Depraved by Trent Evans

Chapter 12

As she laid there in the dark, the memory of it haunted her… but not for the reasons she feared it would.

Her pussy was so sore, she didn’t even want to touch it, and yet even replaying the memories had her clit tingling—which hurt, too—and despite the utter certainty that there was absolutely nothing else her pussy could possibly take, she still replayed it in her mind.

First, she had no idea it was possible her body could get so tense, so keyed-up, her nerves as taut as bowstrings, her senses heightened so much that even the currents of the air were like the caresses of a jealous lover’s hands upon her heated, sweaty skin.

He’d played her masterfully, deviously, and in a way—a sick, twisted way she silently cursed herself for—she almost…admired him for.

That he knew a woman’s body that well… and didn’t have the slightest qualms at all about taking advantage of that secret knowledge and using it completely against her.

Thatpart… was so difficult for her to reconcile.

As she turned over the implications in her mind, she was transfixed by both shame at her lascivious reactions—even though it was purely biological and psychological conditioning—and then, in turn, deep anger that she’d let herself be played like a fine violin, right into his hands.

In the end, she’s given him exactly what he said she would.

Could he see the future, or was this strange, terrifying man just that arrogantly assured of his capabilities?

Grudgingly—though she’d go to her grave before she actually told him that—she had to admit his confidence was quite well founded.

She’d never—not ever—had a man touch her, stir such profound desire, an almost soul-destroying pleasure in her before.

It was a revelation to her that such pleasure was even possible on this mortal Earth.

And that’s precisely why he’s got you exactly where he wants you. Can’t you fucking see that, Yulia? Open your eyes to what he’s doing.

It was the only real conclusion she could draw: he was conditioning her, shaping and molding her mind. Breaking her down, bit by bit, until even the outlandish seemed… not quite so anymore.

But to what end?

She turned over on her back, hissing at the way her labia slid together, reawakening the ache there, a deeper hurt inside throbbing dully, thankfully quite a bit attenuated from the raging it was doing the moment he’d laid her spent, near delirious body on the bed earlier that night.

The worst part was the urge, unbidden, and from the depths of her mind she was terrified to explore, to reach out to him, to ask him to stay with her, if only for a little while.

The fact was, she needed him—or someone—to cling to. That was the part of this that was almost shattering, the bone-deep loneliness she felt at that instant, even though she’d hardly had a second away from him since he’d taken her captive.

But was that a loneliness for anyone… or a yearning to be closer to him?

In the end, could she really say? She was, after all, in the grips of a full-on, seditious betrayal of herself by her body, and her desires.

She wasn’t entirely sure how it was even possible, but somehow, he’d elicited such a reaction in her, on almost an instinctual level, it didn’t seem to matter what her higher reasoning, her mind, thought anymore.

Her body simply responded to him.

The implications of it were far more serious than simply feeling ashamed and, well, slutty for her body’s reactions to his treatment of her.

They went deeper than that. Much deeper.

It was as if this male had some sort of incredibly perceptive insight into her long-held, deep-seated fantasies.

She’d long struggled with the darkness within her, and that darkness showed itself most clearly in her sexual fantasy life.

Pain. Degradation. Force. Fear. Humiliation.

Those, and more, regularly featured in her sexual musings. They always had, for as long as she could remember.

What’s more, she knew it wasn’t some remnant, or artifact of past trauma. This was not the wreckage of a shattered mind left behind in the wake of abuse.

This was her, and her fantasies that shocked as much as titillated.

Her father had protected her jealously, tirelessly. She’d never wanted for anything, and not ever—not once—did she ever feel he was anything but her protector, her champion, the one man she would always compare any others to—though not in any sexual way. And she would always find those suitors lacking when juxtaposed with him.

She wondered then, not for the first time, if that was why she was still alone… notwithstanding the enforced “company” of her captor.

Her throat suddenly had a lump, and she tried to swallow it down.

“I miss you so much, Daddy,” she whispered in the dark, tears welling suddenly.

The pain of her father taken from her, it rushed in then, and in the quiet gloom of her cell, she wept for him, wept for all the days she’d never have of watching him grow old, of learning even more from him, and—she really believed this—seeing him someday save the world from the evil that gripped it.

Now, that was all gone. And she was all alone, lost without him.

And guilt, too. Oh yes, that was ever present as well. In the middle of all of this, the strife, and sorrow, the world in darkness—and not least of which, her remaining heartache over her father’s loss—that she was struggling with this at all… it made her curse her selfishness.

There were more important things than what made her pussy wet, and her self-loathing baggage that came along with it.

She needed to stop being so selfish.

This was the very last thing she should be lamenting over.

Still, if there was any silver lining in all of the mess she currently found herself in, strangely, it was that… she really had little choice in the matter.

It wasn’t her that had tried to be abducted—quite the opposite, of course. She had had all of this forced on her, even her reluctant—if unsettlingly powerful—pleasure.

It had been drawn from her against her will. Though she should have felt more rage at that… considering the circumstances, she had to resign herself to fighting only the battles that needed fighting right now.

Someday, there would be time and space to untangle all these complex, contradictory, even paradoxical emotions.

She just wished she wasn’t feeling quite so much pleasure in it.