The Secret Of Us

Slow, steady strokes—just enough to stimulate her body, rub her internal heaven, and make her plead for more.

She felt herself flutter against him, and she let out a deep moan of approval as he sped up his pace. Her eyes rolled to the back over her head as her mouth slacked.

So many erotic things came to the woman’s mind. She wanted to say them aloud, scream them at the top of her lungs. But she couldn’t. It was all too much. It was always too damn much.

Her cries of pleasure encouraged the beast above her, and before she knew it, she had jumped off the cliff of intense pleasure, into the lake of pure ecstasy. His deep groan followed before he pulled out of her heat. She heard the sound of the condom snapping off of him, and then hot seed landed all over her taut stomach. He then leaned down to kiss her neck gently as a thank you, and she hummed her, ”You’re welcome.”

The silence that filled the room afterward tugged at something in her chest, and she clenched her jaw. She knew she couldn’t be a fool. What they had together was nothing but casual sex, a job. One that she hated, but at the same time, one that he made worth it every Friday night when she came to him. It didn’t matter that she had never seen his face, only touched his muscled skin, and felt heat radiate from him when he took her to the heavens and back. She was drawn to him, like an infant to its mother’s breast. She depended on the stranger to remind her once a week that she was a woman, a woman who deserved to be pleased.

The click of the room door was her signal to take off the blindfold. Once she did, she got dressed quickly and waited. She smiled as she eyed the room. All black from the walls to the furniture, but the comforter was red. Her two favorite colors were intertwining, making the small area look like home. Ten minutes later, her pimp was there to blindfold her once again and lead her out of the room. She inhaled the smell of the scented candles that the stranger always lit and committed it to her memory.

“How was it?” Marco began to question as soon as her ass touched the seat in the back of the limo. She knew he didn’t care if she liked it. He only cared if his highest paying client enjoyed his expensive whore. The ache between her legs caused her to clench, and she let out a long exhale.

He was magnificent. Exceptional. More than her body could ever take, but all that her body wanted. He was everything, yet absolutely nothing at all. A ghost with flesh. Flesh that she wanted to worship and flesh that she wanted to honor her.

Smack!

She should have seen it coming. Her mind was always a mess when she left him, and it still ended with her beaten for it. But she couldn’t help it. The mystery man had her feeling like she was all that he had ever wanted. She remembered the way he gasped when she walked into their private room, blindfolded for the first time. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew he was staring at her in awe. She thought of how he caressed every inch of her body before he stripped her bare. He made her sign a contract that she wouldn’t be with any other man the Thursday before seeing him and that Friday when she was due to come to his home, or what she assumed was his home.

For this accommodation, he paid triple the price for her.

He’d eat her pussy like a rare fruit that he’d been dying to taste and bring her to the brink, only to stop and slowly push into her sopping canal. Giving her strokes so gentle and slow that she’d have to fight her mind and heart. Telling herself that she was just a whore that he paid to have once a week. She only wished he’d fuck her like it.

“You fucking bitch!” Marco landed a hard blow to her face, and she instantly fought back. It was always in her to fight. That’s why she was owned by him now. She had lost everything to a man she once loved. It was either homeless and poor, or financially stable, living in a mansion with twenty other women. But none of the women were like her. They laid down and took what Marco gave, but no, not her, not—

“LaVida!! Stop fighting or so help me God I’ll—” She cut him off with a solid punch to the mouth. Vida’s chest heaved up and down as she watched Marco wipe the blood from his face. When his eyes met hers again, she saw the devil.

He jumped across the small space that separated them, pinned her to the seat by her throat, and started his assault. Before Vida could become fully aware of the situation, she was half-way gone. Marco’s forehead connected with her nose, and she cried out in pain, but his grip around her neck tightened, cutting off any chance she had to breathe. Vida didn’t give up. Even with blood spilling from her broken nose, she clawed at his face. She could feel her nails digging into his flesh and tearing it. A sadistic smile crawled onto her full lips, and she knew Marco saw it.

“Stupid bitch!” She heard Marco say before releasing one of his hands from her throat, rearing it back and colliding it with her face. She felt the bone in her cheek make a sickening crunch, and that’s when her head went fuzzy, and her arms went limp. Vida laid there as Marco continued to beat her. When he finished, he took her to the emergency room and pushed her out of the limo.

Vida felt the hard concrete and saw the bright lights of the hospital before she allowed herself to close her eyes and get something she needed more than anything.

Rest.