“Doesn’t that feel good?”
I can’t nod. Can’t move my head at all without it tearing at my scalp. My hum of agreement has to do.
He thrusts inside me, gentler than normal. Or maybe it’s the same, and I just forgot. The worst of my memories bobbing to the top when there should be a variety running the gamut from amazing to atrocious.
“Here’s your surprise,” he whispers, clicking on a remote so the screen in front of me bursts into life. A porno. Some poor dozy kid getting the life fucked out of them. I close my eyes but Wilbur tugs at my hair until I open them again. “Don’t you look happy?”
My heart freezes. The angle on screen changes so I get a clear view of the kid’s face.
My face.
My smile.
I choke out a sob as my enlarged likeness parades herself back and forth in front of Wilbur like he’s the front seat at a fashion show.
I don’t remember the cameras.
Did I forget? Did he hide them?
My head jerks against his hold as my eyes desperately scan the room we’re in. Are they in here? Are they filming me right now?
I can’t breathe. My chest is wound too tight to inflate. The screen dims, the room dims, my consciousness screws down to a single point of light.
“Listen to your laughter,” Wilbur says, emitting a chuckle that contains absolutely no humour. “Look how happy you are.”
He tilts my head and I’m able to gasp in a breath, my surroundings coming back into high definition.
He’s right. My happiness on the screen looks a hundred percent genuine. It’s been years since I could do that. Years where the self-hatred in my soul spilled out to stain everything with its blackness.
My eyes drift closed again, and Wilbur tugs my hair, harder this time. “You watch. I want you to come while you’re watching yourself. You hear me?”
I choke out some answer. I don’t know what. He’s slamming into me now. The new torture giving him impetus.
Every time I stay away too long, he makes me pay. And this time has been the longest I ever stayed away before.
“Is this what you wanted to do with that boy?” he asks, the vicious words said straight into my ear. Impossible to avoid. “Did you want him to shove you against the wall of the service station and fuck you like this?”
“What boy?” I ask and I have to swallow a scream as my neck is craned back so far, the bones of my neck rub against each other. “I haven’t been—”
“I saw you. Dressed like a slut. Letting his eyes travel all over you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You ever let another boy touch you, I’ll send this video everywhere. Let the entire world know how much of a slut you are. Let them see how much you like me to fuck you. So desperate that you called me on the phone to beg.”
My eyes screw up tight and he draws out of me, dragging me backwards by my hair until I’m on my knees. He lets go and my scalp cries in relief, then cries as the blood flows into the follicles, causing a backlash of reverse pain that stings just as hard as when he was pulling.
“Open your eyes,” he snarls in my ear, and I drag my lids apart, letting them water so much I can’t see clearly. The only defence I have left.
His thick fingers clamp between my legs, so rough that I cry out, but his other hand circles my throat, choking me so the noise cuts off as abruptly as it began.
“You’re going to watch yourself and you’re going to come and once you’ve rested, you’re going to do it again. And again. And again.”
The happy girl on the screen twists around, laughing as Wilbur tickles her. Not that you can see it’s him. He’s carefully kept or cropped his face out of every shot. She collapses on the floor, squealing, then again harder as he pulls her back against him, makes her hand wrap around his cock and begin tugging.
I didn’t know he was filming me. Didn’t know there were any cameras.
Is he doing it now? Recording me watching my image on screen. The thought makes me sick.
