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Etienne’s obsession with the game–Bradley could imagine Emily enduring endless lectures on the subject–bordered on fanaticism. On this board, king’s pawn had opened two spaces forward to create egress for queen and king’s bishop. Bradley felt tempted to answer the gambit when he heard raised voices. The loudest seemed to be Etienne’s. Bradley thought he also heard Michelle, but he couldn’t discern the words. He started to leave the room when Etienne burst in, face flushed a dark red. Without preamble, Etienne related the instructions received from the night’s broadcast. He had Bradley repeat them until he felt satisfied the American had committed them to memory. ‘Anything else I should know?’ Bradley asked. Etienne hesitated, then shook his head and turned to the chessboard. With a shrug, Bradley left. Michelle wasn’t in the main chamber. Puzzled, Bradley looked in their room. No Michelle and, Bradley noted absently, no undershirt. Instead, Emily greeted him with a sympathetic. His playing with her clit was drawing a response from her body, regardless of her true desires. And now realizing it was happening, she couldn’t take her mind off the finger on her clit.She felt him slip a finger in her. Easily. She was already very wet.She tried to suppress a shudder. She tried to tell herself that it was a shudder of revulsion. The shiver up her spine denied her that lie. She didn’t want it to feel good.The finger was sliding in and out of her, curling forward, rubbing her G spot. She was getting wetter by the moment. She concentrated hard on not moaning. The harder she tried not to, the more she felt what that finger was doing.“MMmmmmmmm,” finally escaped from her.“Whore,” the man hissed. “Fucking cheap whore in fancy clothes with a fancy car. I knew what you were the minute I spotted you.”She whimpered. She wanted not to feel what she was feeling. But every degradation, every insult, was arousing her. She tried to deny it. I can’t be turned on by.
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