by A. Zavarelli
Tears streak down her face, and they make me hard.
“You will do anything, you say?”
Her shoulders fall in defeat, and she nods. Her answer is quiet. Sullen.
“Yes. Anything.”
I want to play with her. I want to torture her some more.
“So, you will fuck me?”
She blinks up at me, and my words do not shock her as much as I had hoped.
My broken toy simply nods and gives me another meek yes from her dry lips. The angelic virgin, so easily offering up her virtue to a monster. She is ruining my fun, and she should not be so agreeable.
My methods have been too effective, it seems. Or perhaps I am just being too picky with her. This woman confuses me. And I need to stop thinking so much.
I squeeze her throat, and her eyes grow large as I remove the ball gag from my pocket and secure it around her mouth once more.
“Until I have a use for it.” I rub my fingers over her bottom lip.
She does not cry again. Even as I dry her and touch her with my bare hands. She does not try to move away, or even tremble beneath my touch.
My cock is still hard, but now I am angry too.
When she is dry, I drag her along to the kitchen where my dinner waits in the oven.
“Get on your knees,” I direct her.
She does as I ask without protest, the threat of the piano room still looming fresh in her mind when I remove the hot plate from the warming rack.
“Are you hungry, Bella?”
Her mouth waters and she does not need to answer verbally because the evidence is dripping down her chin.
She nods.
“If you want to eat, you need to earn it. Do you understand?”
There is the slightest flash of indignance in her eyes, which she snuffs out with a nod.
“Good girl,” I answer, soothing her with false security.
My dick wants a reaction from her, and I am determined to get it.
“Now get down on your hands and knees.”
She does as I ask, her eyes focused on the tile floor while she waits for her next instruction. I kneel down beside her, hot plate in my hand, searing my own skin. There is pleasure in the pain while I watch her this way.
So submissive. So broken. So degraded.
Her father would be so ashamed. Appalled. He will cry when he learns of the things I have done to his precious daughter.
“If you spill this, beauty, you go back to the piano room for two weeks. Do you understand?”
Again, her eyes shoot up to mine, terrified. Resistant. And determined. She really will do anything not to be alone. How confused she must be, to crave my company so.
I do not give her further warning. Instead, I set the hot plate onto the center of her back. And apart from a strangled noise in her throat, she does not move. Her body is rigid, her jaw taut. She is trying desperately to transcend the frayed nerves beneath her sensitive flesh.
I walk to the dining room table and sit down, gesturing for her.
“Come to me now, sweet Bella.”
She crawls towards me. Slowly and carefully. Her pale blue eyes staring up at me like a beacon in the night. And she really is stronger than anyone gives her credit for. Because she does not spill. She does not cry. She does not move, even after I’ve retrieved the plate from her back.
I spoon some of the pasta and chew while she watches. Her mouth is still watering.
Hungry.
Starving.
And I told her I would reward her.
“Are you hungry?” I ask again.
She nods eagerly.
“Then do I have a use for your mouth?” I tap the ball gag.
It takes her a moment to understand what I want. Her face falls, but still, she nods. What a pliable little fuck toy she will be. I remove the gag and watch her as I continue to eat.
She is confused. Unsure. Awaiting more of my instructions. But she needs to know that it won’t always be so clear.
“I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Why are you just sitting there?”
She crawls beneath the table without further insistence and positions herself between my legs. My cock is so hard I will probably blow my load in the first five minutes. How long I have waited to have this from her. How much I have anticipated it.
She unzips my jeans with a trembling hand and reaches inside to retrieve my cock. I hear a small gasp from beneath the table when she sees it, and I smirk between mouthfuls of food.
It takes her a few moments to figure out where to put her hands, and I don’t help her.
I try to keep my distance. I try to focus on eating instead of her. I want to look. To watch. And this is how I know I can’t.
I shouldn’t want these things with her. She is nothing more than a toy to be used. A doll to play with. I must remember this. Even when she takes her first lick, and my balls squeeze and contract with the need to fuck her throat raw.
It is too soft. Too hesitant. This isn’t the way I like it. I let her get a feel for it before I start telling her so.
“Do better,” I demand.
Her nails dig into the material of my jeans, and she draws me deeper. But still too shallow.
“I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Do I need to go elsewhere and send you back to your room?”
She makes another sound and drinks me all the way in this time. It feels like heaven. And now, now she is doing what I like. My dick lurches inside of her mouth, and I catch myself looking down at her when I shouldn’t be. Admiring the way her lashes look against her pale skin, and the way her silky black hair falls over her shoulders and tickles my balls. I imagine what it will feel like to have her lips on mine, hungry for me. And then heat flushes through my body.
These are not things I am supposed to think of. Confusion causes me to reach down and shove her face all the way onto my dick, choking her.
She coughs and sputters around me, drooling as I grip her hair and fuck her face like the toy she needs to be. I call her a filthy whore, and she does not flinch. She does not recoil or slow down but instead pulls me deeper.
It must be my imagination.
I tell her she needs to do better. That her only purpose now is to serve me and please me. I demand that she learn how to suck my cock and take me whenever I choose. I ask her if she can do these things, and she tries to nod. Then she murmurs yes around me, her voice vibrating against my dick. It sends me spinning out of control, and I pull away from the warmth of her mouth at the last moment to teach her one more lesson as I spill my come over her face and her lips.
I milk every last drop from my dick before I squeeze it back between her lips and tell her to clean me off.
She licks me clean.
Softly.
Gently.
Sweetly.
All while my come drips down her chin and her throat. When she is finished, she tries to wipe it away with her hand, and I stop her.
“No.”
She looks up at me, used and filthy and mine.
“Let it dry.”
The contempt flashes in her eyes again, but she only nods. And then a quiet question, spoken politely, the way a good girl should.
“May I have some food now?”
“When I have finished my dinner.”
She nods and remains on the floor between my legs while I eat the rest of my meal. And when I am done, I keep my word to her.
This time.
I allow her to make herself a tin of soup from the cupboard. She does not protest, and she eats too quickly, burning her tongue in the process.
I watch her eat like a wild animal, my dried come still on her face. Her body naked and available to me for whatever I may wish. And I feel the undesirable urge to hold her. To kiss her. To reward her in another way and tell her how good she is.
But I do not.
Instead, I wait until she is finished. And then I lead her back to the conservatory. Binding her to the bed for the rest of th
e night.
Chapter Eleven
When he comes for me the next morning, I am exhausted. And emotional. The fear of the piano room still lingers, but my hostility cannot be contained.
"You can't leave me tied up like this," I tell him. "I'm not an animal. This isn't right, Javi. You have to know this isn't right."
He looks at me, but I can’t make him out from beneath the hood this time. It's pulled low over his eyes, and he has to tilt his head just to see out of it.
"Is that challenge I hear in your voice, Bella?"
Even though his voice is harsh, he sounds pleased. I don’t understand it.
I did not imagine the accent during my breakdown. It is still there. His words are not disjointed. They are eloquent and musical. And I think that his file was wrong. I think he has been speaking for many years without a hitch. It is perfectly natural to him.
"What do you want from me?" I ask. "You need to tell me, Javi. I can't do what you want if I don't know what it is."
“This is not your concern,” he says. “I will have what I want regardless, my Bella. You will stay here. And I will own you.”
I swallow and try not to lose it completely. I need to be calm. Freaking out will get me nowhere right now. Because if I'm calm, then maybe he will let his guard down and I can run.
"For how long?" I press. "How long do you want me to stay, Javi?"
His reply takes longer this time. The drawn-out silence only makes my anxiety worse. His voice is too quiet when he speaks. And this is how I know he means it.
"Forever," he answers.
Forever.
The word ricochets around my skull, obliterating what little hope I had left.
I can't breathe.
He really is going to kill me. Except, he's untying me now. Gently.
He's so much bigger than me. There's no way I will make it past him. There's no way I can fight him off. He removes the bonds from my ankles and wrists and then allows me to sit up, gesturing to a tray next to the bed.
Breakfast. He brought me breakfast.
I want to cry. I want to plead with him. But he doesn't let me do either of those things.
“Would you like to eat today, sweet Bella?”
I want more than anything to eat everything on the tray. But I am not naïve enough to believe that it will come for free. Everything with Javi will come at a cost. To my self-respect. My dignity. My humanity. And there’s a part of me that wants to pretend that there is still a fight left within. That I am stronger than him- at least mentally, and I can defeat him in that way.
But basic human needs are a motivation unlike any other. When you have gone without for so long, morals fall by the wayside. Everything else falls by the wayside.
“What do I need to do?” I ask.
He tilts his head down, giving me just a glimpse of his dark beard and a flash of gold eyes.
“Lay back,” he tells me. “On the bed.”
I do as he asks.
“Spread your legs.”
This time I don’t move. His voice grows harsher. Huskier.
“Spread your legs, Bella. Or I will spread them for you.”
I spread my legs and hate myself a little more. I can feel his eyes all over me. Assaulting me in the most intimate way possible. Visually penetrating the place I have never allowed a man to see before.
I am humiliated. Ashamed. Degraded. And he is turned on, evident by his heavy breathing.
“Play with yourself, beauty,” he says. “Show me how you like it.”
Again, I hesitate.
A low rumble thunders from his throat. And his next words remind me that I have no choice.
“Or perhaps you would like to play some more games with me, instead?”
I reach between my legs and touch myself. It is robotic. Stiff. Awkward. My eyes are squeezed shut.
I jump when his fingers find my breast, skimming over my nipple. My body responds to him, and a storm of emotions festers inside of me. I try to swallow them back down.
This monster is the worst kind of evil.
The kind that doesn’t feel like evil when he touches me. The kind that feels… good. And when his mouth captures the soft globe of flesh and he groans, I am wet for him. It is the worst kind of deception. The worst kind of betrayal from my own body.
There is the sound of a zipper, and I stop breathing. Waiting quietly for what comes next. I need to be mentally prepared. And I am not mentally prepared.
“Open your eyes,” he demands.
I open my eyes. Slowly. Hesitantly. He is right there. Solid cock in hand, next to my face. Swollen and throbbing with his want for me. I try to force my legs shut again, to prevent him from seeing the lie between my thighs. The arousal I don’t want or need.
I can’t control it.
His fingers grip my thigh and pinch.
“Don’t try to hide the truth,” he tells me. “I can smell how much you want me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
“No.”
“You will take me, Bella.”
“No,” I say again.
“You will take me,” he repeats. “Or you will die.”
I glance up at him, so close I can almost make out the lines of his face. His mouth. He is rigid. So, so rigid.
And I don’t believe him.
Maybe I just don’t want to. But I don’t believe he will kill me. I sense the struggle within him. I just don’t yet know what that struggle is.
He watches me study him… and he doesn’t like it.
“Suck me like a good girl,” he tells me. “Get me nice and wet.”
I breathe out and do as he asks.
I draw him back into my mouth, sweeping over the velvet exterior of his heavy flesh. The salty taste of his arousal coats my lips and tongue.
He doesn’t let me have control. The moment he’s inside, his restraint is gone.
He cups my head and thrusts deep, hitting the back of my throat and choking me. I gag around him, and he grunts out his satisfaction when spit drips over the sides of my lips and down my chin.
“Yes, my Bella,” he praises. “Good girl.”
His approval eases my nerves and encourages me. I relax into him and let him use my mouth. But the better I do, the more tumultuous he becomes. With his pleasure comes his wrath.
The next words out of his mouth are not praise at all. He calls me a lazy slut and tells me to go harder.
I do.
He grunts and then asks if I think I’m too good to suck his dick. I tell him I’m not. He rubs his cock all over my face, smearing my spit along with it. He tells me I need to do better. Learn faster. Do as he asks. But all the while, he can’t stop groaning. And I rise to every one of his challenges, meeting them with determination. Because I can hear the lies in his voice. How much he doesn’t want to like it.
It chafes at him. And it gives me power.
He must know that I know. Because he shoves my face away, allowing his own hand to take over as he glares down at me from above, telling me I couldn’t suck a dick if my life depended on it.
I open my mouth to argue, and he squeezes my face in his palm to shut me up.
“Play with yourself,” he orders again.
But I already am. Nothing is happening. If he thinks I will come, he really is insane.
“That’s right,” he says, and his voice is cruel. “I forget that this beauty can’t even do that right.”
To prove his point, he touches me himself. Jacking himself off with one hand while he fingers me with the other.
I don’t want to like it.
I try my best to stay numb. But my body is a war zone of pleasure and pain. Humiliation and want. My legs fall wider, and he praises me again before criticizing me in the next breath. He says I don’t deserve to come.
But still, he fingers me. And still, I am wet. So wet for him- for this- that I can hear his fingers slapping against me.
He hears it too. And he likes it whether
he can admit it to himself or not. Because his breath is guttural. Broken and agonized. His hand squeezes the life out of his cock, jerking so violently I am certain he is punishing himself too.
But I can’t focus on any of it. Because molten heat is surging inside of me like a volcano.
I try to fight it off. To resist. To focus on anything else. But I can’t. I fracture around his fingers with something between a sob and a wail. My eyes fall shut, and I succumb to the pleasure, my ears ringing and my vision dancing with flashes of light.
Javi comes too.
Releasing himself onto my breasts with a long, tortured growl. He empties his cock completely and then smears the evidence over my skin. Leaving it to dry like last time.
Marking me.
Claiming me.
And I think this is it. I am humiliated but sated. Hungry. Starving. Now I will get my food.
But when I open my eyes, the temperature in the room has plummeted. Javi is erratic. Enraged. There isn’t time to question or predict his behavior. He flips me over and pins me down with the weight of his body, settling onto my lower thighs.
My adrenaline spikes and my muscles lock when he removes his belt from the loops of his jeans.
I try to wiggle away. His hand crashes down onto my ass cheek, searing a hot palm print into the flesh.
“Stop.”
The command is simple. Deep. Terrifying. And I obey.
But then he grabs my foot, and the terror is real.
“I did what you asked. I did everything you asked.”
“But you didn’t please me.”
It’s a lie. And I know it’s a lie. This isn’t fair. I can’t play the game when the rules keep changing. When he punishes me for doing exactly what he asked of me in the first place.
I try to tell him so. But the words get swallowed down my throat when he lashes the bottom of my foot with his belt. It is an agony unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
It is raw. Scorched nerves. Fire and hell. He doesn’t hold back when he does it again.
And again.
And again.
I try to scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I try to move, but he is too heavy, and his grip is unyielding. I try to beg him, but the words don’t make sense. And I’m crying now.