Worse than the humiliation of knowing he has me right where he wants me is the desire that burns low in my belly as he drags his cock through my wetness again and again, settling himself right where I want him. Pussybeggingto be filled. Clit pulsing with demand for attention.
I hate that my back arches for him, even as my mind claws for the exit. Every nerve remembers the reward that follows hurt.
If I speak? I could get that right now. Make the pain go away. And he’ll fuck me.
But he’d win.
He draws back the crop, and I hurriedly make a decision. I scream out, “Please fuck me, my husband!”
The force of him entering takes my breath away, as does the blinding swat of the crop on the side of my thigh. “For not saying it quick enough.” He chuckles.
Every ram is a punishment and a reward. It’s what my body wanted, but my heart longs to return to the back seat. The place where he looked at me like…like he could love me.
Instead, I face the cold wall. Call himminewhen I’m still not sure if I’m trulyhis. Not in the way I want to be.
One of his hands grips the top of the pillory to pull himself closer, thrusting harder, ripping into me with ferocity as he uses me for his pleasure. My own ecstasy is an immaterial consequence to him…
He’s right about beingcold. I feel the ice between us despite him delving inside of me. I’m an object. Athing.
That’sthe punishment. Aiden’s built a wall, and I’m not sure I can ever break through again.
“How does it feel gettingusedlike this, whore? I’ll make you marry me, get you assigned to be appointed to me…and I’ll fuck you like this on the daily. Unless you’ll truly submit to me, baby.”
One mumbled and stoic word releases from my lips. “No.”
I won’t. I can’t. This isn’t what I wanted to be. Will he ever soften toward me? Ever?
I’m crying. And not because he slaps my ass with the crop once again for speaking out. Now, the pain cuts deeper.
Aiden Isaac Cardell is an asshole.
And he’s really hurt me.
The worst part is how my heart still calls it love—because once, hurt was the only proof I existed.
Like he understands, he pulls out and shoots his load all over my thighs, letting it drip down my legs and onto the ground.
I sniff and wait in torment as he takes his time to get dressed. When he loosens the pillory and releases me, I slump to the floor. Dejected. Wasted.
He throws a towel in my face and snaps his fingers, pointing toward some things on the bed. “Clean up. Next time I approach, you’d better be on your knees, ready to greet meproperly.”
His black boots swivel toward the door with a crunch. I raise my eyes and quietly beg him.
“Is this how it’s going to be?” I ask, almost whispering.
The muscle in the back of his jaw throbs. Frost settles over his features as he sneers. “Always. And if you wanted something different, maybe you shouldn’t have cheated on me, slut.”
It’sdifficult to know how long it’s been, but I think only two days. Two whole days, perhaps three. My asshole is tender from his last taking. The stripes from the crop are still sore. And he hasn’t let me come. Because I wouldn’t beg for it.
Not while he’s been so very…robotic.
Like a glacial mass that I can feel the weight of, but can’t break through, or it will shatter him and sink me.
He’d left me with his own T-shirts to wear, no underwear. Joke’s on him, though. Maybe I’ll start withdrawal bleeding from the birth control removal.
Sure, he leaves me trays of food. Even gave me one book: a textbook on College Algebra. I used it to try to start fires in the bathroom.
Speaking of which, it’s horrifying in there. Dark. Filled with critters and spiders. The water smells like rust and tastes worse. But at least I have my cleansers. And one towel. A toothbrush. Toilet paper.