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“Get back in bed, Carwen,” he yells back without stopping.
“But, Alastor.” I step onto the porch, shivering at the chill of the rickety old boards under my bare feet. “It’s so cold. Please come back inside. Ineedyou.”
“I said get back in bed,” he snarls, still walking away, and I can barely make out his dark silhouette at the edge of our yard. “I need to handle something, and then I will be back. You better be asleep by the time I return, or I’ll take you to the basement instead of bed.”
“Yes, sir.” I turn for the door, knowing nothing I say will change his mind. Unless… I grin at the sight of tomorrow’s delivery already sitting atop a pallet and ready to be loaded onto the trailer first thing in the morning. The lone piece of furniture draped under a large, tan, cloth sheet, my unlikely salvation, and I rush back into the kitchen, grabbing up the large lighter Alastor uses to light the fireplace in the winter months from the junk drawer and dash back into the yard. I slide to a stop on my knees right in front of the oversized cabinet and breathe slowly, trying to steady my trembling hand. This is reckless and is going to result in one hell of a punishment when he gets ahold of me, but at least, I stand a chance of living through that. If he makes it to that cellar and finds his prize rotting in the dirt, I’m a dead woman.
“Come on, come on,” I whisper pleadingly, holding the lighter to the sheet covering his work, and trying to push the button, but it refuses to budge.
“You forgot the child lock,” Alastor hisses behind me, and I gasp, dropping both to the ground.
“Shit.” I exhale, bracing myself for the strike I know is coming. This is going to hurt a lot.
“Yeah. Shit,” he repeats, raising his arm above his head, and I close my eyes, lowering my chin to my chest.
My cheek erupts in white-hot pain with the force of his blow, and the momentum knocks me to the ground, but we both know he’s far from finished.
“You wanted my attention, Carwen? Now, what will you do with it?” He curls his nose in disgust, and he draws back his leg, delivering a kick so hard that my lungs seize, and I nearly vomit, but I swallow down the bile forcing its way up my throat, knowing that whatever punishment is to follow this beating will not involve food. I have to keep my dinner down in order to keep my strength up.
“I’m sorry,” I plead, tumbling onto my back in the grass with both of my arms wrapped around my chest and taking agonizingly shallow breaths.
“No, I don’t think you are, but you will be,” he snarls, bending over, and he tangles his hand up in my hair then drags me back toward the house. “You were really going to destroy a piece that took me three days to complete because you didn’t get what you wanted fast enough?” He yanks open the back door and continues to pull me across the floor, all the way to the shadowy basement stairwell. “So, you’ll spend at least that long down there.” He drops my hair and wraps a large hand around my throat, lifting me off of my feet. “Tell me, Carwen, do you think you could fly?” He grins and sends me tumbling down the stairs to the concrete floor below.
“If you’re still alive in the morning, you can suck your breakfast from the head of my cock,” he taunts, calmly descending the steps, and I drag my tattered body back against the farthest wall. “Hope you got some sleep before you decided to throw that tantrum because this is going to be an exhausting few days, little girl.”
He lifts his arm and deliberately clicks on the overhead light. I breathe slowly in time with the single swaying bulb hanging from an otherwise bare beam, the only illumination of my impending torture. I tremble on the unfinished concrete floor, watching him casually stroll across the room to a table filled with everything he could ever need to torment anyone who crosses him, and he winks at me, lifting a thick set of restraints in his giant hands.
“Arms,” he demands, striding over to me, and I hesitantly hold out both arms. The sharp pains in my beaten abdomen steal my breath, but I do my best to hide it.
“So, Wild One-” He towers over me, securing the cuffs around each of my wrists and loops the free end of the rope through a metal ring screwed into a beam above me. “Is this what you wanted from me?” He yanks roughly on the rope, and I scream out when my body jerks upright until only the very tips of my big toes dance across the floor. “You wanted my hands on you, right?” He closes in behind me, grinding his groin against my ass, and licks up my neck slowly. It’s misery and bliss. Excruciating ecstasy. It’s meant to be a punishment- raw torture- but even with all of this pain, heat still floods between my legs. I should be begging for leniency, but instead, I’m biting my tongue to stop myself from asking for more.
“Yes, sir,” I whimper, and he steps around me, looking me in the eye.
“You really do love this, don’t you?” He studies me with a furrowed brow and shakes his head. “Well, let’s see what we can do to change that.”
He unbuckles his belt, yanking it from his pants- the sound of leather against denim enough to make me flush with excitement- but instead of the sharp sting of worn leather biting into the delicate skin of my thighs and ass that I’m craving, he wraps the belt around my throat, pulling it taut with his left hand.
“Beg me, Carwen,” he mocks, grinning at me while I struggle unsuccessfully for a breath. “I can’t hear you.”
“Harder,” I try to spit out, only managing to mouth the word. His brows shoot up in surprise for only a fraction of a second before his face contorts in anger, and then he yanks the belt tighter while pushing his pants down to his ankles with his other hand.
“Crazy bitch,” he snarls, harshly kicking my legs apart, and shoves inside of me. “You are so turned on you’re dripping down your thighs. Fuuuck.”
Tears pour down my cheeks as he fucks me ruthlessly, and I wrap my legs tightly around his hips, taking some of the weight off of my arms and grinding my clit against his pelvis with each thrust. I’m teetering on the verge of consciousness- my vision tunneling- when his hand lands on my ass with a sharp smack, and he grips me tightly, digging his nails into my pale skin while pulling me in closer to meet each thrust, and I come hard. My entire body shakes from head to toe, and I tighten around him, milking his cock and pulling his own orgasm from him. Smirking when I feel him spill inside of me. Point- Carwen.
“Damn it,” He steps back, and I swing away from him, still suspended by my arms and unable to find my footing this high up. He shakes his head, completely out of breath, and turns away from me, trudging for the stairs. “I’ll be back in the morning. Don’t fucking die.” He clicks off the light and climbs the steps, closing the door behind him, and leaves me dangling alone in complete darkness with nothing but the feel of blood and cum running down my thighs to entertain me.
“Please don’t go,” I whisper to myself, praying he doesn’t walk back out of the house and straight to the cellar, but I breathe a sigh of relief when Alastor stomps right through the kitchen and up the stairs to our bedroom. The sound of water turning on in the upstairs shower is the last thing I hear before slipping from consciousness.
4
It’s beenfour days since Alastor quite literally threw me into the basement, but last night, he finally decided to allow me to crawl up to our bedroom on my hands and knees. It took me over an hour to get from the cold basement floor to the upstairs shower where I drank my weight in tap water, vomited, drank a bit more, and then dragged myself into our room where I immediately fell asleep, but I did it. I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, causing the comforter to drop around my waist as I stretch my arms high above my head, grimacing at the lingering pains and stiffness in my joints. Luckily, none of my ribs were broken during the beatings, proving now more than before that my father has grown weak. He should have broken them. I deserved it, but he pathetically held himself back from inflicting any real pain. I carefully stand from the bed, taking my time as I pull and twist every single muscle. I revel in the ache of each lingering wound, the throbbing bruises a reminder of what should be but isn’t.
I roll my eyes and sigh when I hear Alastor grumbling at the bottom of the steps, so I plaster on a happy face and reluctantly follow his irritated voice down a flight of stairs and into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Alastor.” I smile pleasantly up at him, stepping in closer to give him a kiss just like I’m supposed to every time I see him, and I’m actually surprised when he turns away, holding up a hand.
“Breakfast is late. You don’t deserve my affection, Carwen. Get moving before I take you back down to the basement for another round,” he snarls, clearly in a poor damn mood. I wonder what set him off this time.
