Natalia

 

The man’s hand was on my throat. I breathed as lightly as I could, only the tiniest amount of air passing between my lips and down into my rasping lungs.

 

He’d laughed right in my face when I’d told him he wouldn’t have my consent. I shouldn’t have been so stupid as to think that something like a woman’s consent would matter to a man like this. And why would it? When someone bought a person as carelessly as they would buy some groceries, they were unlikely to give a shit about such a silly little thing as consent. That certainly seemed to be the case here.

 

I was cornered, utterly powerless. The man was even bigger up close than he’d appeared from my position on the stage. He’d looked big, yes, but I hadn’t noticed the way veins trekked up his biceps, winding in and out alongside the artistic swoops of the ink on his skin. Here, in front of me, he looked like he was made from iron.

 

And yet, despite how horrified I was and how weak I felt, I couldn’t deny that there was a heat lingering deep in my core that responded to his aggressive touch. I wanted to squash it, to tell it to go away and let me suffer. But it refused to obey. Instead, every time he touched me or laughed at my futile attempts to defend myself, it burned hotter. It was telling me, You don’t want to defend yourself, Natalia. You want to submit. You want to see what this man is capable of doing to your body. Don’t you? I couldn’t ignore the answer, either. Yes.

 

He released my throat and dropped his hand to my breasts. He hefted one on in his palm, then let it fall again. His eyes met mine. “You have a beautiful body, Natalia,” he whispered.

 

He started up again walking circles around me, but this time, his hand did not leave my skin. His fingertips traced over my neck, my shoulders, down my spine and around the small of my back. His touch was light and teasing.

 

“Have you ever been told that before?”

 

I shook my head. Before the Espositos took me, I’d been too young to do anything other than a few furtive make-outs with the neighborhood boys on those rare occasions when I’d managed to steal an hour or two away from my daddy. And since I’d been a servant in the mansion, I was never allowed to leave. The closest I’d come to someone appreciating my body was when I closed my eyes late at night and let my imagination guide my wandering hand.

 

“I didn’t think so. You flinch so much. Don’t you know how to let a man touch you?”

 

I shook my head again. My eyes stayed rooted on the floor. He came to stand in front of me once more and lifted my chin. I had no choice but to look back at him. His eyes were a vivid blue. Flakes of different shades drifted around in his irises like glaciers in some Arctic ocean.

 

“Maybe it’s time for you to learn.” He wrapped his left hand around my throat once more, just as softly as he had done before. His other hand took a meandering path down my body, beginning at the crest of my shoulder. He tap-danced his fingertips down, across my nipple, sliding down the plain of my stomach, to where my thighs were squeezed together. “I’m going to make you come, Natalia,” he said, “so you can see what it feels like for a man to make you his plaything.” He didn’t look away from me as he glided one finger between my thighs and stroked my outer lips.

 

I shivered. Heat and cold raced up my body simultaneously from where he touched me all the way to the back of my neck. His finger moved down and then back up to the top to tap delicately against my clit.

 

To my astonishment, I felt myself starting to get wet. My brain wanted to keep my thighs clamped shut, to stall him for as long as possible, if only to know I did everything I could to keep him away from me. But that fire in my gut wanted something different, and I felt helpless to stop it.

 

He worked an easy circle around my clit. My lips parted involuntarily and let out a tiny sigh. I felt my throat rise and fall against his palm. “I’m going to slide my fingers inside of you and stroke you until you moan for me to do more,” he continued. Below, his finger began to push at my tunnel, probing the very beginnings and threatening to go deeper. “After that, you’re going to take my cock into your mouth and you’re going to suck me. You’re going to have to do a good job if you want to earn a proper fucking.”

 

His words were despicable, downright appalling, and yet it felt like that was only part of the story. Maybe I needed that coarseness to break open the shell imprisoning that heat that was building where he was touching me. Maybe that raw, crude violence was exactly the thing to spring it free.

 

He moved his finger in me with excruciating deliberateness, one tiny millimeter at a time. It hurt for a brief pang, then, as I eased into it, pleasure quickly overtook it. I felt myself growing to accommodate him.

 

He stroked my clit with his thumb as he inserted his finger up to the knuckle. My walls tightened around him, sucking at his finger and refusing to let go. The wetness had doubled and I realized I’d spread my thighs apart without even noticing. His eyes had yet to leave mine.

 

“Then, I’m going to spread you on that bed, and I’m going to put all of me inside of you. You’re going to take it and ask for more, like a good little girl. I can’t wait to hear you scream.”

 

His words were like keys unlocking a door inside me I never even knew existed. The voice in my head that was disgusted and frightened by him was growing quieter and quieter. In its place, this wordless fire raged. The pace of his fingering sped up. Sensation rippled through my body. It centered on the pressure in my pussy that kept increasing. I groaned out loud.

 

“That’s right,” he whispered, “let it out.” He brought his mouth to the side of my head and took my earlobe between his teeth. He nibbled and licked softly at the tender flesh, eliciting another moan from somewhere deep inside me. I started to move my hips against his hand to hurry the pace. The pressure was becoming too much to bear.

 

“Make me come,” I gasped. The words had short-circuited the filter in my brain that usually kept such thoughts buried deep below. I surprised myself with how forcefully they’d torn out of me.

 

Nicholas smiled and his hand moved away from my cunt. I moaned, desperate for release. When I glanced down and saw his fingers were glistening with my juices, for some inexplicable reason, it only turned me on more.

 

Suddenly, his hand on my neck turned and hooked two fingers into the collar that Alessandra had fastened around me. With a quick tug, he sent me to my knees. I hit the floor in shock as he unbuckled his belt and his jeans sagged down around his hips.

 

Then I saw it. His manhood was blunt and huge. It stood stiff, pointing at me with steel hardness. I couldn’t believe the size of it. My jaw dropped.

 

“You thought I’d let you come that easily?” he asked me. He looked down on me from above. He looked even bigger from this angle, a titan made out of muscle and ink. He chuckled. “Not a chance. You’re going to have to wait until you deserve it.”

 

His member wavered in front of me. I knew what he wanted and, more importantly, I knew what I wanted and what I had to do to get it.

 

I reached out a hand and wrapped it around the base of his shaft. I brought up the other one to join it. Even with both of them there, I could hardly grip it properly. It was just too big. If I was scared before, this made things a million times as terrifying. That thing would break me.

 

But it might just make me scream, too, for a whole different set of reasons.

 

My lips parted and I leaned forward to take the head of him into my mouth. I felt his weight shift forward and his breath whistle in a long sigh as I extended my tongue to lap teasingly at his tip.

 

He tasted salty and fleshy as I slid my mouth down the hardened length until my lips were as far down as they could go without forcing me to gag. When I’d found that point, I retreated, sucking my cheeks in and bathing his member with my tongue. Each tiny motion drew another soft grunt of satisfaction from him. I liked knowing I was giving him pleasure. For a moment, it made me feel like I’d regained some power of my own.

 

Nicholas’s hand fastened on the back of my head, urging me back down. I slurped at his cock, keeping both hands wrapped around it and pumping slowly to complement my moist mouth.

 

He began to thrust his hips forward to meet my lips. His huge manhood was stretching my lips to the maximum. It was all I could do to open wide enough to swallow him. The room no longer felt cold. Now, beads of sweat were beginning to break out across my skin as he thrusted faster. The wet smack of his saliva-slicked member against my lips resounded quietly against the stones of the floor and walls.

 

The bucking picked up even more. I felt him tensing, his quads flexing hard to show the striations of his muscle beneath the tanned skin. His hand on my head tightened. I looked up, his cock still in my mouth, and saw his eyes were closed. I wondered if he was about to burst and fill my mouth with cum.

 

Instead, just before he reached the point of no return, he jerked himself away from me. His breath came in harsh gasps as he backed a step away. There was a tiny pause. Time hung still. His eyes were slit in a savage way, like a panther going in for the kill.

 

I knelt on the ground and found I felt no fear. The fire was far too hot to notice anything else except for it. There was no ignoring this inferno. The abruptly cut-off pressure in my pussy was still aching; intuitively I knew the only way to make it explode was the man standing in front of me.

 

Then the tension snapped. Nicholas strode forward and plucked me from the ground. In one effortless motion, he tossed me on my stomach on the bed. He was behind me in a split second, lining himself up against my entrance.

 

I was sopping wet, but the strike of pain when he slid into me was still shocking. I whimpered. It hurt so fucking badly. He was stretching me far beyond what I thought was possible. His stroke was painstakingly slow, but it didn’t make a difference. My walls could only go so far. He was barely halfway inside me, and still it hurt.

 

“Please, go slow,” I told him. “It hurts so much.”

 

I heard only a grunt in response, but the stroking slowed by half. Each little bit of progress took long seconds. I bit down hard on my lip. The blood rushing to my head was impeded by the collar, so I felt dizzy and hot and weightless all at once. My pussy felt like it was going to explode with an overwhelming cocktail of pain and pleasure. The fire had churned into an unstoppable inferno, with jagged edges that hurt and healed at the same time. I balled up the sheets of the bed in my fists and tried not to cry out, though it did little good. Moans trickled from my mouth nonetheless.

 

The crazy thing was that I didn’t want him to stop. Despite the pain erupting between my legs, it felt good at the same time, especially when he reached around and started pressing at my clit while he thrust back and forth. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the good edges of the feelings coursing through me. This was insane. I shouldn’t enjoy this. Being taken like this—from behind, on my hands and knees like an animal, by a man who’d just bought me and told me I was his property—was not the way I’d ever imagined it going.

 

But now that it had started, I couldn’t picture it ever happening a different way. This was fucking, the way my body knew it was supposed to be done. My nerves cried out in silent gratitude and the juices in my pussy flowed faster.

 

His grunting was loud in my ear. I felt him towering over me, squeezing my left hip with his left hand and using his right to keep vibrating my clit. I reached back and wrapped my fingers around his wrist, needing to hold onto something tightly to ride out what had become a frenetic, fast-paced fucking.

 

My own groans mingled with his, so the room was filled with the plaintive animal noises of two things in heat. His body was hot and strong against mine as he layered his torso on top of my back and breathed heavily into my ear.

 

I moved my knees apart farther and pushed my ass up, arching my back to give him the best angle, the one that led deepest into me. He pushed farther inside, stretching new parts of me beyond their limits.

 

“Nicholas,” I bawled like a refrain, over and over again.

 

He moved his hand from my hip to my chin. Pulling my face around, he made me look at him. His brow was furrowed low in agonized concentration but his eyes were as blue as ever beneath it. I looked straight into them, the pain and pleasure painted in equal measures across my face as he thrust in long, hard motions.

 

I felt, heard, and saw him approaching his peak. He leaned back, took my hips in each hand, and pushed his hardest yet. It hurt and it felt incredible. I didn’t know how to describe it. He pumped once, twice, then he pulled himself out of me and used his hand to finish stroking his cock to completion. Six or seven long ropes of cum snaked onto the red handprints he’d left on my ass cheeks. His growl was impossibly low.

 

I pressed my face against the pillows as the sensations, both good and bad, drained from my body, leaving me flushed, feverish, but empty. He’d only been outside of me for a minute at most, but I already wanted him back in me, again and again, until the last of the pain had been worked through and only the pleasure remained. In his absence, I felt incomplete.

 

My skin burned to the touch. I heard him regaining his breath above me. He’d fallen onto his knuckles, elbows locked. We stayed that way for several long minutes.

 

After the sharp pain had receded, leaving only a dull throb in its wake, I twisted over to look at him. I still felt too hot. He locked his eyes on mine and saw the flush pinking my cheeks and forehead. His face softened.

 

Without a word, he stood and walked to the other side of the room. I saw him reach and pluck something from the top of the table there. He walked back over and I realized it was a silver champagne bucket, brimming with ice.

 

He set the bucket down on the bed and flipped me fully onto my back. I let him move me, too exhausted to resist even if I had wanted to. He reached into the bucket and drew out a thick chunk of ice. Starting at my knees, he pressed the ice to my burning skin. I sucked in a sharp inhale at the cooling sensation.

 

It felt amazing as he slid the ice inch by inch up my thigh, to the crease of my hip, and onto my hot, tortured pussy. When he came to it, he was careful to press only for quick seconds. Lingering too long wouldn’t feel good. He knew that without saying a word. Instead, he dabbed it softly against the redness in my hips and inner thighs.

 

He turned his attention to my upper body. With a fresh ice cube, he slid the coolness across my stomach, between my breasts, which were red and sore from his tight squeezes. I watched him work. He was so focused, as if this was the only thing in the world that mattered to him and he was a craftsman who wanted to do it perfectly. His fingers were delicate and precise the way they gripped the ice.

 

He dragged it up between my breasts. Noticing again the collar that was still latched there, he let out a soft tut of annoyance. He left the ice lingering on my chest as he gently undid the buckle and pulled the leather strap off. I heard it clunk when he tossed it across the room to land on the floor several yards away. When it was gone, he moved the ice over the chafed marks it had left behind. I closed my eyes and let the healing chill sink in, wiping away the painful remnants of Alessandra’s hatred.

 

He finished just as the last of the ice melted away in his fingertips. My skin shined with the jeweled wet tracks of the moisture left behind. My whole core had cooled down as he worked, leaving me calm and steady, though I still throbbed with a head-to-toe ache.

 

Try as I might, I couldn’t get a grasp on my emotions. The hatred for this man was still there, but it had receded, like a tide going out. I wasn’t sure if or when it would come back in. The desire was still there, too. He’d filled a part of me I didn’t know I was missing, not just with his body, but with the way he’d spoken and moved and touched me. I felt attached to him in a way I couldn’t explain. When he stood and started to pull his clothes on, I noticed a flash of concern shoot across my belly.

 

“Where are you going?” I asked.

 

He looked at me calmly. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home with me.”