She thought she needed a kind man. Gentle, loving, buys her roses, champagnes, and diamonds. She’d be the envy of all her acquaintances, friends, and colleagues. She believed deeply in this fairytale. She believed herself to be a lost princess in search of Prince Charming.
“Hello,” he said to her.
“Hello,” she said back.
With barely a warning, she dropped. Tumbling down a dark, terrifying hole. She woke up with marks. Blood crusted on her skin. Blossoming purple, magenta, emerald bruises. And strangely, she felt nothing but pride suffusing her mind, as the bruises took over her body.
He said, “Do you want to stop?”
“No,” she whispered.
He showed her things she’d only dreamt of in what she had been sure were nightmares, but her pussy soaked her mattress until she nearly drowned in her own pleasure. Please, sir, she’d beg him. Please don’t stop, don’t ever, ever stop.
The lash of the whip. The heat of the wand. The crackle of electricity. The harshness of rope. She craved it all. She couldn’t get enough.
She’d thought she wanted roses, but no, she wanted the thorns. She grasped them tightly to the palm of her hand, and savored the blood that dripped down her olive skin.
She had been living in darkness, she realized, that she thought had been light. Until now.
Until him.
…and suddenly, her world transformed into perfect, blinding clarity.