12 Sir (1/2)

”Does she like being touched?”

”She's shown promise, sir,” Mattias says, rubbing his hand back and forth over my slit gently. It's a soothing, possessive stroking, which has an undeniable effect on my body.

”Oh, yeah, there she goes. Those hips are dancing,” the sheriff rumbles. ”She'll do that so nicely on a cock.”

More embarrassment floods my system.

”She will,” Mattias says, patting just above my clit. ”She's quite responsive, when she's not terrified. Feisty too. She's going to need a lot of handling and a lot of discipline.”

”Is that right? She seems pretty quiet right now.”

”You're more intimidating than I am.”

”I sure fucking hope so,” the sheriff laughs.

It seems like a jab at Mattias, and I don't like that.

”Parking warden,” I curse under my breath.

”What did she just say?”

Mattias' hand stops, clasping my pussy lightly. ”Parking warden,” he says. ”She's been led to believe it's a curse, I believe.”

”Income tax!” I growl at him. I don't like being made fun of.

The sheriff snorts.

My father taught me all the worst words in the world. Income tax was a phrase he almost never used, only at the very worst of times. I expected it to have more effect.

”Damn if I don't want to be inside that cunt,” he says, his eyes darkening again as Mattias rubs me between my legs. ”She needs to be broken in before she starts being bred.”

I start to squirm. The way he speaks. The way they both speak, it is as if I have no rights. I am a thing to be used, for the sheriff's pleasure, and then his profit.

”You know why I give you the girls,” he says. ”I don't usually have patience for the virgins. But I want this one. I want this one now.”

”She is yours.”

I look at Mattias with wide eyes. What is he doing?

”She is. You get on out of here. I want to spend some time with her.”