Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“That’s what bad girls need,” he grunted, never slowing his brutal pace, the repetition of the words seeming like a ritual meant to drive his lesson home deeper with every thrust of his manhood. “To come with Daddy’s cock inside them.”
I surrendered completely, letting the orgasms wash through me. Again my mind detached from the shameful reality, floating somewhere above as my body continued to respond to his expert manipulation. I resolved then and there that I would escape this place, this man, this new identity he was forcing on me. But for now—since I would escape or die trying—I could let myself feel the terrible pleasure without guilt. None of this would matter once I was free.
“You’re mine, Little Lulu,” Jax growled, his rhythm becoming erratic. “Every hole, every inch.”
With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself completely in my bottom, his cock pulsing as he filled me with his hot seed. I felt each spurt inside me, marking me in the most intimate way, on the inside, and I whimpered at the degrading sensation of being used so completely.
Jax carefully withdrew from my abused bottom. I winced at the emptiness, at the feeling of his seed leaking from me. He moved around the stool, unfastening the restraints that had held me in place for my shameful punishment and pleasure.
“You did very well,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he lifted me into his arms. My legs felt like jelly, unable to support my weight after the intensity of what had just happened.
Jax carried me through the apartment to the master bathroom, cradling me against his chest like a child. He had bathed me here last night, but I hadn’t even remembered just how enormous the room was, or the splendor of the marble floors and bathtub, of the shower stall big enough for several people. He set me down carefully on a padded bench, then began to undress.
I watched, unable to look away as he removed his shirt, revealing a muscular chest dusted with dark hair that I had seen that morning, but apparently not gotten close to my eyes’ fill of. His body was magnificent—powerful shoulders, a flat stomach with defined abs, strong thighs. As he stepped out of his boxer briefs, I felt a shameful flutter in my belly at the sight of his semi-hard cock, still glistening with the evidence of what he’d done to me.
My body responded to him with a primal hunger that terrified me. Even after everything he’d put me through, even knowing what he was planning, I still wanted him. The realization strengthened my resolve—I would enjoy these sensations while I could, but I would escape at the first opportunity. I had to, before whatever was happening between us destroyed me completely.
“Come here, baby girl,” he said, extending his hand to me. “Let Daddy get you cleaned up.”
I took his hand with trembling fingers, allowing him to lead me to the massive shower. My body ached from the punishment and use I’d endured, each movement a reminder of what he’d done to me.
Jax reached for my collar, his fingers working the buckle deftly. “This comes off for shower time,” he explained, setting it carefully on a shelf. The brief freedom from its weight felt strange, my neck suddenly feeling paradoxically vulnerable without the ever-present reminder of my status.
He guided me into the huge shower stall, his hand firm but gentle on my punished bottom. The glass enclosure was big enough for several people, with multiple showerheads and built-in benches along one wall. Jax turned on the water, adjusting the temperature before pulling me under the warm spray with him.
“Arms up,” he instructed, reaching for a bottle of expensive-looking shower gel.
I obeyed, raising my arms as he squeezed a generous amount of gel onto a soft washcloth. The scent of sandalwood and something citrus filled the steamy air as he began to wash me, starting with my shoulders and working his way down.
When he reached my breasts, he took his time, circling each nipple with the cloth until they hardened beneath his touch. I flushed deeply, unable to control my body’s response to his touch.
“Such a pretty shade of pink,” he commented, noticing my blush. “All the way down your chest.”
His hands moved lower, washing my stomach, my hips, between my thighs. I gasped when he reached my tender pussy, the cloth gentle, but thorough as he cleaned away the evidence of his use.
“Turn around,” he commanded softly. “Hands on the wall.”
I turned, placing my palms against the cool tile as instructed. The position left my bottom prominent, presented to my daddy as the water cascaded down my back.
“We need to clean you properly here,” he said, his voice taking on that clinical tone that somehow made everything more humiliating.
I felt the washcloth between my cheeks, gentle yet insistent as he cleaned my well-used hole. The tender ministrations made me whimper, both from lingering soreness and unexpected sensitivity.