STOLEN || 18+ (Monsters #3)

.65.I didn't want to feel.

. . .

Fabiano

There was a gag in her mouth. The vibrator, even over her pad, was strong and continuously stimulating her swollen pussy. She was squirming, her tongue moving against the ball of the gag.

I sat at the corner of the room, drinking a glass of whiskey while I watched her. She was a fucking goddess, laying there, suffering so beautifully. Her thick thighs, perky breast and luscious curls - I didn't know where to look.

I needed to fuck her again soon.

Her hips lifted and lowered, small moans escaping from her mouth.

I returned my eyes to the computer. Along with our other businesses, we owned multiple luxurious hotel chains over Europe and America. That was being a big thing to control - especially when Giovanni wanted blood on his hands all the time and Dante and I never really agreed upon things.

I ran my eyes over the figures, looking for anything to change. We worked a lot from home because of Leyla. It was no hassle, by we needed to go see how things were soon - especially with Camorra discovering its balls recently.

Leyla let out urgent noises, her thighs shaking. I watched as she came, her chest heaving up and down.

I turned the vibrator up from my phone. She let out a whimper, her poor pussy overstimulated. She turned her head to look at me and then at Giovanni, her eyes begging.

Giovanni ignored her, looking down at his phone.

"Be a good girl now, baby," I said. "A little more, yes?"

She kept whimpering. I got off the chair, walking to the bed. I pushed the vibrator harder on her pussy. She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.

"Are you going to press the button, baby?"

I gently cupped her one breast, brushing my thumb on the nipple over the fabric. "So insatiable." I slapped her breast. She let out a pathetic whine. I heard the vibration go up and down as Giovanni tortured our pretty girl.

I removed her hands from the headboard, still keeping her wrists bound, and set her between my legs, in front of the mirror so that I could watch everything.

She shivered and trembled. Her body shook wildly as she came again, crying and drooling, whining and sobbing.

"So fucking pathetic," I muttered in her ear as I wrapped an arm around him, chuckling as she again tried to take the vibrator away from her pussy. She looked at me through the mirror, her gaze begging me to stop torturing her pretty cunt.

I slapped her face. "Stop looking at me whore. Look down."

She whimpered, doing as she was ordered.

I slapped her breasts, pinching nipples sharply which made her let out urgent noises as she was pushed close to the edge because of the pain.

She came for a long time after that. I made sure she had not shifted somewhere dangerous and was aware of herself. I spanked her breasts and held her down when she tried to get the vibrator away from her pussy.

I took her gag out, wanting to hear her beg.

And she begged prettily. "Daddy...Daddy, please..." She sniffled as I put my hands on her shaking thighs. I pressed a finger on the vibrator, making her let out a low sob. She came again, this time crying as her hips desperately moved to get the vibrator away.

I undid the belt and took the vibrator away.

I tucked her to my chest, brushed strands of her hair out of her face, kissing her lips as she continued whimpering, her hands shaking as they fisted my shirt.

"Too much?" I asked.

She whimpered. "It hurt!"

Giovanni chuckled, walking closer. "Yet...you came so many times." He kissed her cheek. "Perfect little slut for us, hm?"

"No one will ever know how sweet your moans are..." I kissed her jaw. "My pretty baby, hm?"

She shivered, her shaking thighs clamping together at my words.

I chuckled. I couldn't help it. She had no control over her body.

. . .

Leyla

I felt sensitive down there the whole day.

On my period, I was always more...aroused.

They had ripped that arousal out of me, making me cum so many times I could not bear the thought of anything touching my swollen clit.

I spread open my journal on the kitchen counter. I had jotted a few words down these previous days.

Every day, it feels as if I am nearing a cliff. As if I am so close to falling. They are intense and crazy and murders - but they keep me safe. Is someone who keeps you safe a monster? Isn't keeping someone safe a job for the knights and the princes? Not the villains? Things have blurred here - I am somewhere between a captive and a...woman who's with them? I'd not say that they are my boyfriend - and to be honest the term feels too less powerful to use for them.

And a boyfriend is someone who cares about you. they have made it clear they want my body, as I want there's, but there is no telling what their heart says. Yes, they take care of me. But as far as I know, that is something you are SUPPOSED to do in this kind of...arrangement.

I hate blurred lines and unsure words. I need clarity. I need certainly. I'm not brave enough to ask for them - but I do need them.

I sighed, tapping my nails on the counter.

I do like them. Which I know sounds stupid. Who falls for men like them? Who can tolerate men like them? They may look like angels, but everyone knows the darkness which lurks inside them. What kind of a person falls for people like then?

What kind of a person falls for monsters?

I hesitated but then decided to close the journal. I wanted to write down about Ryder, but I didn't want to relive the betrayal. I had loved that man and he was not even who he said he was.

And here I was - willing to lose my heart again. I was a fool. A fool for anyone who showed the slightest bit of affection to me. I had become hungry for affection after mom. I'd been desperate for it. Ryder gave my affection. And now they did. Maybe they'd tire of me and then I'd worship someone else if they give me affection.

I put the pen down, sighing. Journaling had always helped me, even though it was a struggle sometimes. It gave words to the chaos in my mind - even though the words never did the chaos justice. I had too many things to write down.

Too many things I felt.

Too many things I didn't want to feel.

. . .