I would never know such a sweet touch again.
"Who said it was a he?" I asked, trying to deflect from the well of emotion surging inside of me. My father wasn't the only abuser in that house of nightmares, and even though the worst of the blows had come from his steady and unrelenting hand, my stepmother had never been innocent.
Neither had many of the guards who’d watched my father abuse and humiliate me, getting off on the searing pain that split my skin in half.
The stranger took my dress in his hands, tossing it to the chair at the side of the room as he grasped my chin in his grip and turned me to face him. "You're beautiful, even more so now."
"Sounds like you have a kink for hurting women," I snarled, flinching back as his lips came closer to mine. The heat of his breath against my swollen flesh reminded me of all the savagery in his kiss when he'd taken me, bringing a flush of heat to my sore core that I wished I could deny.
Nothing about this conversation should have been a turn on. Talking about my caning with a stranger who would never be able to understand the misery of a life that wasn't my own should have cooled all the impulses that seemed to drive me toward him relentlessly.
I couldn't explain the connection or the feeling that I'd met him before. That I somehow knew him or that he meant the words when he said that the person who hurt me would get what was coming to him.
Those plush lips of his brushed against my cheek as his light eyes drifted closed. "I have a lot of kinks, but that is not one of them," he said with a smirk. "A mysterious, strong woman who bears the scars of her abuse without fear however..." he trailed off, slipping a hand around the front of my hip and between my thighs. His fingers slid inside my underwear and through the wet mess he'd left, a groan rattling in his chest when my hips moved of their own accord and my ass pressed into his hardening length. "That, my cock can't seem to get enough of."
He dipped a finger inside me, watching my face for the pain he must have known I felt. I didn't give him a reaction, keeping my face as stoic as possible. While I didn't think he would hurt me or use my pain against me, I needed the distance between us. My scars out in the open had left me vulnerable, knowing that I'd dreaded the moment the rejection came from any man who saw me without my clothes.
Who wanted to look at an ass covered in white lines?
"How sore are you?" he asked, walking forward and maneuvering my body so I had no choice but to move with him. The bed loomed closer as we moved and the breath caught in my lungs from the implication that I wouldn't be leaving the room just yet.
I still had time, but was I able to take him back inside me so soon? With all my old vulnerabilities in the open? The scars made me more me, not just a strange girl in the night who would be gone by morning.
My knees and thighs hit the edge of the mattress, and his hand touched the space between my shoulder blades. He pressed me forward, bringing panic to the surface as memories threatened to overwhelm me.
I whimpered, and his hand stilled so suddenly I knew he must have understood that it wasn't a whimper of anticipation. My heart thumped in my chest as my eyes clenched tight, trying to chase away the phantom hands of my stepmother tasked with putting me into position, with pinning my hands to the surface and reminding me that it was my own fault.
Trying to remind myself that the softness of the mattress was different than the cold wood of my father's desk.
"It's just me, my beauty. I will never hurt you," he murmured, sweeping my hair off my neck. He paused, waiting for a moment to allow me to catch my breath and chase away the shadows of my nightmare. "You didn't answer me."
His voice took on a teasing lilt, pushing back the demons as that inexplicable urge to argue with him rose in me.
Not because he was wrong, but because I could.
He wouldn't cane me for talking back or tell me to remember my place; he'd take anything I said with a grin and enjoy the banter for what it was. I hummed, considering my answer as I tried to embrace my last moments of freedom before I went back to my gilded cage.
"I'm not sure you fucked me hard enough for that," I murmured. His deep chuckle vibrated the air behind my back, his hand returning to my shoulders and pressing me forward until I bent over the bed. When my nipples brushed against the bedding, they pebbled in response to the friction as his hand trailed down over my spine and made me arch my back.
His weight disappeared from behind me for a moment, and the crinkle of a foil packet sounded. When he returned, he peeled my panties off and let them bunch around my knees. The swollen head of his cock slid between my legs and rubbed against me as he groaned. "We'll have to fix that then," he said, not bothering to call me out on the lie. He trusted me to know my body better than he did, and even though he was a stranger that made something pang inside my chest.
A dull ache that reminded me of all I'd lost, and everything I would never have again.
He slid inside me, pounding deep enough on the first stroke that I cried out as the ache flared to life. "But I thought you weren't sore, Beauty?" he asked, gripping my hips in his hands and tugging me back further onto his cock. He brushed against the end of me, threatening to fuck through me if he got any deeper.
"I think you're terribly full of yourself," I said, my voice arching higher as he drew back and pounded inside me again.
"No, Little One," he said, his voice drifting lower as my heart seized in my chest. Even as a coincidence, the name was wrong to hear a man say as he moved inside me. A bastardization of everything Calix had meant to me.
But Calix was gone. He'd left me behind and moved on with his life without once trying to come back for me to save me from what he knew must have been a miserable existence. The man who slid his cock through my pussy was real, flesh and blood and warm.
Making me feel for the first time since I'd lost Calix and my mother to my father's vindictiveness.
"You are the one full of me," he growled, wrapping my hair up in his hand and pulling back. I rose up to my hands, moaning as his hips slapped against my ass and he set a punishing rhythm. He didn't seem concerned about the scars covering my skin or anything other than chasing his release inside me. The weighted stare of his eyes on those marks on my ass should have made me uncomfortable, instead it only drove me higher. Being seen for who and what I was and still found beautiful was heady. "Touch yourself," he ordered.
When I didn't move to do just that, he reached between the mattress and my body. Pulling me back from the edge of the bed just slightly, he slapped his fingers against my pussy just hard enough that I jolted in his grip. "What the hell?" I asked as he shoved deep and held still.
With his head pressed against the end of me firmly, the pressure felt endless. "When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it," he growled. His hand left my pussy, gliding up to where I grasped the bedding firmly and positioning it between my legs. "You expect me to believe that these beautiful fingers don't dance over your pretty little pussy when you lie in bed at night?" he asked, guiding them into a slow roll over my clit as he drew his length out and then drove back in sharply. "You're going to need the pleasure when I'm done with you."
He abandoned my hand there, pausing for a moment to make sure that I did as he told me. His hand traveled up to my throat, grasping me around the front and pulling my back into his chest as he fucked me. My breathing restricted, my head going light until all that remained was the feel of him pounding up into me. His warm breath on my cheek as he panted and groaned his pleasure.