Dirty Bad Wrong(46)

“Don’t tell me what I want, ok? Don’t treat me like an idiot who doesn’t know anything.”

He sighed. “I’m not treating you like an idiot, I’m telling you the truth.”

I hated the way he looked at me, like some cute little dolly who doesn’t know shit. Not like the proper women from Explicit, not like Rebecca and Cara and all the other perfect minxes he hung with every bloody weekend. I pushed him away, got to my feet. “You think I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’ll show you. It’s why I was going for the light, James, I didn’t think you’d like it.”

I unbuttoned my blouse, shaky but resolute, slipping it from my shoulders and unclasping my bra, revealing my bruised tits. His eyes widened as I jiggled out of my skirt, presenting myself in just a small pair of lace panties, nervous but unrepentant. I twirled slowly and I caught him swallow, soaking in every wheal and bruise.

“Rebecca’s work,” he said calmly, a smile twitching at his mouth. “I should have guessed.”

“I asked her to,” I insisted. “I wanted it.”

“Why?”

I felt my cheeks flush, and folded my arms over my breasts. “Practice,” I mumbled.

“Practice?”

I looked at the floor, anywhere but at him. “For Masque, I was practicing for Masque.”

“And good old James Clarke, was he practice for Masque too?”

My mouth clammed up. “No... yes... I don’t know. I wanted you, I wanted you before I even saw Masque.”

“Tut tut, Lydia, that’s a dangerous game, playing one man’s lust for the sake of another’s.” He got up, took the TV remote from the dresser and flicked through the stations until he found a late night comedy show. I watched in silence as he turned the volume up loud, wondering what the hell he was doing. He took a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re a bad girl, Lydia Marsh. Do you know what happens to bad girls?” A whirlwind of tiny butterflies fluttered around my stomach. “Come here.”

His hands reached out, pulling me forwards by the waist. I sucked in my stomach, trying to cut a better picture, but he shook his head. “Don’t ever do that again, Lydia. I want to see you exactly as you are. You have a beautiful body.”

His fingers travelled up my ribs, to my breasts. He gripped tight, rolling tender flesh in heavy palms. “You’ve been a disgustingly bad girl, Miss Marsh. Take your panties off.”

I did as he asked, sliding the flimsy lace down over my hips to drop to the floor. I gripped my legs together, blushing under his gaze, but he shot me a look of disapproval. “Don’t hide from me, Lydia.”

I shuffled my feet apart and he placed his hands on my thighs to guide them wider still, studying me so intently I flushed with embarrassment. I suddenly wished I was shaved like Rebecca, but he didn’t seem to care. “You have a gorgeous pussy, Lydia, I can’t wait to stretch you open.”

I pictured the woman on stage, her animal groans as his fist pumped all the way inside her. “Will it hurt?”

“I could make it hurt... if that’s what you need.” He took my arm, twisting it in the light. I could have died on the spot, pulling away from him to hide my scars. It took Stuart years before he figured what they were, but James Clarke wasn’t Stuart. He was another animal entirely. He raised my wrist to his lips. “I don’t want you adding any more of these, there are much better ways to savour pain.” Canned laughter sounded loud in the room as he peppered my skin with kisses. “I’m not going to hurt your pussy tonight, Lydia, but bad girls do need to learn their lesson. Over my knee.”

My heart raced as I lowered myself onto his legs, the hard ridge of his cock pressing into my stomach. It added to both my nerves and excitement in equal measure. He tweaked my position, pushing my head down low and placing a strong arm across my shoulder blades. I steadied myself as he tickled my thighs. “You will not make a sound. The last thing we want is anyone calling the police. They will hear only the TV, agreed?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good girl.”

He hit me harder than Rebecca ever did, much harder, landing blows right on top of my bruises. I sucked in breath for the first few slaps, jiggling around on his lap as best I could, given his grip on me. He paused after ten and slipped warm fingers between my legs. “You’re a dirty girl, Cat. So fucking wet. Your cunt smells fucking gorgeous.”

Another ten, and the tingling well and truly kicked in. My breath came out hard and ragged as he began to vary the blows, landing some on the soft skin of my thighs. I couldn’t stop myself grinding against his cock jutting beneath his trousers, even though he’d curse and hit me all the worse for it.