“Isolde, I—”
“Then there was Mark.” Her face distorts in contempt. “I must admit, I don’t know much about how this is done, Tristan. It’s been too long, and my experiences too few. But I know I want to feel the hands of a man I truly desire before I leave this world for good.”
“You won’t leave this world anytime soon.”
She shakes her head, that shiny mane of chocolate hair rippling beautifully in the light seeping in between the curtains. “I feel that I will, and there’s no way you can promise me life, Tristan. I mean, you can promise it, but you can’t make any guarantees.”
Yes, I can, I want to say, but my lips are glued together. She’s sunk her hand inside her panties, stroking herself in a way that is clearly instinctual and natural. She must have relaxed a bit too much through the hypnosis and mental manipulation I used to help her lose tension. She stares straight into my face, blinking slowly.
In her mind, it’s me who’s working on her. She seems drunk, and that’s always been a trigger for me. I have filthy desires of taking drunken women that offer themselves like dirty wantons. But I don’t want to use Isolde like that, I would never forgive myself. I have to look away.
But I can’t. I force myself to keep looking her in the face at least, and stop my eyes from slipping down her body, to those perky virgin-like breasts and the way she works on herself. In the end, I lose the battle.
I stare speechless as my white sweet dove masturbates, those perky breasts now quivering as her hand goes faster and rougher on her sex. My cock grows like crazy. I grab it over my pants to keep it in check.
“Stop, woman, you’re putting yourself in danger.” Great danger, I’m a brute with women, I use them and humiliate them, that’s all that turns me on. I do it rarely, but when I do, I fuck them so hard they faint. I don’t even want to imagine doing that to Isolde, but it looks like she relishes the fantasy.
“I want you to take me, Tristan, roughly, I want to feel your hard manhood pierce me hard.”
Sweet Jesus.
“You like it only as long as it’s a fantasy, you won’t like me doing those things to you.” But by now desire is playing dark scenarios in my head, and I’m afraid it might be too late. I won’t be able to control myself.
“I deserve it, Tristan.”
“There it is, the big problem.” I put a stopping hand over hers through her panties. My cock is big and hard, and it takes great effort to keep myself rational, but I must, now more than ever.
“Many victims of abuse see themselves as responsible. Feelings of guilt and shame and ‘I deserve this’ are as common as they are wrong. No.” I squeeze her hand. “You don’t deserve this.”
By the way she looks at me, I can tell I’ve reached her heart. Trouble is, she’s also reached mine. This moment right here, I’ve never experienced such a connection before.
“Please, Tristan,” she whispers, full of desire, and I already know I’ll crack. I’ll come undone, I won’t be able to resist her. “If it’s the last thing you ever do for me—just for tonight, be what I need you to be.”
CHAPTER VI – Taking Her
Tristan
MY FACE BURNS AS MY lips touch Isolde’s. Fucking hell. Current runs through me from my lips to the rest of my body, driving me to lay down over her, pushing my knees between her legs.
A craze takes over. Supporting my own weight on my elbows, my hard lips crushing my pure white dove’s rosy mouth, I crave more. I part her lips with my tongue, pushing my crotch harder against her sex. Fuck, the exquisite taste of her shy tongue, the warm feel of her folds beneath the fabric.
Taken by surprise, she barely reacts to my invasion. Because that is what I’m doing—I’m invading her like a barbarian raiding a convent, driven by greed for the riches hidden deep inside it.
I want to defile this woman, claim her as mine. I’ve always been a cold brute, but Isolde awakens sides of me that I never knew existed, and it scares the hell out of me. But I enjoy it like a tumbler of expensive whiskey, and I can’t help abandoning myself to it.
Isolde responds to my kiss, opening her mouth, her hands slipping under my shirt to the sides of my torso and towards my back. She moans in my mouth as I kiss her deeply, holding me close and pushing her body into mine, writhing with need.
She lifts her head off the pillow, meeting my kiss, but the scent of her blood hits me from her pounding jugular. I break the kiss to look down at her, sucking a breath through my teeth.
“By God, woman.” Her jugular beats hard, pumping irresistible blood to her cheeks. It smells like lilies and innocence, with a whiff of the serpent that’s imbued her flesh with eternal youth.
“Take my blood, if you want it,” she whispers, her eyes hooded. “Take my blood, but take my pussy, too.”
I groan, my cock throbbing painfully in my pants. I sit up on my knees, the mattress sinking under me, and I free my cock with impatient hands. I stroke twice up and down, looking at the beautiful white dove under me.
“I’m going to soil you with my lust,” I say, my eyes burning with greed.
“Yes, yes, soil me,” she whispers, her cheeks red with desire. Seems she loves dirty talk.
Up in my head I know I shouldn’t do it. I decided to protect and foster her innocence, but fuck damn it. Seeing her naked under me, her silky chocolate hair spread over the pillow, the white shirt open to reveal her perfectly round, firm breasts, it’s driving me mad. The devil inside awakens, the one that wants to possess and subdue her, make her recognize me as her master. I might lose interest in her after I’m done, after she’s subconsciously acknowledged me as her owner, because that was my psychology so far, and I’m aware of it.
But it might be better for her if I do lose interest.
Maybe we’ll both cool down after she’s been punished for her lust and wanton behavior by being roughly used and humiliated by a man—it’s what usually makes my sex drive skyrocket. With the tension gone, maybe it’ll be easier for me to deal with these emotions.
So I let the devil take over.
“Tell me exactly what you want from me,” I command. “And that’s exactly what I give you.”
“What I deserve,” she whispers, falling deeper into the trance.
“What you deserve.”
She cups her own breasts and kneads them, sticking out her tongue as if she wants to lick them. She looks provokingly into my eyes in a way I never even thought she could. That wanton stare looks so strange on her face. Her hips writhe under me, her movements now ampler, her thighs flexing as she’s seeking her own pleasure by moving against her own panties.
I hook a finger into her panties right where her sex is, so that my knuckles touch her flesh.
My cock twitches, hard and hurting. She’s slick and hot, her folds perfectly shaved. A pang of jealousy runs through my chest. I can feel my jaw ripple.
“Did he want your pussy smooth, or was it your choice?”
She bites her lip, making me think of a sweet milkmaid begging for it in a shack.
“He wanted it.”
“Aha.” Anger ravages me.
“But he hasn’t taken me in forever, I swear to you,” she adds quickly. “You’ll be the first man to have me in a long time, Tristan. Oh, please, fuck me.”