He leads her to the couch. He cuddles her. He can feel how tense she still is. He strokes her hair. Slowly, she sinks into the comfort of his arms.
"Truth or dare, love," he says softly.
She tenses a bit. "Truth," she says.
"Do you believe in God?"
She relaxes again. "I'm Catholic," she says.
"So you believe in a narcissistic God?"
"No!" she giggles.
"Really, do you believe in God?"
She looks up at him. She's confused. "Of course I do. Have you ever met a Catholic who didn't believe in God?"
"I was one."
She's surprised.
He smiles down at her.
"Then I started fantasizing about kidnapping girls and making them scream. I figured that if there is a God, he wouldn't want me claiming his image."
"Oh," she says.
"If God made you in his image, he must be a very beautiful God indeed," he says. He strokes her cheek.
She blushes and smiles.
"Mary, this week, I need you to be a good girl for me. I want you to touch yourself every night. But just before you make yourself come, you have to stop. Do you understand?"
She shakes her head.
"Have you touched yourself before?"
She nods.
"Then what don't you understand?"
"Why do you—why?"
"Because I said so."
She's quiet.
"Can you do that for me?"
She nods.
"Good girl."
He kisses the top of her head.
~
That night, Mary takes off her clothes. She doesn't look at her panties before throwing them straight into the laundry.
She steps into the shower. She hopes the warm water will wash away all of today's sins.
At bedtime, she says her prayers. Then she crawls into bed. She lies awake. Her hand drifts to her panties. So naughty, to go from having her palms together to having her palm on her sex.
She touches herself. Long-latent strokes, but still familiar. Never under her panties, always over.
She touches her clit. Her nerves jump to life. They're extra sensitive. Extremely sensitive. He harangued her clit with his hands, his tongue, his lips, and then he left her hanging. It wouldn't take much to send her over the edge.
She feels hot. Her breath gets fast, shallow. Her mouth drifts open. She needs more air. She needs more pleasure.
She pulls her hand away. She almost went too far.
It takes a long time for her breathing to return to normal.
~
It's the next night. She's about to fall asleep. Then she jerks awake. She forgot to do what he asked. She doesn't really understand this game the Playeur is making her play.
She touches her clit through her panties. Lazy circles, sleepy strokes. It feels good. She doesn't get close to orgasm before she falls asleep.
~
Night three. She touches herself through her panties. She imagines that she can feel his hand. Like the first time he made her come. She replays having his fist in her hair. Pulling her head back. Forcing her to face him so he could push his tongue past her lips.
She moans. Then she gasps in surprise at her moan.
She stops touching herself. Her nerves reverberate with indignation.
~
Night four. She counts how many more nights she'll have to do this. Just three more after tonight. Then she'll go to him and hope he'll let her stop this.
She's never touched herself directly. Until now. She slips her hand into her panties. She draws in a sharp breath. Her clit is so sensitive. And it feels so wet and hard under her fingertips.
"Such a bad girl," he said. She can hear it in his voice.
"This is what little sluts like you deserve."
She rubs a finger over her clit, left to right. It doesn't feel quite like when he touched it. What did he do? He moved it more. He touched it lower. She does the same. Her fingers pull at a fold of skin. She touches her clit underneath the skin. A zing runs through her.
She whips her hand away. She feels ashamed. It's the apple she was never supposed to touch.
~
Three more nights to go.
She touches the cover of her clit. Her clit tingles. She moves three fingers down the length of her sex. She feels her folds. They're wet in the middle, dry on the outside. Where they're dry, they catch on her fingers. She slides her middle finger down her slit. She starts at her clit and moves slowly between her lips. It's slippery. When she gets to the end of her sex, she goes back up. She didn't really find an opening. She wonders where he could possibly put…
"Daddy's big cock"…"Your little cunt is getting ready to take Daddy's big cock deep inside it."
She gasps. Wetness coats her finger.
She moves her fingers back to her clit. She massages it. Her orgasm teeters on some brink inside her.
She whimpers in exasperation. She pulls her fingers away.
~
Second to last night.
She slips her hand into her panties. She feels her wetness. She spreads it over her puffy lips, over her tingling clit.
She explores her sex again. She still doesn't understand where anything could fit.
She remembers how hard he felt against her backside when he pinned her against the door.
"Do you want to feel my hard cock inside you?"
She does. So badly, she does. But she wants him to force her. She wants to fight against him. Against her wants. Against her will.
Maybe God will forgive her if she keeps saying "no". She hopes she can count on John to not listen to her.
She moves her left hand under her shirt. Wit that hand, she massages her nipple. With the other, she massages her clit. Her left hand knows what her right hand is doing.
She feels herself getting close to coming. She briefly wonders how well she could hide it from him if she let herself come. Just this once…
She gasps and stops touching her clit. She puts both of her hands on her nipples. She scrabbles at them desperately, rolling and rubbing. She almost comes. She cries out in frustration and pulls her hands away.
She can't fall asleep.
A long time passes. She still can't sleep.
She moves her hands to her nipples again. She plucks them. She pinches them. She feels the twinges echo in her sex. But they don't make her come.
~
Tomorrow, she'll see him.
She slips her hands into her panties. She massages her clit. Over its skin covering, of course.
What will he do?
Will it be like the first time? Will he sit her on the couch and play with her? Maybe find her mysterious opening and push his fingers inside her?
Will it be like the second time? He'll kiss her down there, and maybe he'll let her come this time?
Will it be something new? A new game? Will he…make love to her? (Or is it "with" her?) Will it be like in the movies, where they hold each other and kiss while time fades in and out?
"Daddy…" she breathes.
Or will it be something even better? Something even darker? Something close to the fantasies she has only begin to let herself imagine, the ones called rape fantasies? This is her perversity: her desire to have her desires in reverse.
It doesn't take long for her orgasm to draw near. She's so close to coming. But she's so close to the end of the assignment. She moves her hand away. She gives up on her pleasure. It's out of her hands now.
~
The deadbolt locks.
He walks to the kitchen. She just stands there next to the door.
"I'm making noodles," he says. "Do you like noodles?"
She nods.
"Have a seat."
She walks over and sits at the table. There's a book on it. Stories That Stimulate - A collection of cheesy romances by S. Rosa.
"I was just getting to the good part. Go on and pick up where I left off. I want you to read it out loud."
She picks up the book. She flips it to the spot that has a playing card tucked into it (the card is not actually part of the standard deck, it's one of those cards that has instructions or something that she never reads but still puts back in the box every time).
"Should I start at the top of the left page?"
"Top left to bottom right."
"Um…" she begins to read, "/He checks to see if she's wet./" Uh oh, she thinks. This is probably about sex. "/If she isn't, he'll force himself to slow down. But boy, is she wet./" She takes a deep breath. "/Good thing, because he can't wait any longer. He lowers his body onto hers./"
John sits in a chair to her right.
"/He runs his hand along her left thigh—/"
John puts his hands on Mary's thighs. She gasps.
"Keep reading," he says.
She takes a shaky breath. "/And…and pulls her knee up./"
John slowly rubs her thighs over her skirt. He pulls her thighs apart.
"/She feels his…hardness pressing at her entrance. She gasps against his lips. It hurts, but she's determined not to show it. She clings to his arms. He slowly penetrates her./"
John puts his hand under her skirt. She gasps. She snaps her thighs together. She takes one hand off the book and pushes at his hand. Her clothes are what keep her modest. He's not supposed to trespass against them.
"Uh uh," he scolds. "Hold onto that book."
She obeys. She holds the book tight. Her hand would be trembling if she didn't.
He pulls her thighs apart. His hand crawls between them. She gasps.
"Keep reading."
She reads. Her voice is getting high. Weak. Shaky. "/It feels excruciating. Every time she thinks he couldn't possibly go any further, he pushes another torturous inch deeper into her…her virgin sex." She wonders if that's what it will be like. No, not will. Would. "She wants to scream, but she suppresses her voice to a whimper./"
He touches her sex over her panties. She whimpers like the woman in the book.
"/He hears her whimper as a pleasured moan, and he groans into their kiss. They belong to each other, and it feels so…/" so fucking good, it says. "/So good,/" she says. She hopes John didn't notice that she skipped the bad word.
John toys with her panty waistband. She pauses.
"Go on," he grins.
She stumbles over the words. "/He withdraws his…his cock and slowly thrusts into her again, even deeper this time. She whimpers again. He lifts his head so he can look into her eyes, but they're closed. Her eyebrows are pinched together. Her head is tilted back, and her lips have fallen open. She's either blissed out or in pain./"
John slips his hand into her panties. He touches her sex. She gasps. He's fingering a week's worth of built-up tension. But he's careful not to make her come.
She moans. "John, please," she says.
"Is that not what I'm doing?"
She can barely process his joke. She starts to lower the book.
"Uh uh," he says. "You can't put that down."
"Please stop," she gasps.
"Stop? You don't want to come?"
She shakes her head.
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Hmm?"
"Because it's wrong," she breathes. "John, please—"
"You don't get to call me John," he says.
"Daddy…" she says.
"Yes, baby girl?"
Her core clenches.
"Daddy, please stop…"
"You want Daddy to stop torturing you?"
"Yes, please, Daddy!"
"Is it too much for you?"
"Uh huh," she nods.
"Too bad."
He brushes her clit. She whimpers.
"Read."
She grips the book. She keeps reading. Her voice is tense. She's almost wailing. "/'Sweetie, you're shaking,' he breathes! 'Is this good for you?' She doesn't answer immediately. Which means he knows the answer. He pauses his thrusting. She opens her eyes. And he's startled to see that they're wet with tears. 'Please keep going,' she whispers! She can barely speak!/"
"You want me to keep going?"
>fills out captcha
"No!"
He massages her clit. She moans.
Then he slips his hand out of her panties. He licks her wetness off his fingers. One at a time. She tries not to watch.
"Mmm," he hums.
He stands up. He looms over her. Her heart jumps. But he just walks to the stove.
She sits there. Body shaking. Breath trembling. Hands shivering.
He puts two bowls of noodles on the table, along with forks and napkins.
"No reading at the table," he says.
He plucks the book out of her hands and tosses it behind him. It spins through the air and lands on the couch.
She looks down at the bowl. Steam rises from it.
"Don't worry," he says, "you still haven't earned roofies."
She takes a deep breath. She's still recovering from almost coming. She picks up her fork. He starts eating once she does.
The noodles are delicious. But they're not sating her hunger.
"What do you think?" he asks. "Too salty?"
"No, it's good," she says. Her voice is quiet.
"So you're going to church tomorrow?" he asks.
She nods.
"What's that like?"
She looks at him. He looks so genuinely curious. "Haven't you been?" she asks.
"Not since my dad kicked me out for a night for turning a statue of a cross upside down."
She giggles.
He looks at her. He's amused. "You're laughing? You really are a naughty Catholic."
She tries to look serious.
"Can't fool me."
She smiles.
"Maybe you should come to church with me sometime and find out what it's like."
"Hell no," he says.
She scoffs an embarrassed laugh at his cursing.
They soon finish their noodles.
She tilts her head thoughtfully at him. "What happened after your dad kicked you out?"
"Oh, nothing," he says. "I just snuck back in through the window, turned every cross in the house upside down, left through the front door, and never went back."
She looks at him with wide eyes. "Never?"
"Well, I went back to egg the place on Halloween," he says. "That was before I got mature." He puts a scallion on his fork and flings it at her.
She squeals and bats it away. She puts it on her napkin.
"How old were you?" she asks.
"Eh, sixteen or something. Whenever kids usually rebel against the people who are just trying to look out for them."
"Do you still talk with your parents?"
"Talked to them this morning. I told them all about you," he grins.
She stares at him.
"Told them you're a raging sex addict I'm trying to convert to Catholicism," he grins.
Her eyes get wide. She doesn't know what shocks her more. The lie, that he told his parents she was a sex addict, or that he told them about her at all. She wonders what he referred to her as.
"What did you call me, your 'sub'?!"
"Of course not," he says. "I told them you were my girlfriend."
She stares.
"They wouldn't stop nagging me about getting one," he says. "Had to get them off my ass. Figured you wouldn't mind, since you're so good at playing pretend," he grins.
"So it's just a ruse?" That's fine with her. She just wants to be clear.
"Just like all your 'no's and protests. When really we both know how much you're dying to be taken," he says.
She avoids the subject. "Where did you go after you left home?"
"Here and there. Wasn't hard for a smart, handsome guy like me to find his way in the world," he smiles.
"And you've never been back to your parents' house?"
"Why, want to come with me?"
She quickly shakes her head. "I couldn't face anyone who thinks I'm a…a 'raging sex addict'."
"I actually said you're a prostitute."
"What?!" she shouts.
"That's exactly what my mom said."
"Oh my goodness, John," she says.
"They don't call me a player for being serious all the time," he grins.
He stands up. "Do you want more noodles?"
"No, thank you," she says.
"Do you want more orgasms?"
She blushes. Looks away.