Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“Are you finished?”
“No!” I walk back and take a run up. I’m going to do one of those wrestling moves, where you just hurl yourself at someone or something and use physics to knock them over. In my head, this should work.
In practice, it is promising. I run as hard and as fast as I can toward the glowering alien apparition and I throw myself sort of sideways, awkwardly, in a way I realize is probably just going to hurt me.
Terrible catches me in his big, scaled hands. I am sideways, one leg up over his shoulder, the other dangling. He has one hand on my upper thigh, the other under my waist.
“Now you are done,” he tells me.
He’s really strong. He’s holding me like I don’t weigh a thing, when in reality I weigh quite a few things.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Terrible
I want to beat her, but there is something so pathetic about her I find it almost amusing. I am sure her attempt at aggression was genuine, but it was also completely useless.
I did warn her that she would be harshly punished, however, so I suppose we will be doing that next.
“So you’re going to…”
“I am, yes.”
She lets out a sigh, and again I am almost tempted not to. Mercy is not my strong suit. It is not a suit I own at all. But there’s just something about this human.
“Fine. Let’s do it then. Whatever.”
“Indeed. Let’s do it.”
“What are you going to do? Tie me up with the walls again? Stick me to the roof? Use your magic to make my ass…”
This time I want to see her naked. This time I want to watch all the little intimacies of punishment play out. I have been thinking about her since I left her. In truth, I have thought of very little else but her.
This human is brash and chaotic and very, very curvaceous. The way she fills her clothing is extraordinary. There is a particular curve at the top of her legs, at the rear of her body. It is soft and it is perfect, and I believe it will be entirely delicious when bared.
I may not want to want a human, but I will not deny my instincts, or my curiosity.
“Take your clothes off.”
“Oh. I see how this is going to go. I see what you’re doing.”
“I very much doubt that.”
She stares at me, apparently having forgotten that I could remove her clothes in an instant. She knows I could take them by force, I assume, tear the stitches on the poorly made garments, rip them to shreds and leave her naked before me.
“Take. Your. Clothes. Off.”
Lucky
God. He’s really going to make me strip for him. What a fucking monster. I try to think of a way out of it, but I really don’t see one. So, I comply, removing my jacket first and tossing it on the ground. It’s followed by my jeans. Those are more embarrassing to take off. That leaves me in my underwear and a tank top, under which lurks a bra. And socks.
“Is this what you wanted?”
“Take every single item you have on, off.”
I really don’t want to take my clothes off. How does he know how shameful this is for me? Why is he fucking with my head as well as my body? I know why. Because he’s a bastard, and like all bastards, he likes to rub it in.
“Fine. I will take it off. I’ll take it all off. But I won’t do it all sexy and sad or however you want it, you creep.”
I tear the rest of my clothing off, pulling the tank top off over my head, shoving my underwear down my thighs, and unsnapping my bra in record time.
“I’m naked!” I make the declaration as boldly and brashly as possible to throw him off the scent. I want him to think I don’t care.
“Yes,” he says. “You are.”
His tone is deep and suddenly a whole lot rougher than it was before, and now there’s something extra in it. Something sexual. I know when a man wants me. Men often want me, even though my body isn’t the typical super sexy kind. I have a fat ass, and I have ample-ish breasts. I’m not really a good judge of my sexiness, I guess.
“Are you done looking yet?” I cross my arms over my chest and look everywhere but at him.
“Not yet. Put your arms down.”
I do as I am told, even though I don’t really know why. He has the kind of authority which kind of sneaks up on you and leaves you vulnerable to accidentally bowing to it.
“Why are you changing color?”
He’s talking about the blush which is covering most of my body now. Who knew your toes could turn pink if you were just humiliated enough. “Because this is fucking embarrassing, which you already know or you wouldn’t be asking me to do this.”