TRIGGER WARNING: DARK CONTENTS, BE WARNED!!!
ANGEL
Dread coiled in the pits of my stomach, especially the last part.
The space on the bed dipped with Damien’s weight, but I still didn’t move.
"Pretending, are we? By merely closing your eyes, do you think you can escape this?" Fingers tapped my lips and lingered. I nearly wheezed.
But he wasn’t done.
Cool palm skimmed my body, past my abdomen, down to my bare thighs. His cool touch snaked down my body, contaminating me like this, something about his touch made me feel tainted. Like he was owning me.
Then, he palmed my pússy. I swallowed back a whimper.
A finger grazed my slit, toying with my folds. I jerked, unable to keep up with the act anymore.
"Stop!"
"Now, that’s more like the brat I know," I could almost hear his evil smile.
"Asshole! Don’t touch me!" I screamed again, glaring at where I supposed he was sitting,
"Untie me and get this blindfold off," I seethed. I wouldn’t show fear, that would give him power, and I wasn’t ready to lose full control.
"What did I tell you about language, little girl?" His tone was almost conversational, like he didn’t kidnap me, tie me up like some slave after hurting my friend.
I used the word hurt, because I had to believe Kevin was alive. Even though I’d wanted to use him to make Daddy jealous, I couldn’t bear the possibility of him dying because of me... Or Damien rather.
"Go fúck yourself!" I spat.
"Or I could just fuck you,"
Those cold fingers found my slit again, sliding and parting my folds, and I squeaked from the assault.
"No!" I panted, the breath whooshing out of me. I twisted on the mattress, trying to move away from the touch that was violating me. "Take off your hands, you ímbecile!" I cried and choked when a finger plunged into me. Without warning.
My body convulsed, and I desperately glued my thighs together, trying to limit his access. It didn’t work.
The finger was too determined. It kept probing and digging.
Deeper. And deeper. Then he started to thrust. Slowly. Unhurried.
"Damien, d-don’t!" My lips trembled, I could feel my walls around him. "I said d-don’t! You pathetic son-of-a-bitch! You’re molesting me!"
I didn’t want to cry, I really didn’t.
But my curses morphed into sobs.
"I don’t hear you, what were you saying?" Damien’s voice taunted my ears, I could imagine his cruel smirk.
He wanted to break me. He wanted me sobbing, pathetic and begging him, but I wouldn’t beg, at all costs. Not when I didn’t even do anything wrong.
His hand pried my thighs apart, then he slipped a second finger.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
My walls clenched tighter around him, trying to stop his movements, to prevent this embarrassment.
"Are you gripping me on purpose, do you want me to fuck you that badly, look how wet you are becoming," He sneered.
I wasn’t wet.
I couldn’t be.
Maybe it was his unwanted finger or the relationship between fear and a filled bladder, but the urge to pee intensified.
I clenched my eyes shut.
Tears pricked at my eyes, I wanted to beg, but the words stuck in my throat, refusing to form. "Damien, let me go, don’t do something you’ll regret! Daddy won’t spare you!"
"Will he not?" His voice still possessed that mocking hint, "No one taught you respect, isn’t it? Calling an adult by their name,"
"What should I call you, asshole?" I spat the words before I could rein in my temper.
He shoved a third finger into my pussy. Hard and Brutal.
I screamed.
He didn’t stop,
"Maybe you can start by calling me what you call Vin," His fingers teased my walls in merciless, unrelenting strokes.
Daddy? That would never happen! I’d rather my tongue be sliced off.
My thighs trembled, the pressure in my bladder became a hot, insistent ache. "Damien stop, let go I have to pee!" I was certain that the tears had soaked through my blind fold by now.
"You’ll wet yourself like a child? Or don’t tell me you’re a piss slút"
My insides burned with humiliation but my bladder was more cruel. He kept rubbing my cúnt, my bladder was on fire, my urethral sphincter threatening to betray me.
No, no, not like this.
"Why are you doing this to me?!" I mewled, my skin already clammy with effort.
A sob strangled in my throat as he said, "I could think of several reasons, Angel. The first being ...because I can, I can do whatever I want with you" He said cockily, and suddenly, I realized that he was attacking me with my own words. Slapping it across my face like hits.
I’d told him that he didn’t have the ability to. To touch me, to hurt me, but now I was under his mercy, and he had none to give.
His fingers crooked inside me, pressing up against that tender spot that erupted a cry from my mouth. My thighs were jerking despite the binds.
"Please. Please."
"You’re begging to piss yourself, aren’t you?"
"Please stop!"
I was begging, something I said I wouldn’t do. Turned out I wasn’t as strong as I thought I’d be.
His thumb flicked on my clit, and my stomach clenched, a raw whimper tearing from my throat.
"Go on. Do it. Show me what a filthy little piss-slut you are!" He commanded, his voice soft with conceit.
"I’m not!"
"Yes, you are."
My body burned with shame—but his fingers twisted deeper. "Obey,"
"No!" I clenched, my teeth sinking into my lower lip. The urge was unbearable—a hot, liquid weight pressing down—but I fought it, my hips jerking uselessly against his hand.
"Obey, little girl. You’re a piss whóre, now show me, let it out of your cúnt!"
"No!"
His laugh was low, vicious. "Trying to hold it? I like how tough you are, I’ll definitely have fun breaking you."
His other hand pressed below my abdomen, just above where I needed to go.
A shudder ripped through me, and the first traitorous trickle escaped—just a warm thread down my inner thigh. Shame flooded through me, bright and hot.
"Oh," Damien cooed, dragging his fingers through the wetness.
"Already leaking like a fucking incontinent whore. You’re a fucking dirty doll, Angel," His words burned worse than the fire in my bladder.
I whimpered, thighs trembling, but he pressed harder, pressing my bladder below my abdomen while rubbing my clit in slow, torturous circles. His three fingers were still inserted in me, scratching my walls teasingly.
Another spurt escaped, then another, my body betraying me in halting bursts. The mattress was soaking beneath me. I tried to fight harder, my eyes burning intensely with tears now.
Then his palm slapped down on my clit.
Once.
Twice.
He rubbed circularly. Cruelly, violently.
He slapped my clit again.
The last shred of control I possessed shattered.
"Argh!" The scream tore from my throat as I flooded, hot release gushing down my legs, splattering the sheets in a humiliating wave.
My legs jerked uselessly against the restraints.
I was sobbing now, but my bladder kept emptying. Damien let out a deep throaty satisfied sound.
He’d won.
I lost.
I was heaving, but his fingers never stopped working me, smearing the liquid between my legs and belly.
Ruining me out of my own mess.
He could have just stopped, but he wanted to insult me further. To drench me with this disgraceful state.
His palm slapped down on my clit again. He didn’t stop.
Each slap was harsher than the last, and I shrieked, my vision whiting out as another shuddering wave of shame exploded from me, this time, I wasn’t completely sure if it was pee or something else.
"You can’t stop, can you? Wonder how your Daddy would feel if he knew you’re a piss whore who soils herself. He didn’t train you, but I will,"
Even if Damien’s act didn’t break me. . . those words did.