I rise and smooth my hair before fixing my shirt and arranging my skirt.
There’s no point in wallowing in self-pity.Mario may want to torture me, but at least he’s brutally honest about his plans.
I don’t know what my father wants from me, but I’m not willing to give him more than what he’s already taken.
Ice travels down my spine and my skin crawls as horrible memories fill my mind.
I need a knife.It may not be much protection, but it would be better than nothing.I swallow and roll my shoulders back before stepping into the hall and returning to my father’s side.
I’ll have to continue to play his puppet, and my escape no longer holds the hope of happiness, but at least I have a way out.
I turn off my emotions and embody the perfect daughter as my father parades me around throughout the day.
Remaining in character takes more effort than normal.Every time I space out, the heat simmering in my body distracts me and my mind replays the overwhelming power in Mario’s hands.
He was my first and only crush.Maybe it’s only right for my body to come alive at his touch.
My apprehension grows as the evening draws near.When my father finally dismisses me from dinner, my hands shake so badly I stop outside my hotel room door and take several calming breaths.
I tell myself even the things I do while shut inside my room are just an act.A locked door has never meant privacy for me.
The moment the latch closes behind me, a terrible intimacy settles over my head.Even though I know Mario has been watching me for months—he admitted so at Camilla’s wedding—with his voice echoing in my mind, I feel more exposed than if I were under stage lights.
The simple act of putting on clothing becomes erotic—it could be a parka for all my libido cares—with his command ringing in my ears.
Realizing my thoughts are getting me nowhere, I shove away from the door, drop my purse on the front table, and pull the gift box out from under the couch.A vague memory of scooting it across the floor with my foot and tucking it in the crappy hiding place with my bare toes drifts along the back of my mind, but everything between my talk with my father the night before last and Mario’s mauling today is a blur.
I swallow, scratching my dry throat, and reach into the box.The soft lace dangles between my fingers as I hold it out in front of me.
I’ve never worn anything so risqué.It’s overtly sexual while covering the most important bits.
I fight for perspective as I drape the top over my arm, grab the bottom—which is thankfullynota thong—from the box, and shut myself inside the bathroom.
With the door locked, the vent blocked, and the mirror covered, a wave of resentment washes over me.
I’ve been such a ‘good girl’ for so long, afraid my father will either betray me like my uncle or discard me like my mother, I thought my rebellious streak was gone, but it returns with a vengeance.
My childhood was fairytale perfect.I was happy.My parents adored me.My extended family, including my uncle, cherished me.I had friends in school and a cousin I shared all my secrets with.
A decade of suppressed defiance barrels through me.
Mario may be bigger and stronger than I am, but I am not powerless.
I toss the garments of lace onto the counter, snatch my hygiene bag off the shelf, slam the maroon nail polish down, and grab a new razor before stripping and stepping into the shower.
Waxing my armpits and legs has become as rote as dyeing my roots, but I typically only shave my bikini line when necessary.
And it’s necessary.
Except this time I shave more than I normally would, leaving only a triangle on my mons and removing every strand from my labia.When I set down the razor and lather myself in soap, the slippery glide of my bare folds is electric.
I give in to temptation and run my fingers over my sex as I recall how easily Mario overpowered me.
As the water washes away the soap, my natural lubricant coats my digits.I lean back against the wall, letting the spray sting my breasts, and gasp as a stream hits my nipple.
I imagine Mario’s calloused hand squeezing and pinching.The pattering of the shower isn’t enough, so I grab my breast and groan as pleasure streaks through me.
My clit hardens under my fingers.I circle and stroke.Pressure builds in my core.
