I also glimpsed a knife tucked into his boot.
How much time do I have until Bossman returns?
What I’m about to do turns my stomach, but I need to even out the odds.
I press my hands to my eyes and pretend I’m drying my tears. This straightens me out a little on the floor. Very slowly, I arch my back and push out my tits. Wonder of wonder, I’m still wearing my shorts and tank top from the beach. Still got the bright, red bikini on too.
Shelly does exactly what I knew he’d do and watches my every move with avid fascination. I’m the delectable treat he can’t have.
“What about me?” He fixates on my words, but I need him to watch my body.
Five years as a sex slave forced me to learn how to seduce men rather than get them off as quickly as possible. Men who buy sex slaves are not the same kind of men who pick up a prostitute for a quick fuck. They crave seduction and the power that comes from owning another person. It’s all about mind games.
I arch my back and stretch, moaning as I pretend I’m in pain. There’s actually very little pretending. Sharp, stabbing pains shoot through me, but Shelly gets off on pain, and I need him to get off on me.
“Do you like transporting women you never get to touch?” My words come out soft and hesitant, as meek and mild as I can make them while also injecting a degree of sarcasm. My goal is to push him. To piss him off, and hopefully to get him to make a very fatal mistake.
Shelly’s attention focuses completely on me—on my body. I make a show of feeling along my ribs. His hungry gaze follows the fluttering path of my fingers over bare skin as I inch my top up and up and up. I hiss when I reach the tender spots. When I twist to look at the bruises, my body moves with sinuous grace. I was trained by the worst humanity has to offer to be as sensual as possible.
I lift my tank top, intentionally pulling it higher than necessary. With the bright red of my swimsuit showing, I make a show of looking at my ribs. My hands skate along my skin, fingers seductively fluttering as Shelly’s mouth gapes. His breaths deepen and his hand grips the root of his cock.
I lower the fabric of my top and bite back a groan. Curling back around, I slowly turn until I’m on my hands and knees. Shelly will think I’m trying to stand, but I pick this position with intent.
Making a show of how much it hurts, I give up and lean back on my knees. It’s a position I’ve been put in before and has one very obvious advantage. I lick my parched lips. If I have to go as far as I think, Shelly can’t get distracted by the dried, chapped skin of my lips. Time to soften them up. I don’t look at him.
My role is that of a broken girl, but when I look up at him, I make sure to look up through my lashes when I finally make eye contact.
His eyes widen, first with outrage that I dare look him in the eye, but I quickly avert my gaze, playing up the submissive pose. When I look at him a second time, his hand is still at his crotch, stroking his hard length through the fabric of his pants.
Shelly’s eyes dart toward the door, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. How much time does he have?
Hopefully, not much.
All of this depends on Bossman coming back soon.
“Please, may I have some water?”
He paces in a circle around me and cuffs me upside the head. My back is to the door. I strategically fall to the side with a scream. Hopefully, Bossman hears me. When Shelly kicks me with his boot, I rotate my body until I have a direct line of sight on the door.
Shelly tugs at his pants. “You think you’re all that? That I won’t take what I want? You’re just a fucking cunt.” He moves behind me and goes to his knees. “I’m going to fuck that fine ass of yours and you ain’t going to do shit about it. I don’t need nobody’s permission to fuck a cunt.”
“No, please.” I fight him. “I’ll scream.”
“Nobody gives a fuck if you scream.”
“Your boss. He said…”
“Don’t give no fucks about what he