by Erin Noelle
“I see you made a friend,” he said curtly, taking his drink from my hand.
Sitting down in the chair next to him, I replied nervously, “Not a friend. He was simply saying hello.”
“You aren’t really that fucking stupid are you, Bry?” he scoffed. “The guy was all but drooling all over your tits, and he couldn’t tear his eyes off your ass as you walked away.”
“You’re the one that made me wear this skimpy thing,” I argued, trying to adjust the small yellow triangle covering each of my boobs, “and he didn’t say anything inappropriate; he just asked how our vacation was going.”
“Stop talking. Your job is to be seen, not heard.” Then he stood up and walked off to an area on the beach where a group of other hotel guests—mostly women—were gathered on the beach. Laying my head back on the chair, I shook my head in disbelief over the situation I’d found myself in, knowing there was never going to be a way out. When he hadn’t returned in nearly an hour, I glanced over to where he and the rest of the group were, only to see some other woman wearing just a thong standing directly in front of him, obviously rubbing her ass cheeks up against his cock. His hands were on her hips, and he was whispering something in her ear. Sadly, I wasn’t surprised at his actions, nor did I really care all that much, other than it made me look like a fucking idiot as my husband allowed some bimbo to dry fuck him in front of everyone. I wanted badly to get up and go say something, but once again, the fear of how he’d react controlled me. Instead, I stood up and went back to the bar for another drink. I needed alcohol to numb my emotions.
That evening, as we dressed for dinner, Ish walked in the bathroom carrying a silver dress I’d never seen before. “Wear this tonight and find your friend from the bar earlier. I want to watch you seduce him. Do whatever it takes to get him back here to our villa, and then I will watch you fuck him like the little whore you are.”
“Ish,” I gasped, stunned by his words, “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. You’re fucking crazy.”
In less than a second, he had his hands around my neck and his forehead smashed against mine. “You can do it, and you will do it, because it’s WHAT I WANT,” he snarled at me in the most unnerving tone. “You are now my wife, my legal possession. You do what I say, or there will be consequences to pay. Do I make myself clear?”
His grip on my neck was beginning to restrict my air passage, and all I could do was nod as my eyes filled with tears. Releasing me, I fell into a heap on the floor, and he threw the dress at me before walking out of the room and calling, “We leave in twenty minutes. Get dressed now.”
Two hours later, I was naked and bent over the bed Ish and I had just shared the night before as Leandro, also known as my friend from the bar, stroked his massive erection in and out of me, while Ish jacked off in the chair in the corner. I’d never before felt like such a cheap, worthless piece of garbage as I did in that moment. Forcing myself not to gag during the entire experience, I was thankful when I felt Leandro’s body tense up and heard him scream out as he spurted warm semen onto my lower back. Ish’s moans of delight quickly followed, and as soon as he was finished, he stood up from the chair and walked over to the small closet in the villa’s bedroom.
Pulling out a small black duffel, he walked over to where Leandro and I were on the bed. He grabbed some sort of cloth from the bag, and in the blink of an eye, had Leandro handcuffed and gagged. It all happened so fast; I started to scream, but grew quiet when Ish told me to shut up. He then pulled out a small machete-looking weapon, and without warning, cut off Leandro’s dick.
“Nobody but me sticks their cock inside my wife…” he started with an evil smile. Leandro’s eyes rolled back in his head as he tried to cry out, the excruciating pain unbearable. As calmly as ever, Ish grabbed him by the hair and slashed his neck directly across the jugular, just like I’d seen him do two other times, as he finished his sentence “…and lives to tell about it.”
No longer able to control myself, I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the tile floor, next to wear Leandro’s lifeless body laid in a growing puddle of blood. Ish calmly walked over to the dresser, pulled out some fresh clothes, and announced, “Clean this shit up. I’ll have someone come get the body in a little bit.” After wiping the blade clean with a towel, he returned the knife to the bag and sat it back in the closet before walking out of the villa.
A little while later, I’d cried out every last drop of moisture in my body and had almost cleaned up all of the blood and vomit using every last towel I could find, when a strange man dressed in solid black walked into the room—no knocking, no words, nothing. With gloved hands, he placed the body into a plastic bag and walked out. I finished cleaning up the area where the body had been, and then curled up in a ball on the bed, doing the only thing I knew to do—I prayed for God to rescue me from the hell I was in.
Unfortunately, the next morning, I woke up in the same place. The aroma of breakfast being cooked filled my nostrils, and as I rolled off of the bed, I assumed Ish was cooking me breakfast as a way to apologize for the horrid events yesterday—as if that would make up for any of it. However, as I trudged out of the bedroom, into the living room and kitchen area of the cottage, I found the woman from the beach yesterday standing naked at the stove, singing some love song in Portuguese as she fried bacon. Ish was also naked, but sitting at the table watching her every move as his hand pumped up and down on his hard shaft.
“Princesa Americana, you’re awake!” he exclaimed when he saw me, as if everything was normal. The blonde woman turned around, smiled at me, and gave me a quick wave.
I said nothing; I simply looked back and forth between the two of them in disgusted disbelief.
“Don’t be rude to our guest, Princesa. Say good morning to Stacia,” he scolded me.
“Morning,” I mumbled, still standing in the doorway.
“Come sit down next to me, Bry. I want to show you something,” he instructed.
Shuffling my feet towards the table, I slumped down into the chair next to him. Stacia brought over two plates of piping hot eggs, bacon, and beans, and set them down in front of him and me.
“Come here, Stacia,” he commanded her. “Now that you’ve cooked a proper breakfast, I want you to show minha Princesa Americana how a woman should fuck her man. I’m ready for you again.”
She looked down at his large erection in his hands and giggled. Straddling his lap, she wasted no time in bouncing up and down on his cock as he played with her clit and sucked on her enormous boobs. I looked down at my food, trying my best to ignore what was happening right next to me, but Ish noticed.
“I said watch and learn,” he barked at me. He then stood up abruptly, with her still attached to him, and twisted them both around so that she was on her back on the table and he was standing up, pumping in and out of her. “Do you see how she’s playing with herself, Bry? I like that. Do you see how she’s smiling as I give her my cock? I like that too.”
All I could do was nod, sit, and watch my husband fuck some stranger name Stacia inches in front of my face—without protection, at that. Several minutes later, he came hard inside of her, yelling out in Portuguese as his body shuddered from the orgasm. As he pulled out, he looked over at me. “Now come lick my cum out of her, Princesa. A slut like this doesn’t deserve my babies; that’s only for my beautiful wife.”
I stared at him incredulously, hoping he was joking. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he yanked me from my chair, forced me onto my knees, and shoved my face into her crotch. “I don’t like to repeat myself, Bryleigh. Clean her up with your mouth, and make sure you get it all. I don’t need some worthless piece of ass having my baby. If you don’t, you know what will happen to her.”
Sitting back down in the chair, he watched as I licked and sucked on Stacia’s vagina, trying my best to clean her up and save her life while doing so. When he finally deemed I was through, he dismissed her and had his way with every hole in my body until I physically couldn’
t walk.
The rest of the honeymoon, I didn’t see him much. I stayed in the villa, not wanting to look into the eyes of another human for the rest of my life. I contemplated suicide numerous times, but I could never go through with it. Once we got back home in Chicago, he’d obviously enjoyed our morning with Stacia so much he began to bring other women home regularly to fuck in front of me, and then made me clean them with my mouth. I never knew I could feel so degraded and tainted, but every minute I spent with him, I discovered a new low in my life.
“Blake! Blake, sweet girl, come back to me,” Madden’s concerned voice infiltrates my thoughts, tearing me from the repulsive memory. Slowly grasping my bearings, I find myself sitting in his lap on the stairs, with his arms holding me tightly to his chest as he rocks me soothingly. The familiar coppery taste of blood looms in my mouth, and I hope I haven’t made a mess on his stairs. Mortified to look up at him, I bury my face into his neck and start to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper.
He realizes I’m cognitive of my surroundings, and gently strokes the back of my hair as he stands up with me in his arms. Walking up the stairs back to his room, he whispers, “Shh, no reason to be sorry. This is what I’m here for, my sweet girl.”
“SEÑOR MADDEN, WAKE UP! There’s a problem with the girl.” Sarah’s heavy accent wakes me from the delectable dream I was having starring none other than my Blake.
“What problem? What girl?” I ask groggily. Sitting up in the bed, I glance over to where Blake should be, but isn’t. Immediately, my heart begins to pound rapidly, and I swivel my head back towards where Sarah stands next to the bed.
“Hurry, she’s on the stairs. I don’t know what she’s doing,” she replies panicky. “Crying and shaking. There’s blood.”
Shooting out of bed in a split-second, I don’t care I’m only wearing my boxers; I need to get to her. Now. I sprint out of the room towards the staircase, and as soon as I see her balled up towards the lower landing, I rush to her side. Scooping her into my arms, I place her in my lap and hold her close, trying to bring her out of this dream-like state she’s in.
“Blake, baby, I’m here; it’s me, Madden,” I say softly in her ear. Her entire body is shivering as if she’s spent hours in the cold, and her eyelids are squeezed shut. There’s a steady trickle of blood coming out of one side of her mouth running down her chin, and her cheeks are wet from her silent sobs.
“Blake! Blake, sweet girl, come back to me,” I raise my voice slightly as I rock her back and forth. I desperately need her to snap out of the trance she’s lost in.
Her body jolts, and the trembling stops momentarily. Then, pressing her face into my chest, she grabs a hold of my arms and begins to audibly cry. “I’m so sorry,” she blubbers against me.
Realizing she’s back with me, I run my fingers through her hair and kiss the top of her head, thankful I was able to pull her out of the spell. Effortlessly rising to my feet with her securely in my arms, I carry her back to my room.
“Shh, no reason to be sorry. This is what I’m here for, my sweet girl.”
Sarah is waiting at the top of the stairs, having watched the entire scene unfold. With a slight nod of my head, I let her know I’ll take care of Blake, and she gives me a small smile as she pats my arm sympathetically.
Walking straight into the bathroom, I carefully set her down on the floor in order to strip the t-shirt and panties off of her. I leave her alone momentarily to draw a warm bath, hoping that will help calm her, but quickly return to her side. She still has her legs pulled into her chest, with her face hidden in-between her knees. The sight of her frail, damaged body crumpled up in a ball pulls at my heart. I don’t know her all that well, but what I do know, I adore. I realize it’s going to be hard for me not to get emotionally attached, and I’m going to try my best to preserve my own self, but I have to help her. In a couple of short weeks, she’s embedded herself under my skin, and broken or not, she’s mine.
“Blake, please look up at me. I need to see where you’re bleeding from so we can treat it,” I plead with her.
Sluggishly, she lifts her head and peers at me through her wet, matted lashes. Her usually-beautiful blue eyes are glossed over, desolate, and despondent. “I think I bit my tongue,” she mutters with a grimace. More blood trickles from her mouth as she tries to talk, and she lays her forehead back on the top of her knees.
Sliding my hand under her chin, I raise her head back up, forcing her to look at me. “Open your mouth so I can see.”
Obediently, she parts her lips so I can examine and determine where the damage occurred. Gashes in her tongue are visible, despite the good amount of blood still inside her mouth. “Let’s get some water so you can rinse your mouth out, okay?
Nodding despairingly, she lifts her tiny hand and touches my bare chest. “I got blood on you. I’m sorry.”
I look down to her hand and see the red smears across my skin, then grab her hand and kiss it. “Don’t you dare worry about me right now.”
Picking her up again, I carry her over to the sink and set her down on the marble countertop. I fill a glass with cold water from the sink and hand it to her. “Please rinse for me.” Without argument, she takes the glass and swishes the cool liquid around in her mouth a bit before spitting out the bloody fluid into the sink. Repeating the motion several times, finally, the blood disappears from the back wash, and she sets the glass down next to her.
“That’s my girl,” I say encouragingly. “Now, let’s get you in the bath.”
Removing the only article of clothing I have on, this isn’t how I’d imagined she’d see me naked for the first time, but it’s what needs to be done. Cradling her body against mine, I walk us to the oversized bathtub; I turn off the faucet and carefully step into the near-full basin. Cautiously, I lower us both down until we are safely immersed in the warm water, her back pressed flush against my chest. Leaning back against the cool porcelain, I breathe a sigh of relief. Still crazy with concern, I feel relief that at the moment she’s okay.
Neither of us says anything for a few minutes; I simply rub her arms and her belly, tenderly kissing the top of her head as she pulls herself back together.
“This is why I can’t do us,” she states, breaking the silence.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
She laughs dryly. “Because I’m crazy. It didn’t even take twenty-four hours for me to have an episode while around you.”
“What happens to you during these episodes?” I ask, praying she answers.
“I remember things. Very bad things.”
Hissing in a breath, I remind myself to keep calm, though the thought of someone hurting her makes me irate. I gather she’s not going to elaborate on what these very bad things are, so I go a different route. “What causes you to have them? These memories? Do they just happen all the time, or randomly?”
“Typically, if it happens when I’m awake, it’s triggered by something I see or hear. When I’m sleeping, it’s just randomly. I hadn’t had a nightmare in the last three nights, so I was pretty happy when I woke up, before…”
“What happened to trigger it today?” I press. “Did you see or hear something?”
Nodding, she crosses her arms over her body to conceal herself from me. I gently grasp her arms and unwrap them from her torso. “Don’t hide from me, sweet girl. I’m only trying to help. I want to know what it was, so we can make sure that same thing doesn’t elicit another episode.” I dip my head down to the side of her neck and place several kisses along the silky skin. “Tell me what happened this morning.”
I feel her swallow hard against my mouth still pressed against her neck. “I, uh—I went downstairs to get some water, and right before I made it down there, I heard something…or someone. She was singing in Portuguese. And then I smelled bacon. It was—” She shakes her head and stops talking.
“I’m pretty sure you heard my housekeeper, Sarah, singing in the kitchen while she made us breakfast. She
speaks Spanish, not Portuguese, though I imagine they’re pretty similar,”
I explain. “I’d messaged her late last night and asked her to cook for us before we went to work. I should’ve told you she’d be here. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, okay,” she whispers.
We sit quietly for a few more minutes. I don’t ask any more questions for now, but file away the information about the Portuguese, and make a mental note to ask Sarah not to speak Spanish around Blake. Eventually, the water begins to cool down, and I need to get her out before she gets chilled.
“I’m going to call Mr. Thompson and tell him I’ve pulled you away from the office today to help me work on something,” I explain as I lift the drain.
She scrambles to her feet and steps out of the tub, shaking her head. “No, I can’t do that. I have to go to the office. I don’t want to miss work.”
Following her, I grab us each a towel to dry off with, trying to remain patient. “You will be working, just with me. If I let you out of my sight today, I’m going to be worried about you, and I need to be productive.”
She wraps the white towel snugly around her body and stares at me stubbornly. “I’m sorry, Madden, but I can’t. I’m not going to your office to sit with you and watch you work like some helpless little child who can’t be left alone. I’ve dealt with these flashbacks for a couple of years now; I will be fine.”