I won’t give another inch.I knew it was the drugs that kept me from just standing up and walking out. When I had tried to rise, the dizziness knocked me right back down. I felt like they slowed my thinking, too. My brain was thick, sluggish.
The drugs didn’t explain why I had spread my legs when he asked me to. I mean, I kind of hated him. I definitely hated what he’d done to me.
And yet, when he asked me to spread my legs, I tried to keep them closed, just to spite him. But something felt so nice when I moved my legs that I couldn’t bear to hold them still. I uncrossed the right so that I could cross them on the left, but found they were most comfortable uncrossed. And once my feet were on the floor with my knees together, my thighs grew so very uncomfortably warm. I had to nudge them apart, just because of the heat. And once I felt the cool air caress the skin of my most tender places, it was so delicious I could not resist inching them a bit further apart, just a little….
…until my legs couldn’t spread any farther. That was just the perfect comfortable posture I needed. Feeling so good.
And now he’s asked me to remove my bra. I’ll never do that. I try to cross my arms across my breasts, but my thumb snags on my silky, smooth bra strap. I run my thumb up and down, up and down, relishing the feel of the satin on the pad of my thumb. The strap is digging into my shoulder. I know how nice it will feel to just pull aside this strap. I’ll just pull aside this one strap and stop there.
I won’t give in another inch.
—
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