She was sure by now that she was finished playing with fire. Her justifications for returning over and over to Dome were weak and pathetic. Instead of playing the victim, why can’t I just own it?
She closed her eyes and imagined herself watching the scene from a distance, observing her body, docile, compliant. Like a doll. His doll. His filthy little fuck doll. She didn’t move to stroke or kiss him. She wouldn’t initiate a single thing, but she’d do whatever he told her to do.
“I shouldn’t go easy on you after your earlier disobedience. I warned you about me.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t reply. She still wasn’t totally clear on his speech rules, and warped or not, she didn’t want to be the one in control. She relaxed as his hands moved to her front, arranging her, positioning her in the way he found attractive, tweaking her nipples into painful, hardened points.
And then she started crying, great heaving sobs that made her shoulders shake. It wasn’t the pain of what he was physically doing to her. It was something much deeper, something inside of her that was clawing desperately to get out and had only needed the smallest of catalysts. She waited for him to mock her weakness, but instead he turned her so he could look into her eyes. She pulled away.
“Don’t resist me, flower.”
Slowly, Vivian turned her face back to him. She was sure if she looked in the mirror, her eyes would be stark, needing something but knowing this wasn’t the right man to give it to her.
“Stand up, remove your panties, and bend over the bed with your palms flat on the surface.”
“Please Sir . . . I . . . ”
“This isn’t a negotiation.”
Was this his version of I’ll give you something to cry about? She got off the bed and moved to obey him. The lid of the trunk creaked open. Several items were shuffled around, until it was finally shut again.
Anton moved behind her. “Look at the bed. Don’t turn around.”
The pain that flared across her ass was so sharp she lost the ability to breathe for a moment. It seared through her, causing every nerve ending she had to twinge reflexively. What the fuck was he hitting her with? It was long, hard, and that was all the information she could process before the pain was back again.
The second crack made her cry out.
“Say, ‘Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?’ after each one.”
Vivian repeated the phrase, holding her body tense, waiting for the next blow.
It didn’t come. Instead, Anton’s hand brushed over skin, soothing the pain he’d just caused. Moments later, a warm tongue licked over the welt that had no doubt risen.
The tension eased and flowed out of her. Then another crack landed over the flesh that was now wet from his tongue. She screamed, then forced the words from her mouth. “Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”
It seemed to go on forever, comfort and pain, until she was sobbing and could barely hold herself up. Her legs shook and her calves burned from standing in the heels.
She was crying for the pain, but also something more. She was crying for her own weakness, her pathological inability to seek out what she wanted in life. Staying with Michael though she was miserable, simply because he made her comfortable. Coming to Anton over and over and pretending it was about the blackmail. Because that made her comfortable, too, when nothing was her fault, when she was the victim.
“That was ten,” he finally said.
Only ten? She thought she was going to die. How could that only be ten?
“You can relax, now.”
She hadn’t realized how hard her arms had worked to hold herself the way he’d wanted her. She collapsed on the bed, the tears still coming unrestrained. It seemed nothing could shut off the flow of emotion now that the dam had burst.
She wanted to ask him why? What had she done? How had she deserved that? If he wanted her to come back, this sure as hell wasn’t the way to encourage it. As soon as she cleared the door, this madness was over. It had to be over.
The bed dipped next to her, and then he was stroking the burning welts and kissing them. Her face flamed as she felt her own wetness dripping down her thighs, soiling the bed.
Vivian jumped when his tongue probed inside her. A desperate mewl left her throat as he lapped up her juices. Why couldn’t this be Michael? Why did it have to be this twisted fucker who was holding her mentally hostage?
His weight lifted from the bed, and she found herself on her hands and knees. She didn’t bother resisting when he slid inside her. She could hear the evidence of her arousal as he fucked her, his body thrusting into hers like an animal as she knelt on the bed, open and receptive. Unwilling to be anything but his vessel in that moment.
“You’ve got the tightest, sweetest little cunt.”
Every foul word that tripped off his tongue moved her one step closer to what she was sure would be the most shameful orgasm of her life. She gripped the sheets as her breathing became heavier.
“Be a good girl and come for me.”
His wicked voice sent her over the edge as her muscles clenched around him, milking him, greedily pulling his essence into her. She didn’t want to come after how he’d treated her, didn’t want to think about what that said about her. But she couldn’t stop the orgasm that tore through her, breaking down her ability to process anything beyond this moment.
When he’d finished, he rolled off of her, panting.
His accent was heavier when he spoke again. “Get dressed. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
Of all the arrogant, motherfucking . . .
In another set of circumstances, she would have thrown a shoe at him, but she’d already seen what he was willing to do to her and how little power she had to make him stop. She got dressed more quickly than she’d ever before managed, wanting nothing more than to hide her body from his view.
She didn’t bother to argue about Tuesday.
“Oh, and Vivian?”
She turned, the disgust shining out from her eyes. She was beyond the ability to mask it.
“You will masturbate every day between now and then. When you do, you will think only about the feel of the cane across your ass. I’ll ask when I see you. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Vivian slammed the door behind her, convinced she’d never see this monster again.
Michael had left the car for her to drive while he was away. She sat behind the wheel of the red BMW and cried some more. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t get the key in the ignition. Finally, she gave up and laid her head over the steering wheel, trying to focus on breathing while she waited for her body to settle down.
Would things have gone differently if I’d just stripped like he’d asked the first time?
Of course not. He was an abusive monster. Now that she’d stopped shaking, she was aware of the pain of sitting. An incongruous smile curved her lips.
Pictures. Evidence.
There was no way Anton would convince Michael they were having an affair, even a kinky affair. No one would be able to look at the marks on her flesh and think that wasn’t abuse. Especially if she went to Michael first with photographic evidence.
And then what? Go back to stale sex once every few weeks with a man she couldn’t get off with? And the alternative? Being with someone like Anton? It wasn’t worth the risk.