I try to wiggle and squirm, but the binds keep me strapped in place with no room to move. I’m completely helpless in his hands, a marionette that he can do whatever he wishes with. And for a second, I surrender to that fate as he hits me for the last time.
“Eleven!” I scream as my orgasm powers through me at the same time as the sting. My heart lunges in my throat and I think I’m actually going to stop breathing and die in the throes of pleasure and pain.
It’s dark ecstasy, a demented bliss that plays on the edge of insanity. But every part of me craves it, falls for it without any thought.
I bite the pillow to muffle my moans, the defiance in me burning as bright as the orgasm.
Something cold and taut wraps around my throat, and I gasp when I realize it’s the belt. Adrian lifts me up using it. My back arches, but I tighten my teeth on the pillow, bringing it up with me.
His lips draw shivers down to my soul as he whispers against the shell of my ear in low words, “Let it go.”
I shake my head frantically.
“Let it the fuck go, Lia.”
I meet his vacant eyes with my daring ones and shake my head again.
Adrian yanks the pillow away and removes the belt as he flips me over. Pain explodes in my behind as it hits the mattress.
My bound hands twist before they’re settled in an easy position above my head. Now that I’m no longer biting down on the pillow, I can feel some other sounds trying to escape. I attack my lips again, uncaring about the blood that keeps oozing into my mouth.
Adrian pulls my legs apart and carves his way between them. He’s so large and strong that I feel like he’s able to rip me in half with each motion.
Every movement against the mattress causes overwhelming friction on my ass. I wish that was all. I wish the pain and resentment were all I felt right now. I wish there wasn’t a zap of pleasure shooting its way from the burning welts and straight to my pussy. The remaining tingles from my orgasm sharpen to an unbearable level.
I need something. I don’t know what, but that orgasm wasn’t enough.
Adrian undoes his pants and I hold my breath as he frees his cock. It was a magnificent sight when half-erect the other time, but now that it’s fully hard with angry veins visible at the surface, I’m scared.
But to my horror, I’m not only scared. A morbid sense of anticipation seeps into my ribcage and nestles between my bones.
Knowing that he got hard by whipping me, that he got off on causing me pain, should be degrading—blasphemous, even—but it’s not.
Adrian grips his engorged cock and fists it not so gently, as if he’s angry with it—or perhaps it’s me he’s angry with.
His muscles flex under his shirt with the movement, and his inked forearms appear ethereal, firm, and ready to inflict as much pleasure as pain.
A drop of pre-cum drips down his shaft and I bite my lip harder, unable to look away from it or from him.
My heart aches and my thighs clench.
I think I’m broken. Because right now, I’m having thoughts I shouldn’t, under any circumstances, entertain for this man.
Thoughts that will end in my ruin.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Lia?” His voice is raspy, full of unhinged darkness and lust. They seem to go hand in hand for him. Like he can’t feel any pleasure if it’s not as deranged as his screwed-up head.
I’m not like him. I tell myself that I’m normal. I’m fucking vanilla. And yet, I don’t shake my head. I know I should; I should tell him to screw off, that I never want him to fuck me.
But I don’t.
I’m still trapped by the sight of him jerking himself off. How his muscles and tattoos contract with the motion. How his eyes gleam and flicker from gray to a darker color. I want to know if his expression will stay the same while he’s inside me.
I need to know if I’ll have an effect on him like I did while he punished me, and if that effect will be more violent.
So I open my legs wider in a form of invitation, one I know I will regret come morning. But I’m already here, and I have nowhere to go. He made it clear since the beginning that he’d eventually fuck me, so what’s the point in delaying the inevitable?
“You want me to ram into that tight cunt of yours until you scream?”
I want to look away, because I’m almost sure he can read the embarrassment from my burning cheeks, but I force myself to continue staring at him.
“You will let me fuck you raw, won’t you? You’ll let me stuff you with my cum like a good wife.”
I’m not your wife.
I want to scream, but I don’t, because that will definitely ruin the moment, and my pussy is clenching for another release.
This is so fucked up. I’m practically begging the man who welted my ass with his belt to fuck me right after he brought me to orgasm.
“Release your lip,” he orders, his fisting movements getting faster.
I shake my head once.
Still gripping his cock, Adrian loops the belt around my throat and lifts me up so I’m suspended mid-air with my hands bound to the bedpost behind me.
I expected the position to be uncomfortable, but it’s surprisingly not.
“Open your mouth.”
I don’t, shaking my head once. Adrian grips my tank top and rips it down the middle. I gasp as he yanks the bra up, exposing my breasts. I want to turn away so that I don’t have to witness him staring at them. They’re small and I’ve always thought they were the most unflattering part about me.
Adrian, however, keeps studying them as if they’re pieces of art from a museum. My teeth loosen a little from my lip at the look in his eyes.
Holy shit.
I know he thinks he’s looking at his wife, and not me, but how lucky can a woman be to have a man look at her that way? Like he’ll destroy the world as long as she stays safe?
My nipples peak under his scrutiny, hardening to the point they ache, and then something hot covers them.
His cum.
It paints my breasts and drips down my stomach and to my throbbing pussy.
I almost cry with disappointment at realizing he did this so he wouldn’t have to fuck me.
As if my thoughts are written all over my face, Adrian wipes the blood from the corner of my lip. “If you carry on with this behavior, you’ll never get my cock, Lenochka.”
I close my eyes to keep from crying in frustration, both at myself and him. Why the hell am I so disappointed that he didn’t fuck me?
I shouldn’t. I hate him.
Adrian releases my hands and they fall limp on either side of me. He disappears into the bathroom, and my eyes start to droop, exhaustion getting the better of me. Then I make out his silhouette reappearing beside me. He’s all tucked in his pants as if nothing happened.
A first aid kit dangles from his right hand and a wet cloth from his left. He gently removes my shredded top and bra before he wipes his cum off my chest. I want to release a sound—I don’t know what, but I trap it inside.
After he’s finished, he turns me over, and I sigh in contentment as the pressure eases off my ass. He applies something cold to it, and I hiss when it burns.
“It’ll go away in a second.”
I mumble something that sounds like a protest, but then I’m drifting off as he continues rubbing it over my ass in soothing circles.
His fingers are long, slightly calloused, and feel way too good. They shouldn’t. They really shouldn’t.