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Tucked away on the upper shelf of our bathroom closet, I kept bath beads. Mostly the kind people give as gifts when they don’t know what else to give. Someone, on some occasion, had given me lavender scented beads. I scoured the shelf until I found them and poured them into the steaming water. Submerged beneath the hot water, pruning my skin and paring my thoughts, the watery cocoon comforted me. After some minutes, Paul slipped into the room and sat on the tub’s edge. His eyes were bright. “Just about done?” he asked. “I’ve barely started. Is dinner ready?” “It’ll keep.” Paul sat angled with his arms crossed over his lap. He did his best to focus on my face, but eventually his gaze drifted down over my body. It affected me as deeply as a caress, and I shivered. “I haven’t washed yet,” I whispered. “Let me?” I nodded. He rolled his shirt sleeves up, one slow roll at a time, until both arms were bare from the elbow down. He flipped open the lid on the liquid soap, and we both. My cunt's on fire. He whipped me there, I know that. And then...I didn't mind. I knew it was part of the deal. His fingers, his hand, his cock.I hurt so fucking much. I'm shivering. I'm soaked. I'm freezing.He didn't kill me. I knew he wouldn't. I guess I'm sort of disappointed. A bit.He did hurt me.Out in the rain woods. Naked. Hanging so my toes scrape a hollow in the mud.My nipple crying from the knife that he split it open with.Blood washing off me in the rain.And the whip.Sweet delicious agony.Hate it. Want it. Again, I hope. I don't want it to stop.I'm in a special place. Stop. Don't stop.And he fucks me. Of course he does. He's enjoying it, but I think I'm enjoying it more, but he doesn't even know...Part 9 – The GuyThe look on her face was one of need, perhaps of want too. The cry from my throat as I thrust deep into her body was feral. A wild animal conquering its prey, marking its territory, taking what it wants. And I wanted her, my Little Girl, beaten, battered and bloody.
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