About 15 minutes later, we arrived at his house.After I had removed his hand, he held it right above my knee, giving small, gentle strokes to my skin. I'd rather his hand be there a thousand times and not higher, that's something I can't stand very well.Why do I get all these feelings when he touches me? Why does he bring this on me every time he looks at me or says something I don't end up understanding?I shouldn't feel this, I shouldn't like it; but it does. And worst of all, I want to keep feeling it, I really do, even though I shouldn't.I don't want to get in trouble, and I don't want him to get in troubleWe broke into his house once we got out of the car.He closes the door behind me and then comes in front of me. There's a little smile on his lips when she looks at me, I swallow hard just to see it.My heart quickens once more when his hand reaches my shoulder. I thought he'd start touching me again, but he just slips the handles of my backpack to get it out. I breathe a si

Marylise"I want..." I swallow hard and breathe a sigh "I want you to touch me" I mean, in a deep murmur. I look him in the eye before asking for something I didn't think I could have asked for before–: "Touch me, daddy. . ."~*~I just said something I never thought I'd say. I just asked him to touch me, I just asked him. . . and it's something I'm not regretting.I really want him to do it, I want him to finish what he started two days ago, I want him to feel what he says, I want him to make me feel what he says, I want him to show me all those things he promised he would show me if he agreed. I really want it, I really want it.I've always been a very shy person, I've always been cautious and I think about the pros and cons of the situation I'm in. But now that bold and determined Marylise has taken hold of me, because I don't think the one who said that is usually me. That Marylise eager to go out and do what I never imagined she would do, that person I am right now and I don't ca

I don't. . . What rules? We never agreed on rules. . .Why did I have to say that? I hate myself and I hate my mouth. Damn it. . .Oh, I don't have to say that. . ."Are you angry with me?" he inquires, in a playful tone.That's when I realize that I have my arms folded over my chest and my brow frowned in indignation.The truth is, it bothers me that he stops right now. Let him do it again. I already agreed, he's supposed to finish what's left unfinished, isn't he?"I'm the one who should be upset with you for all the times you've made me hot" Giggle a little," but I don't because I know you'll soon reward me for those days" Bite his lower lip and wink at me.Reward him? What?"But, listen," he goes up to the bed and sits on the edge. He signs me with his hand, telling me to come closer. I obey and sit beside him."If I don't please you enough. . . , I mean, if you didn't let me please you"corrects me "You can do it yourself. . .""To do what?" I dare ask, for I have not understood a

I close the door as slowly and cautiously as I can so my mom won't listen to me.I've already checked it out. She's completely asleep. With the pills she takes before going to bed, there's no one to wake her up. My brother's not home. He always goes out at night when Mom's already asleep. I don't know what he'll do while he's out, he never wanted to tell me when I ask. He always makes me swear I won't say anything to Mom and I'll keep my mouth shut. I end up doing it because maybe later I can use that to my advantage.I go back to my room and lie down on the bed.How am I going to do that? How am I supposed to take my picture?I have so many doubts and questions. I wish he was here to help me.The shrill sound my phone makes when a message arrives pulls me out of my self-absorption. I get up from my position and sit on the bed so I can pick up the phone from my bedside table.When I go to notifications I see that I have a new message. I open the app and, in the preview, I see that I

I turn my gaze down before I say: "I stopped. . . , I stopped because I was afraid"I know it sounds stupid, but I don't want him to get bored with me. I don't want him to think I'm a scared, I don't want him to think that i'm just a little girl who can't do what he asks of me, I don't want him getting someone else for that."Fear of what?" he asks, frowning and still in his earnest voice."To hurt me." I mean, looking at him without raising my head."And why did you think that?"Why doesn't he stop asking me questions and give me my reward now?I take a deep breath and answer: "Because my legs started shaking a lot and. . . and it was burning too much, I thought that was not normal, so I stopped"I look at his face and notice that it has changed a bit upon hearing my answer. I don't feel him angry anymore, but I can't figure out what that expression is in which his face has been immersed.The smile that peaks in the corners of his mouth makes me feel, somehow, a little calmer since I