“Fuck… you,” he wheezes.
Pretty sure he has a few broken ribs, too, but I’ve been careful not to mess him up too bad. I want him to suffer, and if I hurt him too much, he’ll die. Which is what I’m trying to avoid. He’ll go when I’m ready for him to go.
“It’s only been three weeks. How much more of this can you take?” I question.
He scowls.
“Fine. Have it your way.” I stand to my full height. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll give in soon enough. I have a new plan for you, and I’m sure you’re just going to love it.”
I’ve been coming every day, torturing him in a different way, feeding him a little, and making sure he drinks water. Sometimes I have to pour it down his throat. I refuse to let him die like this. He hasn’t suffered enough. When he goes, it needs to be painful. I want him to remember it in his afterlife.
But when I leave today, I won’t come back. Not for a few days. It’ll fuck with his head. Never knowing when I’m going to come back, or if I will at all? Coming here on a schedule is too easy. Daily beatings are too easy. He knows what to expect. He can take the physical shit, that’s clear. But mentally? Guess we will see how strong he really is.
“Christmas is coming up. But you’re on the naughty list, so you ain’t getting shit.”
I laugh to myself as I walk to the other end of the small cabin, where all the tools are. Fun objects I’ve been using on him. A hammer. Ice pick. Chains. Glass bottles. Bats.
I grab the chain and wrap it around my hand a few times, then give some punches into my open fist.
“Oh, that’s going to fucking hurt,” I say as I turn around. “Especially on that right side?” I tap my rib. “That’s where the sore ones are. But what’s a little more, right?”
I lean over him, then rear back and slam my fist into his side.
He wheezes, crying out, but he doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t ask to die. All he does is breathe through it. I hit him a few more times, but get pretty fucking bored of it, if I’m honest. This isn’t as fun as I thought it would be because all I want to do is be home with Anastacia.
I’m starting to really understand why she said she wanted to forget about this and move on. Because yeah, this piece of shit deserves to die, but all I can think about is her and being withher. It’s nothing like I thought it would be. The satisfaction just isn’t there. At least, not after the first few nights, and especially not after we had our first fight.
Fuck him. He’s scum, and not worth my time.
But I can’t give up yet. Not yet. Just a little more.
“I want to hear you say it,” I say. “I need to know how fucking pathetic you are.”
“F-fuck… you.”
I straighten again, standing to my full height. I place my boot between his legs, right over his crotch, and slowly apply pressure. I watch his face, waiting for the panic to set in. It’s satisfying when it does.
“Before you die, I’m cutting this sad excuse for a dick off and shoving it down your fucking throat. Someone will find you in the woods like that, and I hope to fuck they think you choked to death on your own pathetic cock, you little bitch.”
And with those last words, I leave.
Because I just want to go home to my girl and my daughter.
A fire burns in my gut all the way home, torn between moving forward and going back.
When I’m with him, I want to go home. When I’m with her, I’m happy I’m there but it enrages me to know he’s still breathing.
I can’t fucking win. No matter what I do, I’m not satisfied.
Maybe I’ll be satisfied when he’s dead.
Or maybe I’ll forever hold onto the trauma she went through, because I fucking love her and I can’t stand to think about it.
“Fuck, yes. Right there.” My head falls back on my shoulders, the shower water raining down over my head, as I slide deeper down Anastacia’s throat. She presses against my prostate, her finger deep inside me, creating fucking magic. “Yes, yes—fuck I’m coming.”
My dick throbs, and I come so hard my vision blacks out. Her mouth tightens around me, sucking every drop of cum from my dick.
When I’m back on earth, she’s standing in front of me with a smirk.
