The pain I feel comes from somewhere else—something Langston will never understand.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the pain and torment won’t come for me tonight. There are only two ways to keep the pain out: sleep and sex.
Sleep isn’t going to happen for hours. I’m used to living on very little sleep. And there is no way I’ll be able to fall asleep on this cold, hard floor.
I can do something about the other option.
The one good thing about being locked in a dark closet is that there are no cameras in here.
When I fucked Waylon all night, I did it as much for the cameras, for Langston, as I did it for me. I put on a show for Langston, showed him what he can never have.
Tonight is all about me. I need this. I need the distraction. Langston doesn’t get to watch me pleasure myself.
I grab the strap of the robe, untie it, and let the robe fall open.
Instinctively, I look up into the corner to double-check there isn’t a camera. If there is one, I can’t see it. And if Langston is watching, an uneasy feeling will take hold of me.
None does.
There is no camera.
I purse my lips as I let out a breath, trying to relax. This is my happy place—fucking.
I can’t fuck Waylon, but I can fuck myself.
I close my eyes, tuning out the world.
It helps that the room is silent. I can’t hear Langston.
So why do I keep thinking about him?
He’s holding me captive and has threatened to kill me—that’s why.
Stop thinking about Langston!
I open my eyes, staring out at the darkness.
Focus.
I bring my knees toward me, placing my feet flat on the floor and letting my legs fall apart, wide and open.
My hands take their time exploring my own body. It’s been a long time since I’ve needed to get myself off. Waylon keeps me more than satisfied.
And before that, it was Jason, Andrew, Carter…
The men in my life have been endless.
My hands start sensually exploring with a light touch down my neck. My skin is soft and hot beneath my fingers. My breasts feel large in my hands. Down I trail my hand over the softness of my stomach, purposefully avoiding any scars that remind me of my old life, before I feel between my legs.
I’m dry, not wet.
I haven’t done nearly enough to turn myself on yet.
My hand rises back up, and I suck slowly on my fingers, providing moisture to turn myself on.
I use one hand to spread my pussy lips and the other to find my clit. I rub my saliva over my clit, warming myself up. I move slowly; I have all night after all. There is no pressure to come quickly.
It’s been so long since I’ve touched myself like this that I’ve forgotten what I like—slow, light pressure or fast, hard pressure. Do I like a circular motion or the flick of my fingers over my sensitive bud?