Good Sick: A Dark Psychological Romance

by Sansa Rayne

  Running his fingers through my sensitive lips, Mason kissed my neck. “You’re so wet,” he mumbled. I moaned, shifting my hips on the bed; it was all the motion I could generate.

  Brushing my clit and massaging my folds, he continued to plant kisses across my upper body. Occasionally he tugged on the chain connecting the nipple clamps. I moaned in frustration, wondering when he would just stuff himself inside of me. I was ready.

  “Please, Mason,” I gasped.

  “Please, what?”

  “I want you.” Was he going to make me say it? Did he have to drag it out of me?

  “What, exactly, do you want?”

  Blushing, I replied, “Your cock, sir.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

  You jerk, I thought, though I smiled.

  “Please, I want your cock!” I shouted.

  Then I felt it, his member rock hard and unbelievably thick. I gasped as his shaft split me apart, digging deep into my eager orifice. He grunted as I clenched down on him, my inner walls hungry for more. He felt so big inside me, I don’t know how I possibly could have taken him all in. He groaned loudly as the base of his shaft marked the end of his plunge, and I howled blissfully. Thrusting slowly at first, he gradually worked faster and faster, increasing the length of his thrusts as well as their speed. Tireless as a machine, he pounded into my body until we both shouted in ecstasy.

  I wept openly as I came again and again, drunk on the rapture and torment of one insane orgasm after another. Subspace carried me away on wings of delight, until I floated in a tranquil sky, far away from the pain of my past and whatever troubles lay ahead in my future. For the moment, all I could experience was bliss and satisfaction.

  The ropes binding me and the clamps hurting me bled together with the power of Mason’s cock to elicit a state of joy from which I never hoped to come down. Not everybody would understand it, but that didn’t matter. I had a sickness, and it was incurable, but for that I felt blessed.

  “I don’t want to drink it,” said Ellie. The barista had created a cute, cream panda in her cappuccino. “I’d feel bad, you know?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It cost nine dollars. I wouldn’t feel bad at all.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She lifted the mug and sipped. Her eyes rolled up in her head for a second. “Oh, that’s good.”

  “Can I try?”

  She nodded, so I took a sip too. She wasn’t kidding. “Wow.”

  It was the early evening, and the cafe was packed and cacophonous. Dozens of men and women chatted and laughed, with friends and couples occupying every seat. Ellie and I stood at a counter, watching vigilantly for somebody to leave so we could sit.

  Never had I imagined I’d be comfortable in the midst of such a scene. Six years on a farm got you used to relative peace and quiet, particularly at night. I spent so many of them locked in my room, reading and studying, trying to ignore some of my most basic needs. Now, though…

  “Ellie, did you ever think we’d be in a place like this, together? Just hanging out?”

  She smiled, though it contained a hint of sorrow. Every day we woke in comfort we were reminded of the girls who weren’t so lucky. Where were they all now? Some had been found after Brady gave up what he knew. Every time I visited him in jail I convinced him to provide a few more names; I had scheduled my fifth trip for the following week. I’d go more often if I thought it would help.

  So many of the girls were still out there, though, hidden away or worse — including Kaya.

  “I dreamed about it, actually,” said Ellie. “Back at the farm, I’d have dreams of doing normal stuff. Buying groceries. Waiting in line for a movie. Going to the bank. You take it all for granted until you don’t have it anymore.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a downer.”

  “It’s fine.” Ellie squeezed my hand tightly. “It’s good to be thankful, to not forget.” She took another sip of her latte and moaned. “I know, without a doubt, that my coffee is the best here. Nobody else’s tastes as good as mine. Nobody can appreciate it the way you or I do.”

  I nodded, understanding her meaning. “That’s a nice perspective. Kerri would get a kick out of that. She loves for me to see the silver lining.”

  “Yeah, it helps.”

  A couple got up from a nearby table; I grabbed my coffee and made a break for it, but by the time I showed up another pair swooped in and sat. I wandered back to Ellie, noticing the brown drops soaking into my pink sweater.

  “Shit,” said Ellie. “That sucks.”

  “It was donated, it’s fine,” I said. I took it off, revealing the black tube top I wore beneath. “This, however, was not.” Combined with my form-fitting, black vinyl leggings, I knew the eyes of the men were finding me.

  Ellie’s jaw dropped. I wondered if in her mind she still pictured me wearing the plain dresses from Good Souls. “Holy crap, Abbi. I take it you’re seeing Mason later?”

  “He said to dress up,” I replied, winking. “Something special planned.”

  “You don’t think he’s going to…?”

  “Not that, no. But something. We’re going to Dante’s,” I explained.

  “Where?”

  I finished the last of my coffee. “The club where we first met. It’s a… well…”

  She already had out her phone, looking it up. “Good lord, Abbi.”

  “It’s not for everyone.”

  As I spoke, I saw through the window a black Mustang pulled into the loading zone outside the cafe. My phone buzzed from inside my purse.

  “Ellie, I have to run. Call you later?” I held open my arms for a hug.

  “Please do,” she said, hoisting me in her embrace. She’d built a lot of muscle since she started training. “I want to hear all about it later. And tell Mason I said hey.”

  “You got it,” I said. She put me down, and I gave her a wave and nod before scampering out the door, my heels clicking on the cafe’s hardwood floor.

  Piling into the car, I slammed the door shut behind me. I leaned into Mason and kissed him. Like me, he wore all black: trousers and a long-sleeved, button-down shirt, both custom-tailored. “Hey Abbi,” he said. “Buckle up.”

  I did as he asked, staring at the black duffel bag at my feet. “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Just a few supplies we’ll need for tonight. I promise, it’s going to be unforgettable. You ready?”

  I put my hand over his. “Always.”

  “Good.”

  And then we were off, together, into the night.

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  For Further Reading

  If you liked this novel and enjoy erotica as well as romance, check out the sexy stories of Sasha Rich. Kinky billionaires, submissive professors, dirty therapists — Sasha's BDSM stories feature a variety of characters and heat levels, from hot and steamy to exotic and extreme! They are available from Sasha Rich’s Amazon page.

  About the Author

  Sansa Rayne, who also goes by the name Sasha Rich, is a writer from upstate New York who just began taking a hobby and an imagination and making something for others to enjoy. Sansa likes rich men, submissive young women and a variety of BDSM practices. Most importantly, Sansa has a lot of fun ideas and hopes to share many more of them in
the near future.

  For fun, Sansa enjoys cooking, good movies and stepping inside a warm apartment after a chilly walk in the snow.

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you for reading this novel! A ton of work went into it, and I owe a lot to many, many people, who gave me advice, guidance and their patience!

  Thank you also to a handful of authors I can’t thank by name — they know who they are.

  If you liked this story, reviews are always appreciated!