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“Now, I want you over the bed. Like the naughty girl you are.”
“Enzo, do we really—” He doesn’t give me time to finish my thought before shoving me face-first, bending me over the edge. I don’t have time to adjust to this before the sharp crack of his hand against my ass makes me yelp.
“This is the only way to deal with you. The only way to make you listen. You have to be reminded who’s in charge.” Again, he makes contact, then again. Against the thin material of my leggings and the almost nonexistent thong underneath, his hand might as well be a whip. Every strike leaves me howling into the mattress, the blankets clutched in my fists.
“Don’t like that so much, do you?”Smack!“You’ll think of this the next time you want to smart off to me, won’t you?”Smack!
It’s excruciating, the pain. The humiliation.
And oh, God, it’s making me wet. By the time he lands the sixth or seventh below, the crotch of my panties is stuck to my pussy. I’m so ashamed. I shouldn’t like this. But then, I shouldn’t have liked a lot of what he’s done to me, should I? I don’t know what makes me hate him more: the things he does or the things he shows me about myself, things I didn’t know before I met him.
“You do not talk back to me.” He hits me again, and the force of it makes me scream. I’m somewhere beyond pain now and beyond pleasure, too. It’s a sensation, pure and simple, and I’m going to shatter from the force of it.
“Don’t like that so much, do you? Maybe you should have thought of that before you defied me.” He yanks down my leggings, the thong with it. I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of his knowing laughter. “I knew it. You never let me down when it comes to this.” He runs his palm over my tender ass, and I whimper from pain and pleasure. My body acting on its own as I roll my hips and drive my pussy against the edge of the mattress.
“Dripping wet,” he whispers. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you bring this on to have an excuse for me to punish you. Is that what it is?”
I thought it was a rhetorical question, but I guess I was wrong because he takes me by the hair and pulls my head back, his mouth close to my ear. “I asked you a question. Is that what it is? Do you get off on your punishment?” All I can do is groan in discomfort and dismay. He laughs nastily, pressing my face back down against the mattress and grabbing my pussy with the other hand. “All this time, this is what you’re craving. Hoping you can get me angry enough that I’ll do things to you.” He shoves his fingers inside me, and I cry out my pain and my shame, and yes, pleasure, too. I want this. I need this.
“Fine,” he grunts, fucking me hard and fast with his fingers. Stretching me, making me writhe beneath him. He lets go of my head in favor of undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. “You can’t say I don’t give you what you want.”
And then he’s filling me, slamming himself against me, deep inside me. There’s no pretending we’re in this together. He’s taking me, using me, holding me by the back of the neck, and pinning me down while he pounds into me like I’m nothing. Like I’m no one, just a hole to fuck and fill. My cries go unheard—either that, or he likes them and responds by fucking me harder, relentlessly, while all I can do is hold on until it’s over. There’s something unhinged about him, something wild and vicious. I just need it to be over.
“Oh, yeah… fuck, I’m gonna come… you’re gonna make me come…” I close my eyes and brace myself an instant before he slams into me one last time, going stiff and then finally still. I feel it, his cum. It floods my insides with a rush of warmth. I let out the breath I was holding, weak with relief now that he’s finished.
He hates me. He must truly hate me. How else could he do that to me? And now I’m not crying from the physical pain. There’s a much deeper pain in my heart. We could’ve had so much if only things had been different. If only.
I press my palms to the mattress, ready to get up, but his hand on my neck keeps me pinned in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” he pants, still locked with me, his lower half flush with mine.
“I was getting up,” I whisper, trembling. What is this? Another game?
“No, you aren’t. Not yet.” He leans down, his breath hot in my ear. “Remember, we need to get you pregnant. Stay right there, just like that.” And he stays, too, long after he should.
All I can do is weep quietly, torn between wanting this to work so it can be over as quickly as possible and hoping it never does because I’m not sure I want to bring this man’s child into the world. Not when he shows me the almost endless depths of darkness and depravity he’s capable of.
Before long, his breathing slows down. So do my tears. Why bother crying? I’ve known who he is from the beginning. And I still want him. How pathetic is that? If he had taken it a little easier on me and been less brutal, I might even have come.
But I understand a fundamental truth now: degradation turns me on, but brutal hatred isn’t such a thrill. We’ll never get back what we had before. What we almost had, what we came so close to sharing.
He sighs and pushes himself up on his palms. “Stay that way. Keep your legs closed tight.” He finally separates his body from mine, and now I can breathe easier. From the corner of my eye, I watch him leave the room. How long is he going to leave me this way? Is it a test? I’m not about to find out the hard way, which I would if I defied him.
I’m exhausted, body and soul. Hurting in a way more profound than anything physical. I can’t understand why I’d want somebody like him, capable of hurting me in so many different ways. Why do I want him to care for me again? I never saw myself as a broken person, but I must be. Broken beyond repair.
My heart skips a beat when his footsteps ring out in the hallway. He appears a moment later, looking like the past fifteen minutes never happened. Like he didn’t leave me with my ass throbbing, and his cum trickling out of me.
He’s holding something I realize is a washcloth, crossing the room without saying a word. A sudden shock startles me once he touches the cloth to my ass cheek. “Relax,” he murmurs, running the cloth over my tingling flesh. “I thought this might help.”
Now I want to cry all over again. Not because he’s hurting me, but because I know he has kindness in him. I’ve seen it before, and here it is again. It might hurt less, come to think of it, if I didn’t know about this other side. If he was a flat-out monster without a soul or a conscience, I could write him off. Sort of like the way I wrote off his grandfather after that first conversation.
Enzo isn’t like him. No matter how he tries to be.
“For what it’s worth,” I venture as he tries to undo what he’s done, “I think there are other positions that help. When you’re trying to conceive, I mean.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like if I’m on my back with my knees drawn up. I think I’m supposed to stay that way for a while afterward.”
“Hmm.” He’s so gentle it’s like he’s another person now, going back and forth with the cloth, stroking and soothing. Why can’t he be like this always? “We’ll have to try that next time. For now, relax. Let’s hope nature takes its course.”
