Playtime

If Veronica had thought her plan through, she would have realized that he would have to make an example of her. He led with fear, and if he let her off easily, his men would never fear him again. They would never respect him. He couldn't have that, so she would pay.



She'd thought he would maybe beat her, starve her, do something that she could work through and survive. Instead, she was shoved down onto a table, this time on her back. Four men surrounded her, trapping her. Rough, eager hands held her prone, parting her thighs and preparing her for her punishment.



He was already hard, straining against his armor. He loved the look of fear on her face, the pure hatred he detected in her eyes. He wanted her to hate him, wanted her to fear his touch. She had so much fire in her, so much courage. He would enjoy watching it die slowly.



He was rough with her, wanting her to know his wrath through her pain. He forced one finger inside her, then two. There was no foreplay. There would be no pleasure for her, only for him. Still her body betrayed her, moisture gathering as he invaded her body. Soon, she was wet enough to satisfy him, and he replaced his fingers with his cock.



She stifled a scream at the unwelcome feeling. He grinned, white teeth flashing in a wolfish smile. He made short work of her, thrusting hard and fast, clearly enjoying himself. He came and withdrew, leaving his seed inside her. A horrifying image of her fat with his child flashed before her eyes. She tried to close her eyes, to look away, but he wouldn't let her. He caught her chin with his hand, his face close to hers.



"Next time you displease me, slave, they'll all get a turn before you're through." His grip on her face was hard and painful. The kiss he placed upon her lips disturbingly gentle by comparison.



He looked past her, over her head to someone who stood there. "Give her ten lashes. Make them hurt."