Chapter 8

Everlee

Itry to keep my breathing even and hold onto the disgust I'm supposed to feel, but my wayward body isn't on board. It likes the way his rough fingers slide between my folds and nudges the bundle of nerves housed at the top of my slit. No matter how much I want to abhor his touch, my stupid fucking body won't stay on track with my mind.

I feel myself get wet and it turns my stomach. I want to purge all the moisture from my system so there's none left to form between my legs.

My nails dig into the rock beneath my hand so hard, I worry I'll break them off.

When I get home, my family won't have to worry about locking me in the house. I have every intention of committing myself to a mental facility. That's apparently where I belong, because somewhere along the way I must have lost my mind. That's the only explanation there could be for actually reacting in a positive way to Wild Man's touch.

One of his hands rests on my ass while he uses the fingers of his other hand against me. He rubs one between my lower lips, gathering the moisture there, and leads it to my clit. A warm blast of copper explodes in my mouth when I bite my tongue too hard. It's either that or moan in pleasure from the way he presses against that little button. He manipulates it with an expertise that shouldn't come from someone who's never had sex until yesterday.

Or rather, I don't think he's had sex. As far as I know, he's never had the opportunity. But who knows, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm not the first female he's held captive and used for depraved things. I try to think back if there have been any cases of missing females over the years, but my brain won't function properly. It's being overrun by the explicit pleasure I'm too weak to ignore and too ashamed to acknowledge.

The disgust I feel for him has flipped around and points its accusing finger at me.

Wild Man pushes a finger inside me, and I rise to my toes, trying and failing to get away from the sensation. He pulls it out, but only so he can insert a second finger. He fucks me with those two fingers a couple of times before he adds a third. It stretches the ring of my pussy to almost uncomfortable levels. Especially when he thrusts them in deep, only his knuckles preventing him from going in further.

A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek and drips onto the back of my hand.

Then suddenly I'm empty, and because my body hates me, a feeling of loss hollows my stomach.

I not only hate Wild Man for the sexual abuse he's forced on me, but for also manipulating my body to fit his needs.

I sense him moving behind me and a moment later I feel something else at my entrance. Something broader and less abrasive than his fingers.

He tunnels his fingers in my hair, grabbing a fistful. Then with his grip in my hair and his fingers curled around my waist, he ruthlessly plunges forward with no warning at all.

My screams at the intrusive invasion of my body drowns out any noises he makes. The intense feeling of being too full is almost too much for me and those familiar black spots appear in my vision. I sway forward, half expecting to slam face first into the rock I'm leaning over, but Wild Man holds me up by my hair.

My stomach revolts and saliva gathers in my mouth. I feel like I might throw up from the pain.

I get a short break as Wild Man holds still inside me. I feel the bristly hair on his groin press against my butt. He lets out a noise, sort of like a muted rumbly growl and his fingers dig deeper into my waist.

The pain slowly begins to ease, and I'm both grateful and resentful. Grateful because that shit was not pleasant. Resentful because the feeling that replaces the pain is not one I want to feel.

Wild Man slides out slowly, and once just the tip is left inside me, he rams forward, filling me to overflowing once again. I clench my jaw and curl my fingers against the rock at the way his hardness glides against the walls of my pussy. It should be criminal for something so bad to feel so good.

Each slow slide backward and harsh thrust forward has stars sparking behind my closed eyes. The good kind of stars. The kind that has me catching my breath and wishing that things were different.

Wild Man lets my hair go and my head falls forward. There's an ache in my chest from holding back the whimpers I refuse to release. My body may be betraying me, but I'll be damned if I let Wild Man know by voicing any sort of sounds of desire.

I stiffen and jerk my head to the side when he stops moving, and I feel something slide against my back entrance. I can barely make out Wild Man's face from this angle. His hair hangs forward with his head tipped down, his concentration on parts of me that has my worry growing anew.

My jaw locks, along with my knees, when I feel pressure against my asshole. I prepare to fight when that pressure increases. I've never been taken there before, have never even been interested in the carnal act.

When the tip of his finger slides past the tight muscles, I expect to feel pain, but the opposite happens. Something deep in my core spasms and before I can stop myself, a low moan works its way past my lips.

Wild Man pauses and raises his head. His black as sin eyes meet mine. I want to look away, but something in his gaze holds me captive.

I've seen desire from men when they look at me. I've felt desire for those men. But the look in Wild Man's eyes goes much deeper. He looks wild and untamed, possessed, and on the verge of something that the tiniest of nudges would push him over.

And for some reason, the crazed look does unwanted things to me. Things that I'll never admit to and will keep hidden from the world until the day I die.

His eyes stay on me as he slowly pushes his finger in. Without permission, the walls of my pussy clench around his cock that's still lodged deep inside me. His eyes flare and the maniacal look in them intensifies. It scares the shit out of me, but it also has more wetness pooling between my legs.

Every woman wants to be desired, but I've always had a secret craving to be wanted to the point of obsession. It's a hidden part of me that I've kept under lock and key because just the idea of it is irrational and can't be healthy.

Wild Man obviously wanted me like that from the beginning because he took me without any compunction or compassion. And while the rational part of my brain hates him for taking away my choice and freedom, I can't deny the way he's looking at me right now, like I'm the sole reason for existing, doesn't secretly please me.

My bottom lip gets caught between my teeth as he works his finger in deeper. My walls flex around his cock and he hisses out a breath of air. When he pushes all the way inside me, I don't even attempt to stop the whimper of pleasure that falls from my lips.

With his finger lodged all the way inside my asshole, he pulls his hips back and slowly slides back inside this time. We don't look away from each other. It's like we're both caught by the other's gaze, and no matter what happens, nothing could break that connection.

He picks up speed, fucking me with his cock in one hole and using his finger in the other.

I let out an embarrassing cry of disappointment when his finger leaves me. But it's soon cut off when Wild Man grabs my hair in his fist and pulls me up from the rock. He wraps his other arm around my stomach and pulls me until my back is flush against his chest. The hand in my hair releases and moves to my throat, where he wraps his long fingers around the delicate column.

He's way taller than me, so his hips aren't exactly aligned with mine, so the new position practically has me hooked on his cock with only my toes barely touching the ground. I feel even more full of him.

I feel like if I don't hold onto something, I'll fall forward, so I grab onto his arm that's around me.

Before my body has time to adjust to the new sensations, he uses his arm around my waist to lift me up. He releases his hold slightly, and I fall back down, impaling me on his shaft.

Over and over again, he uses my body as his personal fuck toy. My breasts bounce with the forceful up and down motion. Ashamedly, I don't feel quite as disgusted as I did the first three times he took me.

Later, I'll dredge up the appropriate emotions I should be feeling and worry about getting away. Right now, I close my eyes and let the shameful feelings take over me.

Wild Man buries his face in the crook of my neck, and I drop my head to the side. He growls against my sensitive skin and then the blunt edge of his teeth scrape against it. He bites down, in the same spot as before. The area is still tender, but it surprisingly doesn't hurt when he refreshes the mark.

The animalistic sounds coming from him adds fuel to the inferno that's already raging inside me. It's not fair, and quite frankly wrong on so many levels, for me to be enjoying this. But I'm too weak to deny it.

Wild Man bounces me up and down his cock as if I weigh the equivalent of a bag of cotton candy. I drop my head back on his shoulder when it becomes too heavy to hold up. The hand he has wrapped around my throat tightens and white spots dance on the outside edges of my vision. I can't even muster up the worry of potentially blacking out, because what he's doing to my body takes my full attention.

When my orgasm hits, it does so hard and out of the blue. I dig my nails into the flesh of his arm and my mouth drops open on a long, loud cry.

Just when the tremors start to fade from my release, I'm put back on my feet. Wild Man pushes me over at the waist, but not far enough for me to rest my hands on the rock. He keeps me in my suspended position by grabbing a handful of my hair and laying his forearm on my back. I'm kept bent over by the pressure of his arm, but he keeps me from falling forward by his grip on my hair. His other hand latches around my waist.

And then he fucks me. I mean, he really fucks me. Like a savage animal who's been taken over by pure lust and if he doesn't take his female in that very second, he'd die a gruesome and painful death.

He rumbles out a grunt with each harsh thrust and with each thrust he hits something inside me that has explicit pleasure building.

I let out a cry as another release slams through me and the sound echoes against the rock walls of our oasis. Wild Man growls and rams his hips forward, then grinds himself against me. His cock thickens and a warm blast coats my insides.

His fingers in my hair and around my waist loosen, and I start to fall forward, but he catches me around my stomach before I can tip over.

He pulls his still mostly-hard cock out of me. A trail of cum leaks out and begins spilling down my thighs. It's feeling his release slide out of me that has reality crashing back into place.

What in the hell have I done? How could I allow myself to enjoy what just happened? Is there something mentally wrong with me? I've heard of Stockholm Syndrome before but I haven't been held long enough for that to develop, right? Maybe it's because I already had a preconceived notion of sympathy for the man before I even met him.

I'm pulled from my thoughts with a brutal reminder that my feelings are irrational when Wild Man slips his fingers between my legs and smears his cum over my pussy lips. He slides his fingers past my folds, as if he's trying to push the cum that's leaked out of me back inside.

A shudder runs through me, and it's not only from the lingering pleasure he forced on me, one I desperately wish to get rid of.

But from the very real possibility that, even if I do get out of this situation and never see Wild Man again, we could be creating something that will forever be a reminder of my time spent with him.