Page 103 of Silent Night: The Shaping
Minutes stretched. She lost count of how many times her body tried to crest but couldn’t make it those final millimeters — her own mind turning against her, flooded with heat and helplessness.
She was a twelve on the horny scale that ended at ten, and her face burned with shame.
When she next heard boots, she recognized Kenny’s walk. Firm and sure. No hesitation.
And she could swear the air pressure in the room changed when he entered. Eleven more steps, and Kenny stood in front of her — arms folded, gaze flat and unreadable, disappointment radiating from him in waves.
She couldn’t turn her face. The ponytail held her steady. The only choice was to meet his gaze…
…or close her eyes.
She forced her eyelids to stay open.
His face was stone. No anger, just cold authority, but that wasn’t better.
“Sir—” she began, but stopped herself. She didn’t even know what she’d planned to say.
His head tilted.
“Something to report, bad little fucktoy? Did the whore forget who owns her holes?”
The words hit like the cage door closing and the lock engaging. Her nipples tightened, and she hated herself for it.
She swallowed. “Sir…”
“Let’s begin again,” he said, voice low, even. “Tell me what happened. Every detail.”
Kenny didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched her with the patience of a predator who knew the prey was already caught.
"We'll start with the truth," Kenny said softly. "And then we'll discuss what happens to lying little cunts who disrespect the men who own them."
Her breath caught. Tears burned behind her eyes.
This was it. The reckoning. And there was nowhere left to hide.
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