Page 13 of Exposed (The Wellard Asylum #1)

I swallow hard. Invisible knives flick across me, fear electrifying my spine. I’m alone with Dr. Ambrose in some sort of basement, and I have no idea what he plans to do to me right now.

“Grind on my boot,” Dr. Ambrose commands.

Hunger radiates from his dark pupils, his lips open and wet. He expects me to rub my pussy on his shoes?

He wants me to debase myself.

The leather of his boots is worn. He doesn’t seem like someone who would wash his shoes often, and I’m naked; the grime on his boots will definitely get on my pussy. Obeying him will mean risking infection, lowering myself mentally and physically.

Obeying him also means getting off.

I’ve never done anything with shoes before. My tongue is heavy and wet, my fingertips pulsating with the need to touch Dr. Ambrose. His boots. His legs. To see how the leather rides against my pussy. To please him.

To see how much he wants me.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he murmurs.

Sweat traces my palms, and my cheeks redden. I’m grateful for the fact he can’t see me blushing in the darkness.

I sink to my knees. Grit and concrete particles cut into my skin, tiny blasts of pain crowding my kneecaps. My pussy squelches against the leather.

I flush again. Why am I so wet when we haven’t done anything yet? Is it just because he fisted me only a little while ago?

I shake my head. The reason doesn’t matter. I need to focus.

The acid.

I nuzzle my forehead on his leg and keep my head bowed, crossing my fingers he thinks I’m clutching him like this because I want to touch him.

Quietly, I spit the tube into my palm, pretending like I’m clearing my throat, and I close my fingers around it.

I rub my fist down his leg and uncurl my fingers against the concrete, letting go of the vial against the floor.

My muscles relax. This is good. The darkness will hide the vial like it’s something left behind from another patient or staff member.

Dr. Ambrose walks and carries me on his boot effortlessly like a child. Relief rushes through me as we add distance from our original spot, away from the acid.

Once he rests his boots on the concrete again, I gather myself.

The leather material on my pussy folds is cool and smooth.

He lifts his toes again, and I automatically dig my hips deeper into his boot.

A grunt—or is it a moan?—bursts out of Dr. Ambrose, almost like approval. Pleasure waves through me.

As my eyes continue to adjust to the dim lighting, I pour over his trousers. His bulge thickens, and I gasp. His tongue slithers across his lips, wetting the skin.

“Pleasure yourself,” he orders.

My toes curl against the concrete, my chin dipping slightly. As much as I might want to secretly do this, I don’t know if I can actually get off on his boots.

“Dr. Ambrose,” I say hesitantly. “I don’t?—”

“I’m an expert in this field, taking time away from my other patients to begin your treatment. You’re the one who wanted this, are you not?”

His jaw hardens. I flinch. Did Benji tell him it was my idea to come here?

I start, “I?—”

“Don’t waste my time, Miss Ward.”

My stomach knots. A drop of sweat or need tickles my pussy as it drips down. His heinous-sized cock stretches his pants taut.

Right now, he wants me and me alone.

And we’re alone.

Alone.

I’m supposed to kill him once we’re alone, aren’t I?

I’ll use this next test to wear him out, I tell myself. And once I’ve got a better understanding of my options, I’ll untwist the shower hose and use the metal head to bash his skull. I’ll be ready.

“You’re exhibiting characteristics of arousal,” he says, each word painfully smooth, oozing from my ears down to my throat.

He rubs the top of my head. My scalp tingles.

A low chuckle drums from his mouth. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Violet?

Being a nasty little cunt and rubbing yourself on a man’s boots just to get off. ”

My breathing quickens, and his fingertips comb through my hair, catching on tangles. He bends down until our eyes meet.

“I see you eyeing my cock,” he says. “I bet you’d take anything I’d give you. How does it feel to be so desperate?”

My mouth opens. Laughter erupts from his lips.

“So, you admit it. You will take anything I give you,” he bellows. “Such an agreeable little cunt, willing to nod along to anything I tell you.”

Shock grapples my intestines. I touch my face. Was I nodding?

I shake my head vigorously to snap out of it, to wake up and be the same woman who woke up in bed next to Benji. The person I was before we drove to the asylum. Before the plan to kill Dr. Ambrose was ever in my head.

“No,” I say. “No. No, no, no!”

I deny it, but I keep grinding on his boot, my embarrassing wetness sloppily squelching through the room.

He nudges my pussy hole with his boot again, a leather cock ready to be inserted. My opening is sore from his fist, but I want him to kick me there, to knock me out of this lust-filled haze.

“Do you deny it? You won’t take anything I give you?” he asks. “We’ll have to test that as well, then.”

My stomach churns. I made things worse for myself, didn’t I? What have I gotten myself into?

He steps back; emptiness envelops me. My pussy strains in agony, and my eyes sting. I hate him, but I fucking hate how much I want this. And more than that, I hate how hollow I am without his boot on my pussy and his leg in my arms.

He points to his boot. “Clean it. ”

My skin flushes. I glance around frantically. What am I supposed to clean it with?

“Your tongue,” Dr. Ambrose says, reading my mind.

He wants me to lick my juices from the leather?

I knew I’d have to lick something; I thought it would be his cock. At least if it’s his cock, it would be a normal sexual act and I’d get the chance to please him. But with his boot? It’s so much worse, and it’s even more unbearable knowing my body wants to obey him.

The bathtub and the shower are in the corner. I can do what he says and avoid my own needy desires if I?—

He slaps my face.

I clench my jaw. Slowly, I look up and sear him with my gaze. His condescending expression tightens around me.

Not yet. Don’t do it, I tell myself. Even if hurting him will feel good, you won’t be able to kill him with your bare hands.

Even with the rage and the intense need for revenge, I want him to slap me again. I want him to fuck me raw.

Still, I growl. “How. Fucking. Dare. You.”

He fists my hair and scoffs. “For fuck’s sake, you know what to do.” Pain darts down my neck as he jams my mouth to the boot. “Are you an adult, or are you a child, Miss Ward? If you make a mess, you clean it up.”

My tongue reaches out. Sourness and hints of earthy leather coat my taste buds, and those angry thoughts are gone, replaced by the need to do what he says. I look up for his approval.

His cock stretches, thin and hard and concealed by his pants, and I swear, with one thrust, his cock could tear through the fabric .

My insides incinerate with need. I slosh my tongue against his boots, eating every drop.

“Look at the sloppy mop whore. Licking up your cum like a starving animal,” he murmurs. Between licks, I gaze at him. His palm strokes his pants, and he squeezes the tip of his cock, his eyes glazed with lust. “You’re pathetic.”

There’s nothing else inside of my brain.

I lick the leather, ingesting every single drop I can get.

My hips lower until I’m flat against the concrete, my clit grinding on the floor.

I close my eyes and stretch my tongue farther until my muscle strains.

He lifts his foot off of the floor, and I pant, reaching for his boot.

He lowers the rubber sole to my face, increasing the pressure until my cheeks are smashed between the floor and his boot.

I lick through the side of my mouth, my tongue thrashing over the hard, plasticky grooves on the bottom of his shoes, and I am completely consumed.

I’m here for a reason, aren’t I? I’m going through this for a reason. A good one. It doesn’t matter if I like this. It doesn’t?—

“So utterly pathetic,” he says in a low voice, practically singing his words. “No wonder he brought you here.”

Him. Benji.

“He’s disgusted by you, you know,” he says.

“I’m surprised the poor man was able to keep himself from vomiting.

There were times I advised him to stay at the asylum until he was well enough to drive, but the idiot was determined to return and take care of you, his sick, perverted girlfriend.

” He rubs his boots over me, and I hump the floor.

“I bet he had no idea you’re a boot licker too,” he snarls.

“You’re no better than the scum on the bottom of my shoes. ”

“Oh, fuck,” I whimper. My stomach twists, and I writhe, desperate for more.

“He must be so disappointed in you,” he says.

Shame roots itself into my core, then quickly morphs into arousal.

“You tried to be a good, normal girlfriend, didn’t you?” Dr. Ambrose says. “But deep down, you know you need to be hurt. To be used. To be completely and utterly destroyed. A stupid little thing like you can’t please someone normal like your boyfriend. A thing like you can only please me. ”

My body pulses. Please him. Dr. Ambrose. Why do I want to please him? How does he make me feel worthless and valued at the same time?

Clarity pierces through me. I grimace.

Benji. I’m here because Benji helped me.

Because I’m supposed to kill Dr. Ambrose.

Dr. Ambrose uses his boot to maneuver me until I’m lying on my back, and it becomes harder to remember that goal. He rubs his boot across my face, then down over my breasts, over my pussy, and I repeat the promise in my mind: I will kill him. I will. I will ? —

I need to cum first though. I need his boots. His fingers. His cock. And damn it all, I want to make him cum too. To know I did something right. That I brought him pleasure. That I was good enough. And then I’ll?—