A Hurt So Sweet Volume Four - Isabella Starling Page 0,28
something on the tip of my tongue, something at the back of my mind. Something so desperately important. But I can't grip the thought. It keeps slipping through my fingers. So I just give in, go with the flow. I play pretend.
"Yes, Sir," I whisper in my dream. "Are you going to punish me?"
"Of course, my little toy. What else are you here for?" A riding crop hits my inner thigh and I yelp in pain. I stare down at my leg where a red mark is already blooming. "I'm going to hit you as many times as it takes you to admit it."
"Admit what?" I cry out when the crop hits me again and again. The others join in now, hitting, pinching, tugging on my hair and fraying my nerves. "Admit what? Please, tell me what you want me to admit!"
Nobody gives me an answer until I hear the first whisper in my ear. By the time I turn to face the voice, he's long gone, but the whisper is still there. In the back of my mind. On the tip of my tongue.
You know what you did.
It doesn't stop. Unrelentingly, it gnaws at my conscience reminding me time and time again what it means, what I am.
What I'm supposed to do.
I cry out. The tears don't fall because I won't let them. But I keep my eyes open. I want them all to see what they're doing. Unfortunately for me, it only takes a few excruciatingly painful minutes for my desperate pleas for mercy to turn into moans for more. They knew this was coming, and they start laughing at me, ridiculing me, making fun of me. I bet they're loving this. Loving hurting me.
And I am, too.
I feel the first orgasm building. I don't know what's real anymore, but I cling on to the feeling of it. The butterflies in my stomach. The wetness between my legs. I let pure euphoria take over, but the moment I'm at the crest, it stops.
"You don't deserve it," Dex's ghostly voice whispers in my ear. "Not until you admit it."
"Admit what?" I whisper brokenly, then repeating it, louder, angrier. "Admit what, you fucking jerk?"
They start again, chanting the words, surrounding me.
You know what you did, you know what you did.
"What did I do? Tell me, just tell me," I sniffle.
"You left!" The two words echo through the room in Dexter's deep, pissed-off voice. "You left me, Pandora. You left me. You took my favorite toy away. You know what I mean, don't you? The little hole between your legs. It's all mine, and you took it away from me. And now you're going to pay for it."
Something between a moan and a gasp escapes me and I struggle against the ropes.
"Just let me fucking go," I beg, despite knowing how pathetic I sound. "Please, I won't tell anyone what you did, just let me fucking go!"
"Not a chance in hell, toy," Dex hisses, and the other four figures repeat the words. "You're mine now. So just admit it. Admit it already!"
The pressure building inside me is unbearable. I know it's a dream. It has to be. But I can't wake up. I've been pushed into ice cold water without any hope of coming back up for air. I'm numb, yet I feel everything, and it's beautiful.
"I don't know what you want from me," I whisper, feeling more broken than ever. "What do you want, Dex? What do you fucking want?"
"This," he grunts. I look down, and there's a beating heart in his hand. I cry and whine and whimper, but when I open my eyes again, it's still there. Thudding. Beating. "Take mine. And give me yours, toy."
"N-No," I scream, struggling. "Get away from me!"
"I'm never going to leave you," Dex whispers in my ear. "You have a part of me now. And I have a part of you."
He clicks his fingers, and the room empties. Then it's just me and him, and I'm no longer tied to a chair. I'm on a bed now, and the room is dark and dangerous, with toys and gadgets designed to make me suffer covering every surface of the floor and walls.
"What is this place?"
"Do you like it?" he smirks. "I had it built just for you, my favorite little toy."
"What are you going to do to me?" I whisper.
"Wait and see, my little toy. Wait and see." Dex walks over to a wall, carefully examining the whips hanging from hooks on it.