was intentionally waiting for him to say something. I don’t know what to do at this point. I don’t want to escape the seemingly safe bubble of whatever transition period we are currently in. I don’t want to find out what comes next.
After getting used to this idea that he leaves…well, I know that I have to do something. I know my brain is catching up with this strange reality. I have to find out what his plans are for me. I have to find a way out.
There’s only one way to do that. I have to work with what’s around me. The only asset I have in this situation is that Damien leaves me alone. The chef comes and goes. There’s no chance of me escaping because the driver—or some guard—stays posted at the door. Damien doesn’t tell me his schedule, but if I can just do my snooping meticulously and quickly, I will be able to get away with it.
That’s right, snooping.
What? I’m still a woman, aren’t I?
At first, digging through Damien’s penthouse is utterly terrifying. I spend a ridiculous hour walking around and trying to look nonchalant while I try to figure out if cameras are watching me. If there are cameras, I don’t recognize any. I pick a single thing—a document tray in the foyer with a few envelopes, papers, stubs, and such things inside. I look at the entire stack as it is before I touch it. I memorize the placement. I remove one piece at a time, looking at it and then taking mental note of how to replace it at its exact angle. I start so close to the door that my only warning I am about to get caught will be that door opening and seeing me. My heart doesn’t calm down for hours after I finish snooping in that one spot, and I lie in bed that night having half-awake nightmares about being caught snooping.
In the nightmares, Damien decides that I’m too risky of an investment, and he decides to get rid of me. In the first dreams, he calls someone else to do it. When I finally fall into a fitful slumber, that’s when the true horror begins. In those dreams, Damien ends me himself. With his bare hands. I wake up sweating and wanting to scream out in horror, but I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. I want to remain calm.
The next day, four days into my captivity, I determine that if Damien leaves, I will snoop more. I test the doors when he’s on the way to the kitchen—they are all locked. Damn. I plan to check every day, regardless. Certainly they won’t all be locked forever.
But several days in, and I lose track of the exact count of days and go back to my half-imaginings on what Damien’s plans for me might be.
I realize that in every strange reality that I concoct, the real horror isn’t that Damien is going to do whatever I fear. It is that in order to enact the particular intents in each of my dreams, he's getting rid of me. I can’t help but fear leaving Damien’s custody. While I suppose it is better the devil I know, I deeply wish I didn’t so that I could stop myself from feeling a single iota of safety at the idea of Damien. He owns me. My parents handed me over to him. In what way is the man I should trust the man who takes me from my parents, humiliates me, and then practically ignores me in some macabre extended sleepover of nightmares? I know that the truth is that despite the fact that Damien frightens me, and confuses me, ultimately, he intrigues me.
Despite reading every ounce of danger in his being. Feeling the intensity in his lust-filled stolen glances. Knowing that he knows I’m a virgin and clearly wanted to act on that, yet he doesn’t. Despite every logical piece of data in front of me, none of that computes so clearly as the fact that I'm attracted to Damien. On a primal, hungry level of my own I desire his attention. It’s strange. The amount of particular care put into my day-to-day existence is more attention than anyone has ever paid me in my life. Yet, he’s not speaking to me. Not touching me. Not looking at me unless he thinks I’m not looking. Why is Damien tending to my needs but keeping me at a distance?
When D
amien arrives at dinner that night, I decide that despite my better judgment, I will break the silence. When I look up at him, my lips part to speak, and Damien finally says the fist thing I’ve heard spoken in ages. "Don’t speak unless I tell you to."
I feel the air in the room shift. I didn’t speak, and I don’t speak now. How could I after the warning in his voice? I savor the sound of it, but a chill washes over me that I don’t shake for days.
Sarah
Another morning, another breakfast, and I’m timid and cautious. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel any more than I understand what I do feel. I push around my breakfast and finally eat it. When I dare look up at Damien, he’s almost done and he seems to be distracted. When I finish, he waves me up and I follow him toward the foyer.
"I won’t be back this evening," Damien says, his hand brushing my back as he heads out the door, past me on the way to my room after breakfast. It's oddly domestic that we have this schedule, and him actually telling me about his planned absence, plus the touch, is nearly intimate. A thrill shoots through my blood, long after the door is closed, and he’s certainly long gone. I need to think about snooping. I tell myself I will, but first I hold myself and think about how I feel right now. Where has my good sense gone?
How can I allow myself to be excited by Damien? I know he is a danger. I tasted what that danger is like.... and I can't do this. My body has responded to him when I met him, but I'm not sure I can ever feel something so intense again and survive it. A fantasy, alone, is enticing. But I need to be able to get a real breather, get a game plan together, and get back to school. I think about school because I haven’t been thinking about it. I’m guilty for resigning myself to being some kind of captive, kept girl, instead of a college student with a life of my own. My parents, they gave me to this man. He thinks that he owns me now. He has no idea what I am. That I needed to get away from my home as well and so let myself be taken.
