by E. S. Carter
I am completely exposed from the belly button up, with no delicate scraps of lingerie to protect my modesty as the cut of the dress would not allow me to wear a bra.
With my eyes closed, I feel every breath he exhales across my skin like a lightening bolt to my senses, and I wait for his next move.
I know his gentleness will not last, I know he will soon take what is his and do so without kindness, without love, and without care for the body he will desecrate or the soul he will crush.
“Strip.”
His body heat leaves me as he takes a single step back.
I lift my trembling arms and grip the fabric on each side of my hips.
“Stop.”
My body quakes, my nerves betraying me as I shiver at his command.
“Turn around.”
I close my eyes and grip my dress tighter. If I could just retreat into my head, I would be able to react on autopilot. I could be a voyeur to my situation and not the person taking part, but my frantic mind will not calm enough for me to grasp onto the nothingness that remains just out of reach.
“Turn around.”
His patience is waning. I know I need to do this, to maintain some control and not have him do it for me.
I lock my knees and on unsteady feet, I slowly turn to face him.
I refuse to bow my head like a submissive, so I stare straight into his ice blue eyes.
He doesn’t look at my bare breasts; his gaze remains locked with mine.
“Now, strip.”
My throat convulses when I swallow. My muscles working against me and highlighting my fear, but also, beneath all of those feelings is need.
I want to obey this man. I need to please him and not only because I fear his wrath but because he has somehow bound me to him.
In some sick and twisted way, I crave his approval. I yearn for more of his touch, be it soft or harsh.
Please touch me.
The tremors in my hands cease, my gaze unwavering as I gather the fabric at my hips and push it down until it puddles at my feet.
Still, his eyes remain locked on mine.
“All of it.”
He means the tiny scrap of white silk that passes as knickers. The dress was so form fitting that I may as well have gone naked beneath but I insisted on having some armour. A barrier from all the evil I knew I was about to encounter.
I hook my thumbs beneath the elastic and slowly push the lingerie over my hips, releasing the fabric when it reaches the tops of my legs to fall delicately around my feet.
I am bare, not just of clothing but of hair.
My father’s orders before tonight’s nuptials were very precise.
He ordered my personal assistant or warden as I liked to call her, to make sure every delicate part of me was hair free.
He promised Cole a virgin; I assume he thought preparing me to appear as young and pure as possible would please my new husband and thus further ensure his loyalty.
“Get on your knees.”
Four words, ones that fill me with dread but also fill me with the hope that he will now want to touch me.
That hope fizzles like soda bubbles through my bloodstream and pools between my legs where the slightest touch is sure to make me explode.
Hope is a sick thing. It is even more vile than admitting that the monster in front of me turns me on.
I have never been touched by a man in this way, despite the threats of the many who wanted to have a taste of Alec Craven’s only child, I somehow escaped that horror.
I’ve never even touched myself either, fearing my father would somehow know. This ache is unfamiliar to me, and I’m not sure how to process it. I’m confused by the need brewing inside me. It feels like my entire body is pulled taut, my skin too tight, my nerves buzzing, my desire raging for one thing only.
Him.
I want him to use me as he sees fit, even if it hurts; even if it hurts so badly that I never crave his touch again.
I do as he orders and drop to my knees, never once lowering my eyes.
His massive body appears even bigger from this viewpoint and I want to let my eyes feast all over it, but I daren’t. I need to anticipate the moment he strikes because I know it’s coming. I can feel it crackling in the air, and I watch as swirls of red and dark purple caress his form.
Excitement. Lust.
He is only just containing his need, and I should be afraid of when it finally breaks free. I’ve seen what he is capable of, and in this moment, I simply don’t care.
Better to go out in a blaze of red, than fade away into grey.
I’ve seen far too many beautiful girls who wither away. I couldn’t live like that, and I assume it is that thought that makes me say, “I’ve done as you asked. Are we going to stare at each other all night or are you going to take what you own?”
He doesn’t even blink but the slight twitch of his hand that hangs loosely at the side of his leg, combined with the flare of red that bursts from him, betrays his cold exterior.
Unyielding blue eyes stare down at me, demanding that my whole body tremble, and it is only through sheer force of will that I remain still. I lock my gaze with his, challenging him and pushing his deadly buttons.
His hand moves with lightening speed, and I wait for the strike, closing my eyes briefly in acceptance.
Moments pass and his fist doesn’t make contact. The air around us is charged, and the electricity sparking in the atmosphere is almost painful.
I open my eyes and blink up at him, my gaze falling on his outstretched hand and the phone he holds out to me.
“Call him.”
I look from the phone back to Cole, not understanding his demand.
He tosses the phone into my bare lap, and it lightly bounces off the top of my pubic bone before settling at the apex of my legs, against my bare mound.
“Don’t force my hand, Faye. Call him now.”
I pick the phone up, thankful that my hands are steady, and look back up towards Cole. I search his face which remains blank and with whispered words I ask, “Call who?”
That gets a reaction.
His hand snaps out to grip my jaw, his hold is brutal and my instincts yell at me to cower, but I fight against them and bring my watery eyes to his.
“Don’t fucking play with me, Faye. You know who. Pick up the phone, dial the fucker’s number and tell him to come on over and join the party. Because it’s going to be one hell of a celebration.”
“I…I… don’t…”
He shakes my head and squeezes even harder.
“Call him. The one you think can save you from me.”
Clarity washes over me. He heard me. He heard me mutter to myself in the dark.
If I call him, he’s dead.
If I call him, the only chess piece I have left on the board gets demolished by the knight.
I need to give him something. I can already tell Cole will not give up until I do and his aura promises violence. Violence that will go on for days, hours, maybe months. Inescapable pain. Unimaginable horrors.
So I call.
I dial the number I know from memory but instead of giving up my pawn, I call my king.
“Father…”
Foolish girl.
Beautiful, weak, foolish girl.
I see the lie in her eyes as she speaks her father’s name.
She knows he will never save her.
I tear the phone from her ear and launch it at the bedroom wall where it shatters.
She stumbles back and falls onto her rump; her bare legs splayed as she frantically tries to move away from what she knows is about to happen.
My hands dart out and grab her ankles. Her flesh is smooth, pale and unblemished in my grasp. With little exertion, I pull on her legs and drag her flailing body across the hardwood floor to the foot of the bed. My grip is bruising her delicate skin, and my hands reach up further to part her thighs.
My eyes land on her bare sex and annoyance rages through my blood. I
f I’d wanted a girl, I’d take one. I like my women to look like women and not pre-pubescent teenagers. I like the feeling of their coarse hair on my fingers, tongue, and cock. I like watching it get matted with my cum.
She struggles in my grasp and tries to kick out, but she is no match for me. Her tits bounce with her frantic movements, and her hard nipples call to me, just begging for my teeth.
I release her legs, and she immediately attempts to scramble backward, her uncoordinated movements not getting her very far.
I find her futile attempts amusing and openly smirk at her panicked face. Whatever she sees in my eyes only makes her more scared, and she flips over onto her hands and knees in a bid to push herself up off the floor.
The movement only serves to present her firm arse to me, and lust instantly heats my veins. Her cunt may be bare and uninviting, but her arse is begging to be filled.
Alec may require proof of our mating, but he didn’t specify which hole I was to make bleed.
I feel a smile break over my face and just as she pushes up to her feet, I pounce.
Within seconds she is face down on the bed, her arms are pinned behind her back with one hand, as I quickly unzip my trousers with the other.
Her legs flail around uselessly, unable to find purchase or a target to strike and I lock them tightly between my thighs.
My cock springs free and points straight at the firm globes of her arse. It throbs eagerly at every muffled scream and whimper that gets swallowed by the mattress beneath her face.
As soon as I’m rubbing my girth between her tight cheeks and listening to her pleading sobs, a pounding shakes my bedroom doors.
I ignore it, determined to force my way into her untouched body.
“Cole! Open the fucking doors. Alec Craven is on his way.”
One moment I am pressed so hard into the bed that my chest struggles to expand for my next breath, the next I am alone.
One second I have my arms pulled tightly around my back, my legs pinned down by muscular thighs, the heat of his body searing my flesh, the next I am cold.
One instant the cheeks of my arse are clenched around the invasion of his steel hard cock all but forcing its way into my body, the next all my oversensitive skin can feel is cold air.
My mind tumbles through all the sensations I am struggling to process, my heart is practically breaking out of my chest and my limbs tremble like autumn leaves all but ready to fall from the trees should the slightest wind blow.
I am alone.
In the dark.
I’d heard the muffled curses from behind the bedroom door. Luke was yelling a warning that my father had arrived.
I froze at the roar emitted by Cole before he pulled his thick cock away from my tight puckered hole and stormed out of the room, knocking off all the lights on his way and leaving me cold and shivering in darkness.
No words of warning muttered, no threat of his return, just silence, and the inky black night.
For long minutes I lay, waiting and listening, expecting to be summoned to show the evidence of our wedding night. To provide proof of my defilement, to show to my despot father that his will had been obeyed and his gift thoroughly consumed. But no one came.
I lay with my thoughts swirling around in my head like murky dishwater suds escaping down a plughole. I couldn’t formulate a plan; I had no means to escape and for a brief, blissful second I allowed myself to surrender. To accept whatever was coming for me, whatever horrors the future held, there was no point in fighting.
Peace accompanied this acceptance. Sweet, heavenly peace.
Awareness slowly filters through.
My reality is quietly sinking into my sleep-hazed mind.
My body previously curled up on itself, stretches out across crisp sheets. My thoughts are lethargic as my muscles extend, pulling taut before releasing contentedly, like a cat stretching out its body in the sunlight of an open window.
My eyes blink open, to find the heavy drapes opened wide, allowing searing morning sunshine to pour into the previously dark room.
White sheets engulf me, my arms curled around the soft, down filled pillow supporting my head.
Silence surrounds me, even in the light, but I know he is here, I feel his presence in much the same way as I feel the warmth from the sun.
“Daddy sends his regards.”
I lurch upright at the piercing sound of his voice. Although deep and demanding, the sharp break in silence stings my ears and I’m torn between covering them with my hands or concealing my naked body with the sheet.
My sleep filled eyes meet his piercing gaze as he sits and watches me from the very same chair he claimed as his throne last night. His elbows are braced on his thighs; his body bent forward, and his eyes are assessing my face.
“My father is here?” My voice is scratchy from both sleep and the screams he’d elicited from me before we were disturbed last night, and I clear my throat softly as I retreat further up the bed until my back hits the headboard.
His lips curl with distaste, “No, Daddy dearest didn’t deign us with his presence last night, he sent a minion to check that I’d fulfilled my husbandly duties.”
My brows furrow in confusion, and I open my mouth to ask who but he continues, “So I sent Grant back to him with evidence of my annoyance at being interrupted.”
The way he said Grant’s name sends shivers up my exposed arms.
“W…what evidence?”
“Blood. Lots and lots of blood, but not the kind Alec was expecting.”
He breaks eye contact and looks over towards the window. “Shame. I don’t enjoy an unplanned kill half as much as one I can savour, but needs must.” His eyes shoot back to mine once more.
“Tell me, Princess. Will you mourn him?”
My stomach lurches, confusion and panic warring to become the dominant emotion.
“Wh…who?”
I hate that I stuttered, betraying my distress.
“Him. The man who has pictures of you on his phone.”
My stomach all but bottoms out. The feeling akin to riding a rollercoaster that has just derailed.
“W-what pictures?”
He smiles. It’s brief but laced with maleficence.
“Come now, Princess. You know what pictures I’m talking about. Well… you must be aware of some of them as you were awake and looking directly at the camera. Others,” he shrugs. “I can see where you might have forgotten, or maybe you weren’t present enough to remember.” He pauses for a second, seemingly mulling something over. “He really did think he had the flair of an artist, didn’t he? I mean, some of those poses were pretty extreme, but…” He leans forward with a gleam of disgust and barely restrained lust in his eyes. “…at least I know my wife is flexible. Oh, the fun we will have.”
My stomach chooses that moment to rise with the force of a rocket, and dry heaves wrack my body as I struggle not to soil the pristine white sheets with my vomit.
He doesn’t pity me, though; in fact, he uses that moment to strike. He launches from his seat and grips my hair in his fist, tugging my head back so forcefully I choke on the bile in my throat.
“Did he fuck you, Princess? Did he take what was promised to me?”
I pry open my eyes to be met by the thick swirling darkness of his. The icy blue of his irises all but swallowed up by his pupils.
“Did he put his filthy cock in any one of your holes? It’s time to confess because I will soon find out and if you are lying…”
The sting in my scalp and awkwardly stretched neck renders me mute. Not that I have the words to formulate a response.
His eyes briefly soften as he searches mine, ignoring the wetness that pools on my bottom lashes and spills down my cheeks.
“You don’t need to answer, Princess. I’ve saved you his cock as a wedding gift. The rest I’ve sent back to your father, along with one or two of the more stomach-churning photographs. It’s a shame I can’t be there to see the moment he witnesses Grant�
�s betrayal or that of the woman who aided him. Your personal assistant I believe? Now we just have to find out were you complicit in disrespecting your father and me or was I right to remove Grant’s balls before I disembowelled him.”
Oh. My. God.
He killed him.
He killed my tormentor but also the man I’d hoped would be my saviour.
I knew how deep Grant’s obsession with me ran. I’d been exposed to his depravity since childhood. Despite the photographs, despite the unwanted touches he forced on me, he managed to rein himself in and never take me. Some part of his sanity knew that fully taking my innocence would be his death sentence.
I suffered at his hands for years.
I’ve lost count of the scalding baths I took to remove both his touch and his semen from my skin.
But, I could have used him.
He was my one chance to escape this hell, and he would have risked everything if I’d begged him to come and save me; if I’d promised him the world and if I’d said he could have me.
And then, when I was free from this life, I was going to kill the bastard. I was going to watch the blood of my saviour flow through my fingertips. I was going to bathe in it and allow the way it would taint my soul to set me free.
Free from these chains and this cursed life that has been all I’ve known since I lost my mother.
Now, I have nothing.
Years of abuse at his hands and I have nothing.
I am yet another monster’s pet, only this time, with no hope of survival.
“If you’ve seen the pictures you will know it wasn’t my choice. I was a child. Children do not choose to be abused.”
For once, my voice is strong and doesn’t betray the crack and tectonic shift in my emotions.
In many ways, I’m glad that fucker is dead.
I’m devastated that my hope was so completely entwined with him living. Therefore, my hope is also deceased. But I am still glad he suffered.
My feelings are at war. Grant’s death should be cause for celebration but not when his last gasp also took away any chance I have at freedom.