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couldn’t tell which. The material slid down my right leg, catching on a cuff at my ankle. My bathing suit bottoms would be next. Oh God.
    My pussy clenched. Hot, sticky cream coated my folds, dampening the lining.
    He audibly inhaled. “I can smell your cream. Intoxicating.”
    “Fuck you.”
    “As you wish.”
    I felt the tug at the waistband and panic gripped me. I writhed, fighting the chains holding my ankles and wrists in place. But there was no hope, no use. I was bound tight, unable to resist. Fingers slid down my lycra-covered crack. I trembled. Tears coursed down my cheeks, even as more heat pounded to my pussy. I was shocked and ashamed by my body’s response. I despised this man. I didn’t want him to touch me. Not my back. Not my ass. And…oh God…not down there .
    “No,” I said on a whimper. “No, no, no.”
    His fingers grazed over my sensitive flesh. No man had ever touched my pussy. It felt so good. Good but wrong. Wrong but thrilling.
    “Please stop,” I begged.
    “Do you know what the scent of your cream does to me? Esclavo, you are so wet. I want to cram my cock into that slick, tight heat and make you scream until you can’t scream anymore.” My thighs tensed. My feet slid wider apart, as far as the chains would allow, opening my center for his probing digits.
    What the hell was I doing, welcoming his invasion?
    My breathing quickened. My heartbeat thumped through my body, sending wave upon wave of lust burning through my core. My pussy was empty and clenching, so wet and hot I ached. Instinct told me to open wider, surrender to him, even as my brain told me to resist, to fight, to beg for mercy.
    I couldn’t let him take what was mine.
    But even as that thought blazed through my mind, I quivered with need. His fingers slipped into the leg of my bottoms, fingernails grazing my labia. My insides pulsed, and the air filled with the sweet scent of my need.
    I was shameless. I was a whore. A whore who didn’t just want his touch to delve deeper, I needed his touch to delve deeper.
    Closing my eyes, I waited, my breath in my throat. My blood was like lava, burning through my body. Every nerve in my skin was electrified. His touch awakened a part of myself I hadn’t realized existed. The feral self who didn’t give a damn about shoulds and should nots.
    “This is mine. My cunt.” When his finger slipped between my nether lips, I whimpered. I quaked. I bit my lip and dug my fingernails into my palms. Deeper. I wanted his touch to go deeper. To thrust inside, stretch me wide.
    Instead, it slid out.
    “You surrender so quickly, esclavo. Where did that fire go?” He walked away, leaving me standing there, barely able to hold myself up. My legs were as soft as molten gelatin. Knees wobbly. Pulse pounding in my ears. Arms practically numb from lack of blood supply. And the evidence of my need dripping from my pussy.
    Was he done?
    The door’s hinges creaked. His footsteps echoed. He was out in the hallway.
    I pulled in a deep breath. Was I safe? Where was he going? How long would he be gone?
    For now my virginity was still intact. But my pride…that was long gone. With just a few strokes he’d tamed me. I’d gone from kicking and screaming to protect myself to spreading my legs and practically begging him to take me.
    And this was just the first day. The first hour of the first day.
    If he kept to his word (and that was a big if, in my book), and would release me at the end of the week, there were still many hours of this torture ahead of me yet.
    How would I survive?

 
     
     
     
    What was this feeling? This nagging curiosity. This frustrating desire to watch her? To touch her? This irritating need to…protect her? --Kace R.
     
Four
    I stood in that room, chained to that big X, for what seemed like a lifetime. The whole time my ears pricked, my heartbeat raced. That horrible man would come back, and when he did, what would he do next? Would he whip me until I screamed in agony? Or