Chapter 15: Three Slaps

"Again," I said, and he gave me no time to take it back.

Auguste hauled me off the bed by my hair.

I hit the floorboards on my knees, and he dragged me across the room to the wall under the window.

"Please," I said, and it came out as a laugh and a sob together. "Please, no more."

"Open your mouth."

"No."

He slapped my thigh, a short vicious crack that lit the skin.

He took my jaw in his hand and squeezed until my lips parted.

I fought him, and I lost.

He pushed his cock into my mouth, still slick from me, and I tasted myself and salt and the heat of his skin.

He went deep.

He did not wait for me to learn it. He held my head against the wall with both hands and fucked my mouth with no pause and no softness.

My eyes streamed.

Spit ran down my chin and onto my breasts.

I gagged, and he pulled out for one breath and pushed back in.

"Look at me."

I looked up, and his face was calm and cold and wet with sweat at the hairline.

"Good girl for crying," he said. "Now cry harder."

I clawed at his thighs.

I got my nails through his trousers and into the skin beneath.

He growled and drove deeper, and I felt my throat give.

My whole body shook with it.

I was wet again, so wet that I could feel it on my inner thighs, and I put my hand between my legs, desperate.

He knocked it away.

"No. You don't touch yourself. You don't come until I say."

He pulled out of my mouth and dropped me on the floor.

I lay there gasping.

He stood over me, unbuttoning his shirt with slow hands.

I saw the long scratches I'd left on his chest, red in the street light.

"Hands behind your back."

"No."

He knelt, grabbed my wrists, and pinned them under me with one knee.

I thrashed, and he put his mouth on my breast and bit.

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