The Whispers of Silence

|7.|

X

I had something special planned for my sweet little toy.

I'd promised her a show, and by the time 10 p.m. rolled around, I was ready to give her one.

The blinds opened slowly, showing me her illuminated silhouette in her own window, waiting, ready for me. She was wearing a sexy little nightie that sent my pulse racing, complete with black lacy stockings and a killer pair of heels. I'd told her to dress up. Maybe if she was dressed to fuck, I could imagine it was her cunt hugging my dick.

I didn't acknowledge her, not giving her so much as a wave. I barely glanced at her, and the next second, the doorbell rang.

I felt Nora's eyes on me as I walked to the door, opening it wide and regarding the girl before me.

She was nervous, her hands twisted in front of her. She wore a little black dress that left nothing to the imagination and sexy heels that matched her daring outfit. Her lips were painted a dark shade of red and her long blonde hair was styled perfectly. She wore thick false lashes, fluttering open for me and revealing her pretty brown eyes.

It was really a shame because all her efforts were in fucking vain. She was going to be a perfect little mess in no time.

I smiled wide and moved aside to let her in.

As soon as she stepped inside, my brow furrowed with worry.

"Shoes off, please," I said roughly, and she gave me an incredulous look, but slipped her footwear off.

The girl was much shorter now, and I towered over her. Her discarded Louboutins were the last remnants of her confidence. Now, she was shaking and scared, holding on to her her dress for support.

What a sweet little whore. I loved them scared.

She gave a light whimper.

"Shh. It's okay."

Of course, it wasn't okay. It was never going to be okay again. It was going to be so much better she'd beg me to come back and make me fuck her again. But of course, I would say no.

I knew my rules, and I never broke them.

I never wanted to, either.

Not until Nora.

"Don't you want to know my name?" the girl asked softly, and I gave her a curious look.

"No, not particularly," I said in a low voice, my eyes drinking in her sexy little body.

She had big tits, barely covered by the dress she wore. But where the decolletage was daring, the dress reached her knees in a modest length that suggested she wasn't as comfortable with the whole scenario as she wanted me to believe. I wondered whether her legs were in tights or stockings. It didn't really make a difference to me. I liked tearing things apart, be it fabric or people.

She shivered at my words and I saw it, the emotion I'd come to know so well.

Desperation.

It was what drove her to my apartment, I was fucking sure of it.

"Do you want a drink?" I asked her, and she shook her head, her gaze glued to mine.

She needed direction. She needed encouragement.

But because I was a sick fucking bastard, I wasn't going to help her, I was only going to make things worse for her.

"Walk to the window," I told her simply, and she nearly tripped over her own feet in her effort to obey. "See if you can see my friend on the other side of the street."