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Francesco was still upset by how unwell their conversation went. He tried to refocus on the newspaper he’d been reading, but not one article held his interest. Francesco couldn’t believe his daughter was so obstinate, so determined, so disrespectful. He didn’t raise her that way. Isotta had the unmitigated gall to question him. It was unacceptable. There had once been a time when what he said stood on its own without the need for further explanation. But that time seemed to have passed.
Why?
Francesco refolded the newspaper and lifted his frame from the reclining chair. He meandered over to the picture window and looked out. He searched his mind, trying to find the answer to the question of where his daughter gained her audacity. By tradition, Isotta and Valentina had been groomed to be the help mate, the subservient wife who nodded at all the right times and was quiet when called upon to do so. It’s what he’d been taught. It’s how the world worked. Their strength, which was an unwritten understood, lay in the private moments when they bonded enough with their mate to speak their mind, still respectfully, but speak to give insight to the head of the family. Why was she fighting so hard against tradition? It had worked for him, right?
But it hadn’t really worked for Francesco. Celestina played her part, but she didn’t play it well. She fought against everything that was ordained. He had to break her. He had to break down her will to stand toe to toe with him, to use her own voice to voice her opinion. Francesco had to humble her by breaking her in, commanding authority, sometimes through violence, sometimes through restraint. But it worked. She became the kind of wife tradition spoke of, the docile, humble, amenable wife that went along because that’s what she was supposed to do.
Until she didn’t, and that inherent resistance reawakened. The mask of humbleness started to peel away, and she gained her own voice, a voice he didn’t want to hear. Francesco again reasserted himself, humiliating her, berating her, humbling her. But Celestina fought back. When their children grew, she fought back even more. Francesco remembered that he questioned whether what he was doing was right. It was his mother who reminded him that he had to be the authority in his home. How, if he couldn’t run his home, how could he rule the company, the world?
That message gave him a newfound drive to make his wife act right. There were times when he questioned if what he did was right. He wondered if he’d taken things too far and pushed Celestina too hard to make his point. As Francesco continued to look out of the window, the moment he regained his authority, all came flooding back to him. His children were still small, small enough to forget. Francesco convinced himself that he needed to make an example of Celestina in front of the very ones she would give her life to protect. A part of Francesco squabbled with the idea of pushing too far, but then he remembered who he was, what he was doing it for, and, of course, tradition.
He waited until it was his children’s bedtime when they would be between awake and a dream state to act. He made sure to assert his authority in a place where they could partially see, and partially hear, but where Celestina could see them. She would know that they bore witness to what he intended and would forever be consumed with the idea of erasing the picture from their minds.
Francesco timed it so that Celestina had put the girls to bed, turned off their lights, and turned on the night light. She didn’t want them to be afraid of total darkness, so she made sure there was just enough light so that if they awoke from sleeping, they could see and orient themselves back to the safety of their home and bed. And as soon as she walked out of the room, pulling the door closed but not fully closed, he stepped toward her. The door inadvertently didn’t close as much as Celestina would have liked. She couldn’t make sure that it did because Francesco had her by the neck.
She was caught so unaware she didn’t even have the opportunity to scream. Her eyes were wide, and Francesco made sure they were focused directly on him, unwaveringly.
“I run this house,” he seethed between clenched teeth. “I run this family. You are mine, my property,” he continued. “I need you not to forget.”
Celestina tried to look back to make sure her daughters were asleep, but Francesco wouldn’t let her. He ripped her gown from her, commanding that she be silent. He pushed her down onto all fours and then got behind her. The panties that she wore were pushed aside, not even removed. Celestina wanted to protest, and she did, whimpering please don’t, asking him to stop, even conceding to his authority. But Francesco had been consumed and invigorated by his own power. He heard her pleas as a tease, as an enticement driving him to do what he intended to do.
He was invigorated and filled with a sexualized rage that drove him to push his semi-hard dick inside her. There had been no foreplay, no warning, so Celestina’s vagina was not wet. She yelped in response, which drove him even more. He clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed inside her even more, unrelentingly. It was not love he made to her. It was dominance. Celestina’s eyes remained wide. She could see her girls lying in their beds. But she wondered if they could see her. Then she couldn’t wonder anymore as Francesco pounded inside her unwelcoming walls, pulling her hair back, wrapping it around his fist while still keeping her mouth clamped tight.
A single tear spilled from her lids and trailed down her cheek. When Francesco felt the wetness, it invigorated him even more. He removed his hand from covering her mouth, taking a moment to lean in and whisper in her ear.
“I run this. You do what I say.”
He pulled out, and Celestina was confused. Her mind was still occupied with thoughts of her daughters. She didn’t yell because of the chance that they were sleeping. She didn’t want her voice to be the one to wake them.
But she did yell.
She had no choice.
Francesco had stopped fucking her in her pussy because he moved to her asshole. He’d never done anything like that before. She hadn’t either, but he was impatient and fueled by power. Francesco didn’t intend for it to be a pleasant experience for her. He only intended to satisfy a base, animalistic desire within himself. She’d given birth a time or two, and her vaginal walls no longer gave him the friction his dick desired. He also desired to humble her in a way she’d never speak of.
His dick was just wet enough to gain entrance into her second hole, the one that had been forbidden before. Not anymore. Francesco held his dick with one hand and pushed aside her ass cheek with the other. There was just enough light for him to see his intended point of entry. His dick was hard. Her ass was tight.
He didn’t take care with her; instead, he solely focused on his own pleasure. He pushed inside her asshole and relished in the fact that he couldn’t get far. He heard her scream, but it only propelled him. He wanted his daughters to see the dominance inside the evil space he’d entered. Francesco had a point to prove, and he intended to prove it.
“Shut up and take it,” he commanded, “unless you want your daughters to see everything. Do you want them to see everything, Celestina?”
He pushed again, feeling her ass give way just a little. He felt the tightness, and it excited him. he felt the tightness all the way down her thighs, and it excited him even more. Once he got in enough for her asshole to hold his dick on his own, he released her ass, and laced one hand around her waist, and reclamped the other over her mouth.
“Scream again. Let your daughters see.”
A thrill moved through him as he felt his authority in his bones. He pushed his dick inside her again and again, gaining new ground in the tightness that held his dick. He felt the friction the walls provided, a friction he’d missed. Oh, how he missed that virginal moment when he popped her cherry when he first fucked her when she was newly his wife. This moment was even better. There was greater resistance. He couldn’t conquer it so easily. The notion of conquering unchartered territory revved him up even more. As he made his way inside her, breaking down walls unrelentingly, Celestina cried. It was all she could do. The pain was excruciating, but she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t cry out for him to stop. Celestina couldn’t plead with her husband to stop. And then something happened that caused a new level of sharp pain she couldn’t have anticipated. Francesco noticed it, too, as he pulled his dick out further than he had before. It was tinged red. It was tinged with Celestina’s blood.
She screamed behind his clamped hand and faltered in holding herself up with her own arms. She collapsed to her elbows, but that only positioned her better for him. When Francesco saw the blood, his eyes narrowed, and his intensity grew. He pushed in even harder, fucked her even harder, relishing in the scream he contained. And then a growl erupted in his own core as hot gism thickened his cock and spilled from it into the tight place he occupied. Francesco refused to relinquish, pumping harder, faster until he was soft.
He pulled out, let her fall to the floor, and left her there with a message.
“I am the king of this castle. Don’t you ever forget it.”
His nose widened as he breathed through it, the past fading and the present reemerging. He pondered whether Isotta’s husband had declared himself the king of his castle in much the same way. Then it dawned on him that Celestina had not returned from chasing after their daughter, begging her to return for more of the same. Francesco turned from the window and looked around the room. She wasn’t there.
He then walked out of the room and looked down the hallway to see if she’d managed to catch their daughter and have a conversation near the front door. Francesco didn’t hear any voices, so he meandered down the hall. With each room he passed, Francesco looked in to see if his wife was there. She wasn’t. He saw his mother in her study.
“Have you seen Celestina?” He asked.
