Page 32 of Piggy
Charlotte
Grayson glares down at me like I’m an inconvenience. A problem he rather discard than fix.
“Please,” I whisper and open my mouth once more, ready for him.
His eyes narrow. “Well look at that, the pig learns.” He pinches my bottom lip, squeezing until it stings. “Then first, we need to clean this lying little hole. I’ll train it, too.”
“Clean?” I squeak.
He grabs the bar of soap.
“And never talk back.”
The soap fills my mouth. The bitter floral taste floods my tongue. My top teeth bite into the wax, gritty and cold. My eyes water.
I grimace, but I don’t spit it out.
I take it, determined.
When he pulls it free, a smear of saliva trails between the soap and my lips .
I’m panting. Tears mixed with shower spray. Sinuses burning. Chest heaving.
And still... I want more. I want him. To forgive me. Love me.
Just then, he shoves his cock deep into my mouth.
No gentleness. No grace.
Just punishment.
Just Grayson.
When he retracts it, I can’t help myself. Too drunk on him . I claw for more.
He fights a smile, but I catch it, the corner of his mouth lifting before he squeezes his eyes shut.
He mumbles, “The dadless wonder begs for more.” It’s not disgust. It’s appreciation.
He’s pleased.
I’m doing it!
But his hand fists my hair, yanking my head back. Slower this time, he feeds me his cock. Inch by inch. No softness. Just discipline.
My breath cuts off. The soap still stings my tongue and throat, bitter as his length forces it deeper. It burns going down.
He grunts.
“That’s my dumb girl. Cross your eyes and clean my cock.”
Cross my eyes?
I hesitate, but his fingers grip at my roots tighter. His pull causes me to quickly straighten, look up, and indeed, cross my eyes .
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smirk. Just pats my wet cheek like I’m his pet. This time, he keeps his voice too soft for me to hear, except I do, as he murmurs, “ Fuck. Too damn perfect.”
Oh! I’m not done impressing him!
His words fuel me. I bob my head, desperate to please, to prove I’ve learned. Worthy. I wrap my lips tight and swallow him down as far as I can. I moan for him. I work for him. And I keep my eyes crossed every time I look up at him.
His palm braces against the tile above me. His hips stutter. Eyes half-lidded. Breathing ragged.
I did that, and I love it.
Then comes the rules, and this time, he grips my head with both hands.
“No more drinking.”
A thrust.
“No more bars.”
Another thrust.
“No leaving places with anyone except me.”
Another, harder.
“You disappear again, and I’ll show you what real punishment feels like.”
And then—
He fucks my throat like it’s owed to him. Like my mouth isn’t for speaking. It’s for this .
My hands grip his thighs. My eyes blur. My throat burns around him. I can’t breathe, but I don’t try to stop him. I’m dizzy.
He groans. A brutal, beautiful sound.
The metal of my cuffs clinks , knees ache, tears stream.
He pulls out.
But he doesn’t let me go, keeping one hand behind my head, gripping.
He strokes his cock, fast and angry. Then he moans ragged and explodes all over my face, sending thick ropes of cum across my cheeks, lashes, nose.
I flinch, but don’t move. I take it, mouth open, tongue out, eyes squeezed shut.
He’s not done.
He drags the slick head of his length across my lips, along the bridge of my nose, smearing heat and filth with every messy swipe.
“Fucking. Mine,” he growls, trembling through the last waves of ecstasy.
The water rushes over my face, cleansing me, but I stay frozen, eyes shut. Like if I move too soon, he’ll vanish.
Then I look up.
He’s panting. His eyes are lidded, hungry, glazed in satisfaction.
I did good. I know I did.
“Grayson.” I swallow, my voice tiny. “You forgive me, right? ”
His fingers hook under my chin, harsh and uncaring. I offer him a smile, small and nervous. Soaked in hope.
He stares at me.
And shakes his head.
“Forgive? Hell no,” he murmurs. “You’re nothing to me. You’re a stupid hole ready to suck anyone.”
He lets go.
And walks away.
The shower door opens. Heat rushes out, replaced by a cold so sharp it cuts. He leaves me kneeling in water, feeling hollow .
Alone.
“No,” I whisper. “Grayson, please—”
I scramble after him. Slipping. Legs bruised and aching. Fingers clawing at wet tile.
“Grayson, wait. Listen to me. I should’ve told you. I didn’t think that guy was interested. It was supposed to be a ride home. That’s all.”
He stops.
Turns.
His face is blank. Set in stone. That jaw clenched so tight it could shatter.
But he didn’t leave me to die. He’s in this house. He brought me back.
He saved me .
“I know you love me,” I pant, voice shaking. “I know I scared you. I’m sorry. I’m so freaking sorry. But you... you are the only man I want.”
His mouth twitches, a faint, underlying hurt flashing in his eyes, just for a second.
“I can’t lose you,” he says, dark and bitter.
I blink. “Okay, well—”
“No.” His voice drops deeper. That low, cracking rasp that says more than any scream. “You don’t fucking get it. If I lose you... there’s nothing left. You’re it.”
His chest rises and falls, slower now. But his rage hasn’t gone. Not really. It’s mutated into grief.
“You disappeared. You didn’t answer. And I thought...” He looks away. “That ruined me.”
I don’t have words.
Because he’s not cruel.
He’s destroyed.
Because of me.
He doesn’t soften, arms crossed, his intense eyes glaring down at me. “Do you have any idea what I feel for you? What you’ve done to me? I don’t think you do, or today would have never happened.”
I’m side-swept. The look in his eyes. It’s not just anger. It’s need. Madness.
“I know,” I whisper.
“You don’t.”
Suddenly, he lifts me like I’m a feather .
He carries me into the bedroom, not like I’m precious, but like he’s claiming what’s his. Like I belong over his shoulder, under his hands, pinned to his bed.
He throws me onto the mattress, then climbs over me. No tenderness. Just hunger and darkness.
The air charges. He’s hard again, and I know, he’s gonna make good on his promise. Teach me. Own me differently than throat fucking till I nearly pass out. To make me hurt. To cripple me with euphoria and suffering.
He doesn’t let go of the cuffs. He curls his fingers around their chain and pulls my hands above my head, holding them there while he sinks his shaft inside me. He stretches my sore pussy, and I welcome it. The pain. The push. The burn that says I’m his, even if it hurts like hell.
He powers forward.
Slow.
Deep.
Claiming.
“You feel that?” he growls. “That’s not just love, baby. That’s the obsession I carry for you.I think about you all day. Who’s looking at you, who you’re smiling at, what trouble you’re walking into because I’m not there.”
His hips move in long, aching strokes, grinding, hitting the spot that shatters me over and over. I moan, helpless, clutching the sheets.
“You like that?” he murmurs, kissing my throat before biting down, leaving a mark for all to see .
I nod, lips parted, gasping.
“That’s because you’re mine. This mouth, this body. It all fucking belongs to me. And it knows it.”
He slips two fingers between my lips and presses down on my tongue. “But if you talk back or lie to me again, I’ll keep the soap in your mouth for a week.”
My eyes flutter. I didn’t lie, but I won’t talk back, not now when this is exactly where I want to be. I suck gently on his fingers, moaning when he thrusts harder.
“That’s it. Suck while I fuck you, baby. Poor pig, can’t even think straight unless you’re serving me, can you?”
I nod quick.
He pulls out, only to shove back in, harder. I yelp.
He groans, loving it. His hand grabs my thigh and slams my legs wider.
Another strike of his palm to my already burning flesh.
Again.
His hand flies down branding my hot skin. I’ll be bruised tomorrow, but tonight, I am in heaven, loving every powerful slap like a declaration of his love.
He shakes his head. “Jesus, you love of all of it.”
“I do,” I moan.
He chuckles at my submission. “You don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna make you see stars so bright, you’ll be blind to other men.”
He gives it to me harder yet, with purpose, just for me. I cry even louder, screaming his name .
My back arches. I cum violently, gasping.
But he keeps going. Keeps stroking me through it, using me, pleasuring me.
Again.
And again.
Until I’m shaking beneath him, drowning in the relief of belonging to him, voice gone. I see so many stars, I can’t tell if my eyes are open or closed. I’m blinded in sex and love.
When he cums, he brushes my hair back, staring down at me with something deeper than lust as he speaks with an intensity I haven’t heard before.
“You’re not nothing. You mean everything to me.”
I kiss his jaw with many pecks, dazed and raw. I breathe, undone, my voice weak and small: “I know now.”
His hand wraps tighter around the chain. He stays deep, perfectly still. And in that moment, I know, I satisfied his darkest desires.
Right?
He didn’t...
I whisper, curious. “Grayson. Um. Was that the kind of sex you watched before me?”
He smirks, like I’m just a dumb girl.
“Sure, baby.”
I squint. “That wasn’t torture stuff?”
“You’re home. You got off, Charlotte. I forgave you. What more could you want?”
“I was just curious about—”
“Don’t ever watch that kind of porn. You. That’s all I want. This.”
He kisses my hand and adds casually, “I got a second job.”
“You did? Where?”
“A slaughterhouse. It’s ugly work, but they don’t care about my record. We still need seven grand to save the house, but if I pick up enough extra hours, I think I can get us there. You won’t have to work at that tourist shop anymore. Focus on your new career instead. Pass your tests.”
I sit up fast. “Grayson! That’s... so sweet.”
“And if you need a fucking ride, you call me . Day or night.”
I stare, astonished, but he rolls on his back, drifting off fast, no doubt exhausted from work, the chaos, the sex.
I lay my head down, watching him. He doesn’t hold me close, but I smirk when I notice his fingers clutching the handcuff chain.
I stay up for a while. Thinking.
He’s my everything, too. I love him...
But I am curious. I guess I satisfied all his needs. Yet, if he doesn’t want me to watch that type of porn, then I must not be the kind of girl he once craved. A girl who could handle seeing it.
Maybe he still craves those girls.
Maybe I should watch that type of porn to learn stuff. Impress him .
Although, I bet I did exactly what those girls do. Better, too! Just look at him. He’s sleeping so hard. Yep. Completely satisfied. I shouldn’t feel insecure.
I’m confident. Sexy.
In fact, I am comfortable enough to watch that porn... or even see his videos.
Yep. I could bear it. Seeing him with another woman. That’s the past. I just blew his mind. What could it hurt?