I sealed my mouth, trapping even my pained whimpers inside. I jerked with malaise, spasming silently in pain as my internal skin ripped.
The friction caused by the dryness inside me as his cock stretched me, burned me to my soul with the force of vengeful flames, searing this painful memory to me forever, ensuring one way or another, I’d burn in hell for all eternity.
I felt him twitch; I found the smallest relief in knowing the climax of this horrible nightmare was nearing.
I choked on a sob, unaware that the tightening of my entire body would pull the release from his shaft. I felt the warmth of his cum coat me internally. But he didn’t stop; he continued fucking me, pushing it deeper inside me with each thrust.
I was barely conscious and desperate to pass out. I needed a reprieve. A few seconds of peace.
“Do you understand now, who fucking owns you?” His heavy accented tone was still quiet, but his question lingered in the stillness of the space, repeating like the bland lyrics I could no longer hear.
The pop music had been killed in the next room, those listening had gone out to celebrate something other than its death. The floor was silent. There was no one around to hear me scream. So, I didn’t even try. Fear had stolen the only thing Hell hadn’t—my voice.
He didn’t want to steal that.
He enjoyed hearing and ignoring my pleas far too much to take what voiced them.
I concealed myself, wrapping my arms around my body, and giving myself the hug I needed. I looked back, peeping my dark eyes through my strands of chocolate-colored hair, and I mouthed the words, “You do.”
“And what is my fucking name?”
“Hell. Your name is Hell, and I belong to you.”
He slowed to a stop, placing a kiss on my nose.
“I do. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” He spoke to me like a gentle lover, a caring smile on his face—a mirage disguising his real emotions. The gentle tone wasn’t for me; it was for him. It was a way to subside his own agony.
He finally reeled back. Pulling out of me and leaving me vacant, giving my pain room to grow.
I felt a trickle creep down my legs in a slow-moving stream. A salty, metallic stench entered my nose as I breathed in heavy gulps of air. A river of filth. Cum and blood. I didn’t need to look to know I was bleeding. I didn’t need to ask if I was allowed medical attention. I already had the answers to those questions, and they weren’t the ones I’d have hoped for.
His wiggling finger instructed me to follow him. His eyes warned me not to disobey, promising he’d remind me, if need be, who I belonged to.
I didn’t object. My wobbling feet trailed his shadow, traversing to the grand bathroom.
I stepped from carpet to tiles, from warm to cold, and I felt the shift within myself.
I felt my mind shut back down.
My mind couldn’t cope with all the abuse put on my body. I struggled to deal with not only my trauma but the idea of beinghisproperty.
I was owned. . . by the man who could rival the devil.
Hell
The water was hot, the bubbles high, hiding her body like a blanket. A safety blanket, keeping her safe from me. That wouldn’t work. Nothing would work. Nothing would keep me from her again, not the life she desperately craved, or even my death.
Her body was frozen, ice beneath my touch.
“We have to get you clean. You have to look your best.” I couldn’t deny the fact I missed her cleaner look. I liked dirtiness, I guess. But uncleanliness was never the kind of dirtiness that got me off.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t bow down and agree to my commands, nor did she object them. She sat silently, her body in the water, her mind somewhere else. “What are you thinking about?” I falsified a gentle approach, speaking to her like she was a damn child that needed mollycoddling.
The approach made my skin crawl. It felt alien. . . wrong, like I was betraying who I was. Dishonesty was surely a sin. My father had told me so. . . though he’d also told me so many lies I’d forgotten every truth I’d ever heard.
The ring of dirt lingering on the tub above the warm water, told me it had been a while since her last bath. Scents of strawberry and lemon danced in the water, eliminating the aroma of her suffering—good, because I hated that fucking smell.
“What are you thinking about, hmm?” I asked again, sitting at the bath ledge, trying to penetrate her thoughts. I wanted to push them from her brain and invade the space they occupied.
