I’ve become so weak, I couldn’t even fight him while he fucked me. Despite how painful it is when he forces himself inside me. How powerless I feel that I can’t stop him from violating me in front of them. Or how worthless I truly am to him when he smeared his release all over my tender back. I did cry though when he shot the tattooist in the face for warning him he could cause an infection by doing that. He doesn’t care. About me or my health or the man he killed. Taking the life an innocent person for trying to help me! Stealing him away from his family and friends. The people who care about him. The people who love him! Just like he did with me and you.
He didn’t seem to feel an ounce of remorse when he told one of the guards to take care of the body while he admired his mark on me. Permanently linking me to him and not you.
I was angry. And, so incredibly idiotic for arguing with him. But I wanted him to know that I hate him. That I despise him for what he did to that man and to me. That I will never, ever belong to him. I’m only yours. Even if you’re not here. Even if I never see you again. I’m always yours!
I WILL ALWAYS BE YOURS!!!!
He was angrier at me for screaming at him in front of his guards. More fury in eyes than I’d ever seen before when he choked me. His ugly scarred face pinched together with rage as I clawed at his thick hands on my throat until everything went blurry and my head flopped around like I wasn’t even there anymore. I thought I was really going to die this time. It scared me, that for the first time ever, I actually wished I would.
Obviously I wasn’t that lucky. At least when I woke up I was in the cage and not hanging from the ceiling again. After the suspension ripped my arm out of the socket last time, I guess he’s not going to do that to me anymore. He let me out after only two days. Only because he wanted to fuck me. (Sorry Mom :( ) Making me thankful I’m not being treated like a dog trapped in a pen any more. Well now that I think about it, I guess maybe I am. Chained to an owner who only wants to beat me and fuck me and torture me.
Ensuring no matter what I do, I can’t ever be free. I’m beginning to believe I won’t ever be free.
I think about you when the minister pronounces him to be my husband and me to be his wife.
I wanted to scream and tell the priest I can’t. I don’t. I won’t.
But I think he would have continued with the ceremony anyway despite my outburst or my lack of consent. Too scared to do anything but follow the orders demanded of him at gun point. Kind of like me. Too frightened to protest because of the warning I received. Let the pastor marry us or he really would shoot him.
Although I followed his commands, I’m still going to be punished. But I couldn’t sacrifice this holy man’s life to protect myself. Because nothing can really protect me from him.
So I stood there in a beautiful, white dress that mocks the hideousness of the situation and let my captor vow to love, honor, and cherish me. Even though he does none of those things. Only you do. Only you ever have.
I let him slide his repulsive ring on my finger. Naked from the loss of yours.
I let him shove his tongue in my mouth and his hand between my legs. Shaking from a harsh touch so different from yours.
I let him carry me upstairs. Unable to hold back my sob when he whispered into my ear that a good kitten doesn’t fight giving her daddy her pussy either. Crying from cruel promises so different from yours.
Everything different from yours.
From what we would have said and planned and meant. And, may never get to.
I think about you when he smothers my face with the pillow.
Always infuriated and brutal with me for waking him up when I scream from the nightmares that haunt me almost every night. It’s not like I can help it! Nor do I want to be in bed next to him!!!
This time I dreamed about Trent protecting me during the ambush. You would have been so proud of him. He was so brave. As soon as the window shattered, he shoved me to the floor and covered my body with his. I could hardly breathe, but I stayed as quiet and still as possible just like he whispered to me. Just like you had always told me to do if anyone ever attacked us. But then he was quiet. Too quiet and too still, and I knew. I smacked my hand over my mouth to keep from crying but they still found me. Lifted up Trent’s body like a rag doll and threw him onto the pile of your other men. A pile of men who died trying to save me.
But he had too many guards of his own. They seemed to be everywhere and no one could stop them.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get the image out of my head of him staring down at me and smiling that smug, vicious smile. Trembling when he caressed my cheek, slick with Trent’s blood, and said, “Don’t worry kitten. I’m your daddy now.”
At the time I was praying to survive. Grateful to at least be alive. Now I realize I should have prayed for the bullets to rip through me too. Desperate to have been gunned down too.
I’m sorry I’m so negative. I’m really struggling today. I’m tired. And I’m scared. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I really don’t. All I know is that I love you. I hope you still love me. I hope you’re still trying to find me.
I think about you while he rapes me.
Yes, I’m finally able to actually write the word. I knew it. In my head. And in my heart. All along that’s what he’s been doing. That’s what it’s called. When a man forces himself inside a woman no matter how much she cries. How much she begs him not to. How much she screams for him to stop. And he doesn’t.
He never stops.
But that word makes it real. Which it is—was—tonight. Last night I guess. He’s still downstairs celebrating with his friends. Partying with your enemies who he forced me to parade around naked in front of so they could see his brand on my back. His collar around my throat. His ring on my finger. Not delicate and beautiful like the one you gave me and his men yanked off my finger when they grabbed me. No, it’s an ugly, disgusting, horrible blood red diamond to represent his ownership of me. Of him stealing me from you. Of him winning.
Then they watched. They watched him rape me. They watched him bend me over the whipping bench and jam his dick inside me. They watched him rut into me over and over, pulling out at the last second to yank my head back and release himself all over my face.
Then they cheered.
They cheered louder when he waved a blindfold into the air and asked who’s next. All I could hear was the adamancy in your voice when you told me that you can’t even stand for another man to look at me let alone touch me.
How no one but you would ever earn my pleasure.
And then he offered me to a room full of men who hate you.
I think that was my breaking point. I really do. My muscles have been coiled so tight for the past three weeks and with those words all my strength seeped away. Slack with exhaustion I couldn’t hold myself up anymore and collapsed to the concrete. Slick and slimy and sticky from my sweat and his cum. Damp and broken, the hope I’d carried like a shield to protect my sanity was too heavy to bear any longer. The faith I used to temper the relentless screaming in mind floated away. As if every belief I held onto so I could survive started to unravel inside me. A flood of darkness that I eagerly welcomed and hoped to drown in before they touched me.
Until I heard a voice.
Loud, deep, and angry. Not you, as much as I prayed and wished and dreamed for it to be yours. But still furious, and the thick accent—Russian I think—was almost too strong to understand. But I did. He did. They all did. Ordering him to stop. Let me be. Reminding him that they came here to plan the next step of your downfall not witness a child being abused like an animal. I was so appreciative I didn’t even care he mistook me for a kid. I guess as scrawny and beat down as I am now, I look younger than I am. But the best part was he listened. Shocking me for the first time since he stole me from you that he actually obeyed someone else.
I never even got to say thank you to the stranger. My savior among the demons. I was just jerked to my feet and whisked u
pstairs by one of his men after the snap of his fingers. I’m not sure how I can ever repay his kindness but I hope someday I can. To let him know I survived another day because of his kindness. Because of the mercy he won for me. At least for tonight.
Later I might regret his pity. I’m terrified of what will happen when they all go home and he comes back up here. I know he’ll be drunk. It’s pretty sick for me to hope he’s in a good mood and will fuck me in bed before he passes out. How horrifying that my life has degraded to the point that him raping is the best option I have to wish for him when he punishes me from the clemency I received. When I know how much worse it really can be and I don’t want to go through that again. I don’t think I can survive it again.
I think about you when he spoons with me.
Shocking me with a tenderness I never expected. An intimacy I didn’t understand or welcome the first time he slid behind me and held me close after the cruelty he inflicted. Confusing me and making me think he somehow wanted to apologize. Although nothing he could ever say or do can take back what he did or make it all right or allow me to forgive him.
But of course he wasn’t and isn’t sorry. No, not an ounce of guilt or remorse flows through his thick, mean body. It didn’t take me long to figure out his true intent. He likes to grope me while I’m trapped. Holding me immobile while he talks in my ear. Whispering about you against my throat while he pinches my bruised nipples and jabs his short, dirty fingers inside of me.
Last night was the worst when he mocked your search for me. Gloating when he told me how you’ve gone off the deep end. Murdering hundreds of men across the country and around the world. Burning down entire compounds to find me. Chuckling at the thought of you being a fucking hero to the damn feds, as he describes you, for taking care of so many criminals for them, from the least petty to the most powerful. Despite all your efforts though, he’s outsmarted you he says. Valiant yet worthless in the hunt he raves. Boasting that his hiding place for me is too clever for you to find regardless of who or what you destroy.
The guilt of it all crushes me. I don’t want you to kill for me anymore. I don’t want violence or fires or death on my behalf. I just want to go home. Home to you and the bed you’ve shared with me in your beautiful house and the contentment we used to enjoy together.
I don’t know if it’s worse to know or not. Because right now hope is all I have left that you’ll find me. You’ll rescue me from this bastard. I couldn’t help sobbing when I realized, despite how much you want me, and I want you, you may never come.
He loved me crying like the filthy beast he is. Flipped me over and licked the tears off my face. His slimy tongue dragging over my wet skin. Up my cheeks and across my chin. I had to turn away to keep from gagging. Then he fucked me until I bled.
After he rolled away, I stared at that blood for a long time. On the swollen lips of my ravished vagina. My bruised thighs. My chafed stomach. Wondering why my injuries don’t upset him. Questioning how he can’t feel any shame or guilt or regret for ripping me open. Imagining what terrible things must have been done or said to him to make what he does to me okay to him. Or maybe nothing at all. Maybe he had the perfect childhood with loving parents and a nice home and jealousy did this to him.
I’m rambling, I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t make sense of this. Of him.
It may not bother him but I know my blood would bother you. Does bother you. Remember when you surprised me with the vacation to that little beach house in Barbados, and I had you all to myself for an entire three days? It was so wonderful. No one else. No constant interruptions. No real world. Even though I know you snuck out of bed at night and worked while I slept. But I didn’t mention your harmless deception or voice any complaints because I knew you had no choice. You kept up to keep me safe. Maybe not directly but if your enemies knew you weren’t on alert, if you were distracted, there would be problems.
After two days of almost endless love making, I was raw. I flinched when you pushed inside me, and when you jerked back, my arousal was tinged with red. Covering your proud, hard cock. I know it’s slightly perverted, but your penis really is beautiful. So smooth and silky, stretching thick and erect with that slight curve, always pointing directly to what it wants. Just like you. I guess the artist in me sees the natural, simple beauty. I’d love to find a way to capture the amazing hard yet pliable combination that your erection conveys. Although I’d never want anyone to see you naked. Just like you are so protective of me.
That night you were furious too. Angry at yourself despite how unwarranted your fury was. As if you’d hurt me. So adamant I was wrong when I tried to convince you I was fine. That we’d hurt me but spending almost forty-eight hours in bed with you was worth any discomfort. I swore I would be okay. I would heal. I would want you again by morning. My reassurances weren’t ever enough. You wouldn’t make love to me for almost six days.
But I got you, didn’t I? :) You never could resist me when I talked about our wedding. About me becoming your wife.
Red velvet or marble cake? You said whatever I want.
Hydrangeas or dahlias? You said for me to choose.
Keep my maiden name or take yours? You said I need to remember who the fuck I belong to.
You had me up against the wall before I could blink, with my legs wrapped around your waist and your lips on my ear, growling about needing to remember who the fuck owns me. Owns this pussy. Owns this everything.
Urgent fingers slid under the hem of my dress and stroked my silky panties. Already drenched with anticipation for you. You liked that. You liked that a lot. Dipping inside me with only the satin separating us while a ragged moan vibrated in your throat.
But I wanted more. I was crazy, desperate for more of you. Lifting my hips to grind against your palm. Hoping you’d slide another finger into me. That you’d massage and rub and caress the places I needed you to touch the most. That you’d tease me until I came all over your hand. Well aware I was acting like a naughty, bad girl for you. Thinking dirty words I could never be brave enough to speak. Imagining filthy desires I was too timid to describe with my voice. Although I didn’t say them aloud, I thought them. For you. For myself. I needed you. I wanted you. Like no one ever before.
You answered my silent request by ripping off my purple sheath without any resistance from me. When your gaze traveled over my body, and you whispered, “Fuck, rosy girl.” I knew that’s exactly what you were going to do. And I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t get you inside of me fast enough.
But first you unsnapped my lacy lavender bra and your mouth went straight to my chest. Sucking in my hard nipple. Quick to throb with the sweet pain of your teeth scraping over my pulsing skin. Your fist clutching my other breast so tight that only my areola peeked through the circle of your finger and thumb. Amazing me that my small pink bud had never been so tight and taut. Except from your touch. Only you make me that way. Mesmerizing me with your intensity as I watched you ravish me. Your tongue lapping over me with a thirst you couldn’t seem to quench. The madness overcoming you lighting a fire in me I’ve never experienced.
Despite your fervor, you were gentle. Walking us to the bed and laying me down slowly, our bodies never separating for even an inch. For even a second. Your slick skin skimming mine as you sank into me carefully. Building an inferno between us with your deliberate thrusts. Taking me so high I could barely breathe. Your right hand tangled in my hair. Your left palm cupped my face, the pads of your fingers pressing possessively into my head. Your mouth moved against my temple but no words were audible as you plunged inside me over and over. I love you most like this. When you’re too overcome to even speak. That I do this to you. I feel so wanted. So powerful. So beautiful. Which is funny since you’re the one with all the money and power and strength. But you loving me gives me everything I never had or thought I could ever have.
Making sure I got there first, you smiled when I cried out in pleasure. Before you came inside me with a pent up release we
were both desperate for. I couldn’t watch you any longer despite how much I wanted to from the force of that orgasm overtaking me. But I grinned too behind closed eyes when your body stilled, strained and tense, while you pulsed inside of me. Emptying yourself and holding me tight for the baby you hope to put within me. Even after I’d told you repeatedly it’s too soon. You really don’t care. If I’m honest, I don’t either. I want everything with you.
Your damp forehead nodded against mine when I told you I couldn’t wait to officially be yours. No paper needed, you said, since I already was. And if I didn’t straighten up you’d wear my ass out proving it to me. I earned that swat on my butt when I told you I would have to think about it a little bit more before I made my final decision. I also loved you proving your obsession with me for the rest of the afternoon. Spending the day in bed with me instead of at your office. Exactly what I hoped when I instigated my game. Precisely what you enjoyed punishing me for.
I want to play with you more like that. I’ll be your good girl. Your bad girl. Your anything. Just please let me see you again.
I think about you when I hide in shame from his staff.
Crawling underneath the bed I despise to keep from having to face them as they clean the upstairs.
They all know I’m his fuck toy the way he humiliates me in front of them.
Some of them hate it.
Like the traumatized, older woman who cooks his meals. Her sweet face flushing more red than the apples in the decorative white bowl on the counter when he jerked me up from my chair and bent me over the kitchen table. Drizzling fresh maple syrup down my spine before using the sticky liquid as lube. Fucking me right in front of her while she flipped pancakes at the stove, keeping her attention on her task and her eyes averted when she scurried over to set a heaping platter next to my face. My cheek smashed against the smooth black wood. As if her boss wasn’t fucking his play thing on top of her scrambled eggs. Smearing bits of yellow and white all over me and the destroyed place settings and her freshly mopped floor. Making a mess that could never really be cleaned.
Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 2