After Asher used her name, she thought it was all over with, and it left her so frazzled that she spoke without thinking, asking him questions like that about his past because it felt like something had definitely happened there.
The more she learned about him, the more it seemed clear that he was capable of extreme violence. Strangely, she couldn't say that she had any fear of that violence.
Whatever it was, she knew that he wouldn't ever truly hurt her. Asher was too steady, too calm. Even when his crop felt like it was too much, it never was.
Asher was perfect like that, and he looked at her with possession, not murderous intent.
Jezebel had played with some shady people before, too, when she needed to satisfy her dom compass somehow and didn't want real control, so she knew dangerous violence, and Asher wasn't it.
Jezebel knew that without even thinking about it.
But she was still curious. What kind of lines had Asher crossed? What kind of violence had he done, and why? What would drive him to it?
Jezebel wasn't sure what made her think that he had been driven to do something terrible, except to say that he had this air of confidence when talking about it that seemed to speak of experience.
But Asher left after the movie they watched, and she sank against the door, breathing a kind of strangely disappointed relief.
Asher had replaced all thoughts of her drugs lately, fueling her with a kind of continual fear and adrenaline.
Each time she toyed with him and teased him felt like another time when Asher might just decide he was tired of waiting for her to give in.
It made her flinch to remember calling herself his slave to his face.
And yet, she had lain in bed after the night with Deirdre and Lily and thought that it was wrong for her to have gotten pleasure. That had felt like the most strangely perverse bit of everything that had happened.
Jezebel had dreams that night of his watching the two of them until they left, and then using her mouth for his release while she was left horny at his knees, eager for more, and pleased to have his approval and the taste of his cum.
God, what was happening to her? Jezebel was in a constant state of arousal, and even though she was masturbating more than ever, she felt less satisfaction from doing it, too.
Her whole body felt like it itched for his dominance, for just one aggressive curl of his fingers around her throat, for one more flick of his crop to command her to be still and stand straight for his viewing pleasure.
But he wasn't giving her any of that at all now. Asher was letting her tease him while taking her own release from his touch, and that was driving her even crazier.
Jezebel thought about the night he held her and forced her to look at his dungeon door in silence. He hadn't said a word, and there was nothing but pure menace and threat in his hold.
Jezebel had merely trembled with her ass up, her face held low, looking at that door and knowing what it was. Asher hadn't even needed to clarify.
She knew with every fiber of her being what lay behind that door.
Why wasn't she going to him now? Asher was right. What did she have to lose by giving him just a month?
Jezebel was bored as all bloody fuck when she wasn't flirting or playing with him. Asher was her only friend and she was even running out of books to read.
So why not just kneel and say okay to that one month? Jezebel wouldn't be bored anymore, and she could lose herself to him.
But she needed it to be a struggle. Jezebel didn't know why that was the case, only knew that it was probably fucked up, and that she definitely didn't care.
His force would be something to make her feel all the safer. On some basic level it felt like proof he could take care of her, that if he had the strength to subdue her, then that meant he was capable in some way.
Jezebel knew animals acted that way, specifically predators. They instinctively had to be forced because force was indicative of better hunters.
It didn't make sense for humans though, unless Norman was onto something with some of his theologies, with the thought that some instincts came from hunter-and-gatherer days, and that humans were the most basically violent of any other predator.
Jezebel turned all of those thoughts over in her head while she went to the bathroom, going through the mental possibilities, thinking of him, and buried instincts.
The only thing that mildly kept the arousal at bay anymore was taking a bath and these weird mental logical trails, but even they were turning purely sexual in nature.
Even so, she tried because she was kind of going insane, kind of dreaming about him every night now.
Jezebel got her toothbrush and lifted her head to the mirror, only to try to scream.
The creature behind her cut her off before she could, clasping one hand over her mouth, while the other arm wrapped around her with a wiry strength that she knew well.
And then she got even more terrified than before, when she realized what was happening.
God, it was him, but he was wearing a demon mask, a terrifying fitted skull shape with curling horns above his head.
And what was more, he wasn't in a cock cage anymore. No, he was hard as hell against her ass, and she bucked back against that length with a groan behind his hand, even when every instinct told her that this was her last chance to run.
If she didn't want to end up on her knees in that dungeon, if she didn't want to lose the entirety of her freedom by the end of the night, then this was it.
But she only started to fight after she arched back to his length and felt how large he was.
And then she struggled, horny and frantic and needy in his arms. Jezebel wasn't thinking at all, which was amazing to her.
God, no, she was all need, all feeling, even when she rammed her elbow back against him. But that only resulted in his grabbing her arm and pulling it across her chest in punishment.
If she managed to even hurt him at all, he didn't show a thing or make a sound, but of course, he wouldn't.
His control was so perfect that he had worn a cock cage for weeks now, without letting her see a bit of his denial pain, until he wished to let her know.
Everything was always, perfectly, on his terms and this was no different.
Asher chuckled in her ear and grappled with her, cooing with little shushing sounds, as if trying to ease the fear of a small animal that didn't know what was happening was for its own good.
"That's enough, lovely girl. Was this your Hannibal Lecter fantasy all along? Was this how you needed to feel your V for Vendetta desire come alive, your Phantom of the Opera romanticizing made real?"
Jezebel moaned when all of her secret daydreams came back at her, but of course, they had never been so secret had they?
She had teasingly shown or referenced all of them to him. Jezebel couldn't look away from that mask in the mirror, from how he looked at her with such possessive violence in his gaze.
God, her pussy was drenched, hotter and wetter than it had ever been. "Fuck, I can smell you, kotik."
***