Stalker - Clarissa Wild Page 0,18
thing, Princess. You’ve been carried enough in your life.”
“No!” she manages to scream.
“You don’t think so? Oh, tell me why you’re living in this big house then because you didn’t fucking earn any of it, now did you? Your two lovers have been generously spoiling you, but I won’t be that nice. Oh, no.” I laugh a little from my own statement because it’s too ridiculous to believe. As if I’d ever be nice to the likes of her.
“Let me go!” she squeals, her voice distorted by all the coughs.
“How about … no?” I chuckle and go up to the attic, where I put her on the floor. The place is musky, lacks sunlight, and seems soundproof. There are plenty of furniture pieces in the back, and one small light hanging from the ceiling. Good enough for me.
Vanessa groans a little, feeling her way along the wooden floor. I watch her with glee as I tap the door, making it close slowly behind us as she crawls near me. When she touches my boots, I smirk.
“Yes, that’s me, Princess.”
She freezes, still holding my boot, but then suddenly her hands come up to rip at the belt around her neck, so I grab the leash and pull back causing her to fall on her face again.
“Uh-uh. Don’t you fucking dare touch that.”
“Stop …” she gurgles.
I go to my knees, placing my hand on my ear while I pull her closer with the belt. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
“Let. Me. Go,” she says, still coughing and choking. “You piece of shit.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Me? I’m the piece of shit?”
“Take this off,” she says, her pitch getting higher every second. “How dare you?”
I laugh, unsure why the fuck she’s still under the impression she doesn’t deserve this. “How dare I? How dare I? How about ‘how dare you!’?” I rise and pick her up just by lifting the belt, causing her to stand while she claws at her throat, desperate to breathe. “You think you can talk to me like that after what you did? Fuck you. I decide what happens to you now. Your life is in my hands, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Can’t. Breathe.” Each word comes in short gasps as she struggles for air.
“You wanna breathe? You think you deserve that after the shit you pulled? You think you fucking deserve to live another day?” I shake my head and spit right in her face. Lucky for her the bag is in the way, or she would’ve tasted my saliva. “Disgusting,” I mutter, looking at her.
Her body isn’t disgusting. On the contrary, she’s still as pretty as ever. Voluptuous, thin, Barbie-like figure—perfect for fucking. Her choices, however, now they’re repulsive.
She makes choking sounds as I tighten the grip on the belt. “Look at you. Pathetic,” I say.
I grab her arm and pull her with me toward the middle of the attic, where I fetch a chair and shove her down. “Sit and stay put or else …”
“Are you going to hurt me?” she mumbles.
I smile to myself. “Do you want an honest answer to that question or a lie? Your choice.”
She keeps her mouth shut, so I’m guessing it’s the latter. She’s always been like that, ignoring the truth that’s right in front of her. Well, I’ll make it so she can’t deny it anymore.
“Well, I can tell you one thing. You won’t be getting out of this house anytime soon.” I fish in my pocket and take out my Swiss Army knife. “Hold still.”
I pinch a bit of the bag together and cut into it, slicing a hole into it. I put one finger between the belt and her neck, causing her to suck in a breath, which immediately turns into a cough.
“There. Look how nice I am,” I muse. When she tries to respond, I place a finger on her lips. “Shhh. Don’t waste your breath, which you need so much.”
Her chest rises and sinks with each rapid breath; she sucks them in, as one would sniff coke. I look down at her ample tits and wonder if they’re still as succulent as they used to be. Fuck. Why do I even think about these things? I should be fucking her up right now, but instead, I’m thinking of fucking her. There’s a clear difference, which I can’t seem to separate. Although … it would be a great idea to fuck her up while fucking her. That would definitely be a win-win situation.
A devious smile appears