Page 84 of Breaking Rosalind
“You’re insane.” Her hysterical laugh goes straight to my cock.
“You’ll grow to crave it. By the time I’ve finished with you, your pussy will purr for me.”
She purses her lips, looking like she’s gathering enough saliva to spit.
I clutch her cheeks. “Every time you spit at me, I will extract a tooth.” When her eyes flash, I add, “Go on, test me. I double dare you.”
Her blood pressure spikes. Only this time, I don’t think it’s out of arousal. I hold her stare as her pupils constrict to pinpoints, and she jerks her head to the side.
“Dirty little assassin likes to be threatened,” I say with a chuckle.
“You’re wrong,” she snaps.
“Let me cool you down.” I walk to the refrigerator at the end of the playroom, my back warming with the heat of her glare, open its ice box, and extract a cube.
By the time I return to her side, her blood pressure is down to 140/90. Still elevated, but likely due to the stress of not knowing what’s about to happen.
I walk around to her spread legs and notice one of the stitches has already broken. My brow furrows. I should take better care of my pet.
After sliding on a pair of gloves, I wipe up her lubrication with gauze and dab at the stitches with an antiseptic solution. Rosalind flinches as the cold liquid makes contact with her skin, but she doesn’t complain.
The blood vessels in her clit are engorged, turning it an intense shade of red. I rub the ice cube on her swollen bud, tracing its smooth contours. Rosalind tenses, her breath hitching. The therapeutic cooling should alleviate the burning heat of her desire and bring down her BP and heart rate out of the plateau phase.
The ice melts, dripping onto her labia, and her entire body quivers. When I blow a stream of air on her clit, she moans.
“That’s one part of you that will always tell the truth,” I murmur between her spread legs.
“It’s just as deluded as you,” she snaps, her hips jerking.
I grab her thigh. “Stop squirming. You’ll aggravate your stitches.”
“Whose fault would that be, asshole? I didn’t ask you to sew up my labia.”
Picking up a lighter, I flick its flint wheel and ignite a few sparks before bringing up a flame. “If you can’t stay still like a good pet, then I’ll have to cauterize your cunt.”
Her blood pressure spikes, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t.”
I hold the flame to her inner thigh, making it quiver. “What do you think?”
“You’re disturbed.”
“Careful now,” I say, my voice laced with authority. “You can act as cold as you want, but your body wants to surrender.”
“Oh, and I suppose if you tickle me and I laugh, that means I find you funny? Get real,” she says through panting breaths.
I place the ice cube on the dish, pick up a candle, and light its wick. Its glow fills the room, casting a warm glow on Rosalind’s porcelain skin. Holding the candle a foot above her inner thigh, I drip wax onto her skin.
Each droplet lands on her flesh with a soft splash, creating a pool of heat that makes her legs jerk. I move the candle closer to her pussy, letting the wax continue to drip.
Her body tenses. Her breath comes in ragged gasps. Her clit seems to expand in anticipation of the impending heat, so I cool it down with the ice.
“Fuck,” she groans. “What is wrong with you, Cesare Montesano? I already told you everything I know.”
“You’ve exhausted your usefulness as an informant,” I say, my breath quickening. “The only reason I’m keeping you alive is because you make such an interesting pet.”
Her hips buck, bringing the wax even closer to her pussy, and she moans. “Don’t you have anything better to do, like selling drugs?”
“You’re the only narcotic I need. You and the way you squirm under my touch.”