Sadie
The throbbing ache between my legs had long since stopped being pleasant by the time Chris and I got back to my apartment. I felt sore all over, violated, and exhausted.
“Hey—you okay, Sadie?”
I looked at my brother as I tried to get my key into the lock on my door. It was hard not to feel irritated at him, but I knew that it was mostly my own problems.
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” I told him, but I knew that wasn’t exactly true. In spite of how tired I was, I could feel the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I wasn’t sure whether I would have rather gone on another “assignment” or just curled up in a ball.
“I could make us some tea of something,” Chris suggested when I was finally able to get us into the apartment. The keys rattled in my hand and I tossed them into the bowl I kept near the door, not even caring if they landed properly. My hands were shaking, my knees felt weak, and I could still feel the dampness in my panties. I felt like I might jitter myself to pieces, but I had to hold everything together.
“Say—you’re fine. You’re okay.” He put his hands on my shoulders, and tried to rub me down, but all I could think about was Micah, and the terrible things that had happened over the last few hours.
“What do you know?” I looked at my brother and shook my head, pulling myself free of his hands and turning away. “I’m exhausted. I really... I really just want to be alone for a bit. This has been more excitement than I’m used to.”
“Are you sure?” Chris looked like a lost puppy and for a second I could feel myself getting really, truly irritated with him. He’d pulled me into this, and he had the nerve to try and play the protective big brother, after I’d started bailing him out. I’d been the one to get the money out of Chester, and I’d been the one to make a deal with Micah. My ass was as much on the line as his was now; and I was the only one of the two of us who was actually taking care of it.
“I’m sure,” I said, turning away from him and walking toward my bedroom. It was hard not to resent my brother for getting me into the situation I was in, but as I closed my door behind me, I had to admit that I was just as much to blame as he was. I had volunteered to go see Micah. I had made the proposition to the mafia boss. I had accepted his deal to cut a thousand dollars off of what Chris owed.
Every step of the way, I’d had choices and I’d made them. Chris had gotten himself into trouble, and I’d felt compelled to bail him out—but from that point forward, my choices had been my own.
I stripped off my dirty, sweaty, gross clothes and threw them in the laundry basket. I was too exhausted to take a shower, in spite of the nervous tingling all through my body and in spite of my continuing awareness of the feeling of Micah’s come mingled with my own fluids gathered along the folds of my labia. I closed my eyes, not even really able to look at myself in the mirror; if I did I knew I’d picture myself bent over Micah’s desk, my breasts hanging out of my shirt, my ass bare, being fucked from behind like a common streetwalker—like a total slut.
I looked down into my pajama drawer and picked the softest, nicest nightgown I owned. Pure cotton, almost as thick as flannel, not at all alluring or sexy. I pulled it over my head and let it settle against my skin; it felt good, good enough that I didn’t want to put anything else—not even panties—on with it. I curled up on top of the blankets on my bed, shaking with relief that I’d somehow managed not to get myself killed that night.
What the hell had come over me? I trembled harder, and felt the sobs working their way up my throat without any ability for me to control them. I buried my face against my pillows and bawled my eyes out, remembering all the events of that evening and just how incredibly screwed up it all was.
What had I become? I thought about the way I’d pointed a gun at some man’s crotch, at his face, the way I’d broken his nose without feeling even a moment’s guilt. I thought about the fact that I’d beaten down doors, that I’d transported drugs to a kingpin.
I tried to tell myself that I had just been doing what it took to help my brother out of the hard place he’d put himself into, but there was some honest part of my brain that wouldn’t give me the out. I’d actually liked the things I’d done that night, or at least some part of me had. Was it just because my normal life was so boring—so normal? Was there some part of me that, like my brother, just seemed to revel in doing illegal things?
I cried harder and then the tension started to ebb out of me as the adrenaline faded and the fatigue took over. I somehow managed to pull the blankets around me and wiped my face. I’ll feel better in the morning. Everything seems terrible right now because I’m exhausted and crashing from a night-long adrenaline rush. Some sleep, a shower, some food, and I’ll feel like a human being again.
I tried to imagine going back to my normal job on Monday, and it struck me as so absurd that I just started laughing. Going back to paperwork, account administration, my coworkers, the dress code—all of it seemed completely ridiculous in comparison to what I’d spent my Friday night doing. And it’s not just going to be tonight. It’s going to be all week. I’m going to have to go on more than one run in a night to make this work. I still owed more than four thousand dollars, and I couldn’t count on any of Micah’s debtors to have a thousand on them to pay; if they did, I had to assume they would have already paid the terrifying man himself.
Part of me actually thrilled at the idea of knocking down doors, taking people by surprise and making them fork over whatever money they had to pay their debts—but another part of me, comparing it with my normal life, was absolutely appalled. Somehow I’d gone from being a perfectly law-abiding citizen to having a double life—and one of those lives as a criminal, in all reality—in less than twenty-four hours. Hell; I’d made the change in less than twelve.
I had no idea what time it was when I started to drift off, but I somehow managed to remember to turn off the lights in my room before sleep took me over completely.
I was in Micah’s office again—I had no idea how I’d gotten there—and we were alone. “It’s been a week,” Micah said. “You’ve only managed to come up with half of what your brother owes me. And that’s after I knocked off the first thousand for you.” He shook his head.
“What are you going to do to him?” My heart pounded in my chest and I wished I knew what I’d done with my gun—not that it would have made any sense to bring a gun to see Micah Rintley, not when it would probably have been taken away from me anyway.
“We’re going to have to kill him,” Micah replied matter-of-factly. “Of course…”
“What?” I stared at him, gripping the arms of the chair. “Of course, what?”
“You could work it off another way, a little slower,” Micah said. I could feel my throat tightening, and I knew instantly exactly what he meant, what he was going to propose, even before he said it.
“I’m not going to become a prostitute,” I told him quickly.
Micah shook his head. “Nah—not what I had in mind. I have no intention of sharing you with anybody else.” He rose from his chair and stepped around the desk, and just like before I felt completely helpless. “Chris owes me three thousand dollars.”
“And—and how do you want me to work that off?” My throat felt so dry, my heart pounded in my chest.
“By being my own, personal slut for a month,” Micah replied. “In my bed every night, all night, however much I want to use you, like the hot little fucktoy you are.” I was shaking—torn between utter disgust, rage, and—to my shock—actual delight at the idea. “No boundaries, no limits.” He pulled me out of the chair, twisting my hair around his hand, and I shivered when his other hand closed around one of my breasts.
“I—I have a job, I have to be able to work,” I protested, but I could actually feel myself starting to get wet—the sensation was humiliating.
“You can do whatever you want with your days,” Micah said with a shrug, giving my hair a sharp tug that sent pain flickering through my scalp. “But every night for a month you’ll be in my bed, waiting for me, at five-thirty sharp. You’ll lie there naked and wait for me, and if I want you to come to me at the office so I can fuck you here, you’ll wear what I say, do what I want, and go straight back to my bed.”
“Like a slave?” It was infuriating.
“Like a perfect little slut, just for me,” Micah said. “You’ll do exactly what I want, and you’ll beg me for more.” I shivered again, trying to pull free, trying to think of a way to offer a counter. “You want your brother to live, don’t you?”
“Y-yes,” I said.
“You can’t fool me, Sadie,” Micah told me. “I know you’re soaking wet already.”
“I am not!” Micah’s hand was up between my legs, rubbing me, before I could even think to press my thighs together to try and stop him.
“If I had a dozen girls like you I could make a fucking killing,” Micah told me, even as he rubbed me through my panties, the fabric rough against my clit. It hurt and felt so good at the same time, I couldn’t catch my breath. “Your problem is you need someone else to bring out the dirty girl in you, the one who wants to be used.”
“That’s not true!” I moaned in spite of myself, pushing down against Micah’s rubbing fingers. He shoved two of them inside of me, through my panties, hard, and I gasped at the rough invasion.
“Beg me to fuck you.” I shook my head; I wasn’t going to do that—it was too humiliating. Too much of a violation of everything I’d always thought about myself. “Beg me to shove my cock in your pussy right now.” His thumb kept pressing against my clit, and I couldn’t even think of the threat against my brother anymore; it wasn’t even important, not in light of what Micah was doing do me. I could remember the way he’d felt inside of me, hot and hard and huge—and I wanted it. I wanted it so badly that I almost could have begged for it willingly if it weren’t for my pride.
Micah’s fingers withdrew and I groaned at the sudden loss, shaking in his grip. He shoved me down onto my knees, his hand still tangled up in my hair. “Unzip me,” he told me harshly. His fingers played against my jaw, surprisingly gentle. “How many guys have you sucked off in your life?”
“F-f-four,” I admitted, trembling as I did as I was told.
“You probably made them beg for it, didn’t you? Pulled faces at them, said you didn’t like it—probably spit it out when they finished, or made them finish in your hand.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling almost ashamed of myself.
“All the while you liked it,” Micah told me. “You just liked making them beg for your favors.” His cock sprung free of his pants and almost hit me in the face. I hadn’t seen it before, but it was huge—almost comically big, bigger than I could even imagine a normal person’s penis being. “Put the tip in your mouth.” I looked up at him, ready to beg—not to be fucked, but to not have to take his huge penis into my too-small mouth. “Do it.” He tugged sharply at my hair and I opened my lips, closing my eyes and leaning in closer to the erection. I felt the spongy, precum-slick tip against my lips and took it into my mouth, sucking and licking instinctively. Micah groaned and his hand tightened in my hair, pulling; but I didn’t care.
He was too big for me to take all of him, I knew that right away. But Micah held absolutely still, letting me worship him with my mouth, with my tongue and lips, focusing on his head. “I knew it,” Micah murmured. “I knew it wouldn’t take anything to make you act like a hot little cock-hungry slut.” I mumbled something—a protest—and he pulled out of my mouth. “Beg me to fuck you.”
“Please,” I said, looking up at him. The sharp tugs at my hair, the humiliation, brought tears to my eyes. “Please fuck me.”
“That’s a good little girl,” Micah said. He pulled me up by my hair and left me reeling as he sat down in the chair he’d pulled me out of. My knees ached, and my scalp still tingled from all the tugging, but I was hot all over, shaking with need and soaking wet.
Micah went to work on my clothes—the same ones I’d been wearing for our first meeting, somehow—almost ripping them off of me, throwing them across the office. Bit by bit he pulled and tugged and twisted, until I was completely naked in front of him, struggling to try and cover myself. “You already know you’re my own little slut,” Micah said with a laugh. “No use trying to pretend to be modest right now.”
“Someone could walk in,” I protested, looking at the door.
“No one will,” Micah said. “And if you really cared about Brody knowing you’re a dirty little slut you wouldn’t have agreed to let me fuck you right here the first time.” I bit my bottom lip, wanting to disagree but not quite able to make myself do it. “Ride me.” I looked down and saw that Micah was stroking himself slowly, his absurdly big cock somehow getting even harder.
Reluctantly I climbed onto his lap; I straddled his legs, feeling self-conscious, shamed, dirty and needy all at the same time. Before I could even think about getting onto him, Micah’s hands closed on my hips and he shoved me down, forcing me onto his cock even as he thrust up to meet me. “Oh!” I grabbed at the back of the chair, trying to steady myself.
“I said, ride me,” Micah told me firmly, pulling my hips up and then shoving them back down. “I want to see your tits shaking right here in my face.” His fingers bit into the sensitive skin at my hips and I began to move on top of him, trying to find my own rhythm—but Micah wouldn’t let me. He thrust up into me and pushed me down, forcing me to take him hard and fast, making my whole body shake with the reaction of the movements. I moaned out again and again—he was just as thick, just as big and full inside of me as he’d been the first time, and even though it should have been easier to take him with me on top, it still felt like I was being taken by some kind of battering ram.
In spite of how dirty I felt, how shamed I knew I should be, I felt myself getting more and more turned on by the moment. Micah buried his face against my tits, and I cried out when his mouth found one of my nipples and claimed it—and then almost screamed when I felt his teeth barely dig into my tender flesh there. He switched between the two, worshipping them and assaulting them with his lips and teeth and tongue, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through my body that I couldn’t control or even fully understand.
Then, somehow, he was on his feet, holding me in place, and carrying me to his desk. I fell on my ass against the paperwork and clutter on the surface of it, the sharp corners biting into my sensitive skin, and Micah took full control, pounding into me just as hard as he had the first time, slamming deep inside of me faster than I would have thought possible. I fell back, unable to do anything but take him, giving into his brutality; it shocked me that I could feel myself coming, again and again—it seemed to be never ending—as Micah violated me on his desk once more, pulling out almost completely and then slamming into me hard, pounding me like he wanted to break me as much as he wanted to make me come.
I woke up out of the dream, panting and gasping, drenched in sweat. “Fuck,” I murmured, turning over onto my side. My mouth was completely dry; but my pussy was soaking wet from the intensity of the dream. “What the hell is wrong with me?” I shivered, thinking of the threat that Micah had made in the dream—that he would kill my brother if I didn’t submit to being, basically, his personal sex slave for a month.
I slipped back into sleep before I could really puzzle out what was going on in my own mind, my whole body still tingling everywhere with the reaction to the dream, from how aroused I was.
“Admit you like it, Sadie.” I was in Micah’s office again, bent over his desk—but this time I was completely naked, stripped of everything but my heels. “Tell me how much you like feeling my dick inside you.”
“It’s—it’s just for the thou,” I said, my voice sounding like a lie even to my own ears. “It’s just to get the debt down.”
“Which is why you keep coming to me even though I’ve already canceled your brother’s debt?” I shook my head—that didn’t make any sense. I’d only gotten a little less than four hundred of what Chris owed. “Say it.”
“No!” I was pushing my hips back, even as Micah slammed into me, even as I felt his fingers pressing into the skin on my waist. “No, because it’s not true!”
“You paid off his debt three weeks ago,” Micah told me, his breath hot against my ear, against my cheek. “And you keep showing up here, asking me if I’m sure no one’s going to go after him. And somehow…” Micah groaned. “Somehow you always end up taking my dick.”
He pulled my head back by the hair at the base of my skull, and I cried out as I felt his teeth sink into the skin between my neck and my shoulder. “Say it—say you love how it feels to take my cock,” Micah growled in my ear. “Or I’ll stop fucking you right this second.”
“I love it,” I cried out. “I love how it feels inside me, I love—I love how it feels when you fuck me.”
“And you love being pumped full of my come, don’t you?” I shook my head; I wasn’t going to admit that—it wasn’t true. Micah slid out of me and I trembled, and then he thrust into me all at once, wrenching a half-moaning cry out of my throat. “Say it.”
“I love when...when you come inside me,” I murmured. Micah pinned me down against his desk, his hand hard against my shoulders, my hair wrapped around his fingers, and I gave myself up to him, feeling my body flex and tighten around him as I came, again and again, helpless and hungry for more.
I woke up again, shaking once more, my whole body on fire once again, panting and gasping for breath. I stared up into the darkness, in the direction of my ceiling. I wanted—more than almost anything in the world—to reach into the drawer next to my bed, find my vibrator, and get myself off. But somehow, the idea of getting myself off to the idea of being violated by the guy who wanted to hurt—if not kill—my brother seemed wrong. It seemed crazy. I’m just trying to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight, I told myself. I’m exhausted and stressed out. This is totally normal—but it wouldn’t be normal to enjoy it. I thought about taking a cold shower, but even with how turned on I was, my whole body ached too much, and I was too tired, to actually get out of bed.
I could feel the slickness between my labia, the lingering soreness in my nipples where Micah had abused them earlier in the evening—briefly as it had been. I shuddered, telling myself again and again that I was just reacting, that it was just a dream and didn’t mean anything deeper. My fingers itched to slip between my legs, to touch myself. I was so turned on that it was almost painful. I took slow, deep breaths, willing myself to go to sleep for good this time, to not dream of anything else—to just fully sleep myself out and wake up the better for it.
I wondered if Chris was having trouble sleeping; but irritably I thought—of the two of us—he kind of deserved it. Just by coming to me, just by putting me into the mess he’d made, he’d started this whole business. I turned over in bed, my back to the door, and willed myself to sleep once more, to not even think about Micah or the situation.
Slowly, slowly, I felt the exhaustion washing through me again, making my eyelids heavy, making my body feel remote. It was a relief after waking up—twice—so aroused that I thought I might explode or die if I didn’t get off. My breathing slowed down, my heart went back to its normal pace, and I slipped into a deep, dark sleep, finally; one I didn’t find interrupted by another dark, disturbingly erotic dream.