I winced, bucked, shivered, and tightened my body, readying myself for his rage.
And it came.
“Bitch!” He shoved the knife’s hilt roughly inside me.
Silently, I screamed yet aloud, I breathed harshly, shaking until the taste of blood filled my mouth from the teeth clamping down on my tongue. And even as I felt the blood soak my thighs, I didn’t give in to tears.
“One of these days, I will drink this fucking blood and then you’ll fucking cry for me.” The knife flew across the room before his hands gripped my waist and his big body crushed my little one. A second later, his cock slid into a pussy slippery with blood, and while I stared at the ceiling, aware that even death was afraid to come knocking on this door, he fucked me like the demon he was.
Although the agony never stopped, each time he degraded me in this way, my body adapted, blocking it out. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held on, warning my body not to vomit, begging it to stay strong, pleading for it to withstand the pain.
“One day,” he panted, smearing the blood from all the cuts with his body as he thrust hard and fast. “I’ll keep you alive to watch until you fucking cry to die, giving me those tears. Isn’t that what you want, kitten.” He smacked me, and my eyes opened to stare at him. “To die?”
“No, Master,” I gurgled on the blood coating my mouth. If I said yes, he would taunt me, bring me close to it until I suffered but not give me what I needed.
I died a long time ago. I don’t remember the actual moment or how it happened, still, the writhing corpse under this man deserved the mercy of decay a coffin would bring just for the peace its soul had never known.
“No!” His laugh was loud and harsh, his tone mocking my lie. “I will win, kitten. I always do.” His punishing cock grinding inside me, his mouth found my shoulder, biting hard until I jerked against the handcuff, pinning me down. He reared back onto his knees, blood from the bite rimming his bottom lip before he pulled out and emptied himself over my body, face, and hair.
Rubbing his palms over my skin, he mixed his cum with my blood before he stuck two fingers in. “Clean them,” he ordered. I did as he asked, begging myself not to vomit. He them and climbing off the bed. “Get your fucking self cleaned up.” After he uncuffed one of my hands, he moved away to dress.
Still trembling, I tried to move my free hand to uncuff the other. It lifted and fell back down, the strength to try again, leaving my body.
Master returned to the side of the bed and smiled. That sick parting of his lips gave his handsome face an evil look bound to haunt me for the rest of my life. I could only compare his looks to the men he sold me to. Unlike them, Master was a pretty man. If only his soul weren’t so black like theirs.
The sad part. I loved him. Because in my little world, he was my everything. He took care of me. I was the doll he pampered, and his playtime was whenever he said it was. Whether I was sick, hurting, or on my period didn’t matter to him. He would choose whether it was his turn with my body or his guests.
That meant he’d clip my nails, shave under my arms and my pussy or trim the hair there, depending on the guest’s preference. After, he rubbed my whole body with nice smelling cream, brushed my hair, painted my face with make-up and then put on a pretty dress, the only time I got to wear something other than my black tunics.
“We have a new guest coming tomorrow, kitten.” He rolled a finger over my nipple.
Like always, my heartbeat picked up speed, dread pumping through my veins, settling low in my stomach and twisting my insides. Master, I’d learned to cope with. Guests, not so much. Because I never knew who they were or what they planned. Sometimes they were agonizingly long and occasionally quick, yet they were never gentle. Pain was always their goal, leaving my body bleeding or too sore to move.
“How will you greet him?”
“On my knees, hands clasped in my lap with my head bowed, and my eyes closed,” I replied.
“And what will you call him?”
“Sir.”
“And will you ever look him in the eye?”
“No, Master.”
“Why?”
“It’s disrespectful.”
“Will you touch him without permission?”
“No, Master.”
“Will you stop him touching you?”
“No, Master.” I could if I wanted to, but then Master’s punishment would leave me either bleeding for days or unable to walk.
“And after he’s done with you, what do you say?”
