My pussy pulses and my tongue runs over my lips just thinking about Zeke.
Dammit!
I can’t want him. He’s a horrible person. But then again, I’m always falling for the wrong men. Time and time again, I find myself lusting over a man who deserves to be thrown in prison, not in my bed.
You make bad decisions, that’s why I don’t let you make any decisions for us anymore, I think to my crotch.
But it’s been so fucking long since a man touched me, brought me to the brink of ecstasy, pounded into me until only pleasure cascaded through me. I may not be able to find a good man, but I can find a to-be-confirmed-bad boy. A complete stranger I can fuck and abandon before I get to know him. Those are the only good guys anyway, the kind whose shit I don’t know about.
For now, my fingers will have to do. I don’t have anything else to do for the hours that I have to wait for Zeke to return anyway.
I lay in the middle of Zeke’s bed, under the cloud-like covers. My eyes scan the room, looking for the camera I’m sure the bastard has hidden in here. The windows are hard to plant a camera on without it being noticeable. I look up at the light fixture—a strong possibility, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary to indicate a camera. Then I look to the door.
I narrow my eyes on the door handle as I try to spot anything there that shouldn’t be—bingo. The screw on top of the door handle is bigger than the one below it. It appears to be more flat, more like a nail than the screw underneath. And I guarantee if I got out of bed and walked over to it, I’d be able to see a tiny lense instead of a screw.
For a moment, I consider ducking under the covers to touch myself. Keeping silent, so even if he guesses what I’m doing, he will never be able to see me. Just like he will never be able to touch me.
But what’s the fun in that?
I’ve never been the kind of woman who shies away from owning who I am. I’m a strong, confident, sexual woman. And I own myself; no man owns me.
Pain fills my heart when I speak the words to myself, in my own head. Because I can’t tell a lie, and those words are all lies.
I throw the covers off my body and push the sweatpants down off my hips before spreading my legs wide, giving the camera the perfect view of my body.
He’s supposed to be working, but he might be watching me right now on his phone, and I plan on giving him one hell of a show.
I lift the shirt up off my head and then shake my locks, letting my hair fall down in my face. I bite my lip, wishing I had some red lipstick and fuck-me heels on to really bring the message home, but I don’t.
I own me.
I own my body.
I own my mind.
My soul.
My heart.
No man will ever claim a single part of me as his. And even if a man does, I will fight to get every part of me back.
I arch my back and puff out my chest as my hand twists my nipple between my fingers.
I let the images come of men I’ve fucked before—men that were excellent in bed and hotter than gods. I don’t think about what the men did to me after. How they all betrayed me. I just let their expansive chests and rippling abs fill my head. I let my mind drift over each and every one of them, like they are nothing but objects for me to get off to.
But then my mind stops and flutters to a man it shouldn’t.
No!
I open my eyes, pushing him out of my brain.
I take a deep breath—and Zeke fills my nostrils. I smell him everywhere. On the pillow, the sheets. His smell turns me on.
And I know who I’ll be thinking about as I pleasure myself—my fucking master.
It’s wrong…so fucking wrong. But I can’t stop myself from thinking about Zeke. Not when I’m dripping and I haven’t even touched myself yet.
I let my hand slide down my stomach and between my thighs, I find my lips and let my long fingers rub over the whole area taking my time as moisture covers my fingers.
I look straight into the camera as one hand pleasures myself. This is what you are missing, bastard! This is what you’ll never get! You will never touch me. Never hurt me. I have all the power here, not you.
I rub my fingers up over my clit, as it grows more sensitive. I imagine Zeke’s big hands touching the sensitive bud. His tongue lapping, as more my slave than master. But as soon as he makes me come, the roles change. I’m his.
How I would beg, plead, kiss—do anything for his cock to stretch me in that uncomfortable, delicious way his large cock is surely capable of, where most men come up short. Zeke would fill me to my limits. He’s a big guy, and I’ve seen the outline of his partial erection. The real thing would be the stuff of dreams.
Just thinking about what Zeke could do to me if he chose to fuck me like a man instead of a monster brings me close, until I’m at the place where if I don’t stop, I won’t be able to stop the impending orgasm. But I don’t want to stop. I want to come over and over. Until I drive him crazy. Until he knows if he fucked me tonight, I wouldn’t feel anything but my own fingers on my pussy—I’d be numb to him.
As I come, I use my other hand to flip off the camera. The release as I come is huge. I feel it in every nerve in my body. It cascades down my body like a waterfall overwhelming all of my nerves in my body.
It’s a big fuck you to every other man in the world. I don’t need a man to make myself come. I don’t need a man to make it the best orgasm of my life. I don’t need a man…
Dammit, there I go lying to myself again. Because I got off to a man—Zeke.
I let the orgasm roll through me before I get up. I walk naked over to the door, and then I give the camera both of my middle fingers.
“Fuck you! I will never be yours! You will never touch me. You will never fuck me. You don’t fucking own me!” I slam my hand on the door and jump back when it creaks open the tiniest bit.
What the…?
I expect Zeke to walk through the door. Did he choose this moment to come home?
I swallow, realizing my little show might have been a bad idea. As much as I wanted Zeke to come home and let me out of my cage, I was safe as long as he wasn’t here. With him here, I’m in danger full-time again.
I’m suddenly very self-conscious of my nakedness and fingers that smell like sex.
He won’t fuck me. I won’t let him.
Lies. If he wants to fuck you, what is your scrawny ass going to be able to do about it?
I stare at the door, waiting for Zeke to pull it open. He doesn’t.
I push my hand on the door, and it opens.
I walk out and look at the other side of the door. There is no lock. The door only locks from the inside.
The fucking bastard—Zeke lied to me.
I hate human traffickers, and thieves, and rapists, and murderers. But liars—I hate them most of all. Other monsters show you exactly who they are. They don’t hide their horns; you can tell they are the devil right from the start. But liars—they pretend to be better than all the rest. They like to play games, deceive, and trick you into a false sense of security before they rip out your heart and stab it to death.
Zeke is a human trafficker. One look at him tells me he’s also a thief, a rapist, and a murderer. But I thought at least he could be honest about who he is. Instead, he’d rather play games and test me.
Fine, if he wants to play games, we will play games. But unlike him, I won’t lie and cheat. I’ll win while telling every damn truth I have. Even if he’s too stupid to believe me—I’ll win.