Mine

by Clio Evans

Of course, I hadn’t really seen her ass, given she was wearing a coat. But every ass was biteable. Spankable.

It had slipped out before I could stop myself.

Like I said, I needed to be locked up. I couldn’t just go around dominating people in coffee shops on random Thursday mornings. Not only was that probably against the ethics of practicing good and safe kink, it was fucking weird.

I had a corruption kink. And this was where I felt most at home—turning a crowd of strangers into heathens and feeding off the energy like it was my lifeline. I liked their attention. I liked imagining that one day, we’d play a massive, sold-out venue. That I’d sing about fucking the person of my dreams and the entire world would be listening.

Salt had the voice of the devil. And I really wanted to be a good little sinner. For years, I’d been perfect. I had a reputation for being smart, steady, and calculated. I always made good choices. It was ingrained into me from the start. But I wasn’t happy. That was what I’d come to terms with earlier this week. Jeff leaving me had only ripped the first bandaid off, and there were plenty more to go. I was tired of being perfect. I wanted to be ruined. There were so many things I’d missed out on sexually, I was certain of it. Maybe Salt could show me things I hadn’t experienced. I wanted to find out, even though it was a bad idea. The temptation was too great.

“I mean in the bedroom,” he corrected. “Outside the bedroom, I doubt anyone could truly tell you what to do. But behind closed doors, in my arms, vulnerable. Needy.”

“You’re mine,” I rasped. “Mine to fuck and mine to play with. Mine to make come over and over again until you're my perfect little mess.”

“You need someone who will make you forget about all of that,” he murmured. “Someone with a firm hand, hmm? Someone who won’t judge you for whatever you want to try.” I nodded. “Yes.”

“Beg,” Salt demanded. “I told you earlier I’m not fucking you until you beg for it, Pepper. Beg me for

this cock. Beg me to breed your needy little cunt. Beg me to fuck you until you forget who you are.”

Begging never gave me what I wanted. My mother, father, husband, god—none of them loved me. None of them ever saw me, heard me, cared for me.

“Was that good for you, baby girl? Touching yourself when you shouldn’t have? Did you come?” “Yes,” she cried. “I came so fucking hard I saw stars.” “Well, make a fucking wish, because you’re about to see them again.”

The scent of sex clung to me. She was a crimson rose with thorns that would cut me and bleed me. But I yearned for that pain. For the type of love that would strangle me. That would set me free. She’d come back. I hoped.

Salt wanted me to be both. He made me feel sexy. He made me feel wanted. It didn’t matter that he was more than a decade younger than me, it didn’t matter that he’d enraged my ex-husband, it didn’t matter that what we were doing may be wrong in the eyes of so many. He wanted me to be sexy and smart. He wasn’t threatened by my strength. It only made my submission sweeter.