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and suddenly I was thinking about Manson pressing the sole of his boot down on my face. I was thinking of him crushing me into the grass, laughing at me, calling me a dirty whore for daring to like it -
was literally being degraded in front of friends and strangers, and I liked it.
I wondered how long he'd thought about humiliating me, if he'd fantasized about making me squirm, making my cheeks turn red and my voice shake. I wondered if it was turning him on too.
imagined stuffing my own panties into my mouth at his command, then standing there drooling and gagged in front of everyone. I squeezed my legs together tighter.
But the dark, needy part of me was insisting something very different: it was telling me that Manson’s condescending tone sounded hot, and his confidence was sexy, and that running to obey his summoning would feel so good.
“Acting like it’s such a goddamn chore for you doesn’t change that you’re still doing it.”
“Aww, is poor little Jess bored?” He gave my chin a bump with his knuckle,
“You heard me just fine, Jess. Crawl. Crawl into the kitchen, get my beer, and crawl back. And remember your goddamn manners.”
You’re going to obey, because you want to, no matter how much you try to hide it.”
“Go crawl and get my beer, Jessica – before I put you up against the wall and spank that cute little ass of yours until you figure out how to behave.”
You know you want it. The evil little voice chuckled in my head. He’ll punish you for breaking the rules of the game, for being a bad, disobedient girl. He’ll punish you in front of everyone, make you cry…
“I’m not going to accept any of the excuses you come up with for being such a brat. I won’t tolerate that behavior.”
“I need you to be a good, obedient girl for me,”
“You’re going to follow and accept your punishment like a good girl, aren’t you?”
He was enjoying every second of humiliating me.
“Where the hell do you expect me to sit then?” “On the floor, on your knees, at my feet. Like a good girl.”
“So much better, Jess. Doesn’t that feel good? Letting go, accepting the embarrassment? It’s one of my favorite things to see…”
“Such a silly girl. Why are you down there, on your knees, begging for me not to order you to embarrass yourself?”
I liked feeling as if I had no choice. I liked that I had an excuse to let go of my pride and do the filthy, degrading things that made my belly light and my pussy clench. I couldn’t resist diving deeper; I couldn’t resist getting more of that feeling.
I’d do it because I wanted that twisting in my belly to tighten and the heat inside me to become a blaze. I’d do it because it was the closest thing to freedom I’d felt: no room for pride, no place for carefully constructed laughter, no fake smiles, no pretending. My attempts to keep up my mask - sarcasm, arguing, disobeying - were quickly falling away, dismantled, piece by piece.
There was a tap on my head, something pressing me down and keeping me there. Within moments I recognized the textured feeling of a boot sole, and realized Manson had pressed his opposite foot on top of my head.
wanted to beg him, Please, please don’t make me, please don’t make me do it, I’ll be good, please…
“Uh-uh, no hands.” I put my hand down slowly, uncertainly. “Open your mouth, angel.”
He spit the beer into my mouth, all of it, not spilling a drop. It was still cold, refreshing on my tongue, but it tasted like him.
Manson’s fingers wrapped around my chin, forcing my gaze up.
“Oh, Jess. Poor little angel. I’ve made a sinner out of you. Enjoying your punishment so much it’s making you wet. So cute.”
“Now I have to make your punishment even worse,” he said, his voice mockingly sad. “I can’t have you enjoying yourself that much.”
tried to squeeze my legs together, but it didn’t make a difference since I was straddling his lap.
He was enjoying this, really enjoying it - god, he felt big.
Manson’s hand gripped into my hair, right at the nape of my neck. “Naughty angel. Very naughty. You really think that’s what you deserve right now?” He pulled me back, his mouth close against my ear and he whispered. “You deserve to have your clit aching all night. You deserve to have duct tape slapped over it so you can’t touch while I crush your pretty little pussy under my boot.”
“Awww, angel, you’re so wet.”
“Your cunt is cuter when your ass is red; funny how that works.”
“Feeling a little scared now? It’s alright: the door is shut, and the music out there is so loud that you can scream and cry all you want, but you won’t disturb anyone.”
“Don’t what?” he said. “Don’t punish you? Hmm? Is that it? My naughty little angel doesn’t want to be punished?”
“It’s okay to struggle, angel,” Manson’s voice was soft, soothing. “Struggle all you need to; you won’t get away. You’ll stay right here and take your punishment until you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Doesn’t it feel better to be restrained?” he said, speaking over the brutally loud sound of the swats he kept raining down on me. “Doesn’t it feel good knowing that you’re getting what’s best for you? Learning to be a good girl.”
“You’re going to suffer through that wet pussy of yours and wait. And every time I order you to do something, it’ll feel a little worse. You’ll just have to take it.”
“I can do whatever I want, angel. I can make you suffer all night and never give you release. I can spank you again just because I like hearing you scream - and you do sound so pretty when you scream.”
Share. Oh my god. The thought of being shared by the four of them, ordered around, degraded, punished – it made my stomach tighten, slowly strangled by a knot of tension and desire. The very men I’d tormented, I wanted. It was so fittingly humiliating. But god, that clown makeup gave me the creeps.
“Mm, she’s right,” Vincent said thoughtfully, giving Jason a little shove. “A piece of meat would be tied up and hung from the ceiling – although, I can certainly arrange that.” “Vincent likes restraints,” Manson explained dryly. “As you can tell.”
“Don’t worry about scaring her, boys,” Manson said, giving me a little squeeze. “It’s good training for her.”
“Can’t we just what? Go inside so you can finally get fucked?”
"I can't say that here," I whispered, wishing that somehow only Manson would hear me.
"More worried about what they think of you than pleasing me, Jess?" Manson said, and tsked. "That's not how good girls behave."
God, I wanted him to do that again. I wanted him to hurt me. Hurt me, fuck me, make me scream.
I imagined Manson bending me over, holding me tight under his arm, scolding me as the clowns watched, smacking me until I wept openly, uncontrollably
"What do you think you're doing, angel?" he said. He grabbed my wrist, pulling up my hand. "What's all this on your fingers, hm? Did you think you could just sneak off and do something so naughty?"
“God, it’s so pathetic how needy you are." His voice wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t taunting. He said it like it was simply a fact, and I whimpered my agreement around the thong.
But this was more than just sex: this had tapped into another desire in me, a lust for something cruel and unusual that I’d never had fulfilled. It was a glaring, roaring monster that demanded to be satiated.
“Jessica, look at me.”
