I was waiting patiently. He was never this late coming down. I had been sitting there for hours-infact I’d been there for two years.
I remember it like it was yesterday, he’d bundled me into the car. I’d just left my friends house and the air was warm and the sun was just setting in it’s lazy British mid-summer way. I was looking forward to getting into my cosy bed at home. I was terrified, I cried, I fought. I was 17. Things have changed since then.
At first he was cruel, he threatened constantly and paced like a wild animal in a cage. He was anxious and contemplative. He hit me, tied me up and took my virginity violently. He sodomised and slapped me, cursing like a maniac. He inserted all sorts into my tight hole as I was tied up and left me in the same way for days, coming back often and torturing me before relieving himself inside me.
He was like a sex addict and had me naked all of the time, entering me in whatever position I was in at the moment his dick got hard…and it was hard a lot. He told me he’d killed before, that he enjoyed it and he’d gotten me for the same reason. I thought he was going to kill me countless times, he had ran knives over my throat , tied ropes around my neck and nearly smothered me with pillows…but the murder never happened… I was so thankful for it.
Over time he’d stopped being so hateful and violence was rarer, but he had a taste for sadism and I had decided to comply because I didn’t want to upset him. He still threatened to kill me when he wasn’t happy. He read all sorts to me by candlelight-all the works of the Marquis De Sade were his favourite… he’d read Justine to me countless times and liked to emulate the actions within it, thankfully just him and no other men. I missed my family, but he constantly reminded me of the fact they wouldn’t have tried this hard to keep me. He said there’d been no coverage in the press either.
Then he even started to let me wear a nightie and plain knickers around the room when he wasn’t there-and at rare times when he was. Sometimes he let me upstairs to his sitting room, bathroom and kitchen but always at night and he said he didn’t trust me and never would trust me to not run away. He’d taken me to the back garden only four times in the sunshine and with my legs tied. It was the first time he did that when I’d seen vast countryside through a gap in the hedge, I still had no idea where I was. I’d lost so much weight by the third month he fed me more regularly and often brought me treats.
He shared cups of tea with me while I sat on his knee and he’d let me have a newspaper if he was in a good mood. He made a point of pointing out all the awful things people were doing outside whilst holding me tightly to him. I feared the world outside far more than this familiar treatment after a time, it was the only sure thing in my life-him and there. I know he loved me, I loved him too. He wouldn’t have spent so many years looking after me and talking to me every day if there was no love… would he?
I heard the door click and I jumped up. He walked towards me, arms outstretched and embraced my naked body firmly and then guided me towards the sofa in the corner and sat me on his lap. He wasn’t a bad looking man, mid-40’s and a little too slim. All dark hair and intense eyes. He was always smartly-dressed and smelled nice. I liked to think he’d made the effort for me.
His trousers felt itchy on my bare crotch and his skinny hands on my thigh and waist felt comforting and warm. He smelt of Old Spice, Brylcreem and faintly of cider. I snuggled into his shirt and felt calm at last.
“Hungry?” he asked me, his dark eyes burning into me. “So much so!” I answered, lowering my gaze to his hand on my thigh as it slid upwards to my pussy-which had gotten some hair on it over the past few days. He ran his finger over it and shook his head “you can have some water and whatever else…after I’ve shaved you” he sighed.
He liked being able to see my clit and to touch it constantly, if there was hair there he wouldn’t be able to have done so with so much ease.
I lay on my creaky bed, and opened my legs, he put out his cigarette by stamping it into the floor then removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up and approached the bed with razor and oil in hand.
He lifted my knees up to get a better view and then smeared a handful of oil all over my pussy and rubbed my clit hard with his palm whilst doing so. He carefully dragged the razor over the mound and held my neat lips together as he slid the razor further down. He looked at his handiwork and he must have been pleased with it because he put two fingers in me and worked them in and out breathing heavily at the wet sound as he forced a third finger in.
He withdrew them and stood up “Alright then, you can have something now” he strode over to the sofa and pulled a bottle of water out of a carrier bag. Walking back towards me he screwed the lid off the water and sat and put the bottle to my lips. I gulped it down, I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was until I felt it go down my throat. He raised his eyebrows and slightly nodded. Waiting for something.
“Thank you” I gasped, elated by the cool sensation of the water in my stomach.
“Good girl” he cooed, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand and then running it over my hair all the way down to my arse, he wouldn’t cut it-he wanted it long the whole time.
“A..any food?” the words escaped my lips without me thinking. He looked up, eyes darkened by a familiar anger and he pulled me up off the bed by my neck and back-handed twice me across the head. I crumbled on the floor, not crying… just avoiding another.
“You are an ungrateful little slut” he hissed “Why can’t you wait until I tell you what I’ve brought?” He looked upset now.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry Stewart…” I knew it was wrong, I hadn’t been thinking. I looked at the floor in shame.
His hands were under my armpits and lifted me up on to the bed again “Don’t do that. You treat me like an idiot” he sighed.
He wandered over to the drawer in the opposite corner to me and opened it, surveying the implements inside. “Up!” he demanded. I scrambled off bed. “On all fours then” he sounded impatient, like I was supposed to be psychic.
I got down on the floor on my hands and knees and arched my back for him, pushing my arse out to please him.
He looked in to the drawer again, he was muttering to himself and laughing at random intervals. He picked out a riding crop and approached me.
“How do you know this isn’t the day I will kill you, dismember you and throw you into the woods?” He let out a low laugh, a chilling laugh and my heart pounded. “Those other girls, they didn’t have a chance” he jokingly lamented.
He drew his arm back and thrashed me across the back, I was silent-biting my lip and screwing my face. He then started rapidly whacking me everywhere-my shoulders, my arsecheeks, my legs. He cursed and shouted every obscenity under the sun. He wanted blood. He kicked me in the side of my body and continued to flog me. His dick, I knew, was getting harder with every strike. He had nobody to answer to, nobody to explain himself to. He loved it.
All of a sudden, his face changed and he lifted me up off the floor again. I often wondered about his split personality.
He then sat me on his lap, facing away from him and dragged my legs open with his feet, wedging his shoes under my ankle to keep me open. I could feel his dick was hard underneath me.
“Sorry, love” he groaned into my ear, nuzzling his face against my cheek and kissing softly. He firmly kissed my neck and I winced as he forcefully kissed a part of my neck that was bruised from his biting me a couple of days before in anger at not ‘showing any enthusiasm’ His hand went down to my smooth pussy and he dug a finger down so it was hard against my clit, there was still oil all over it and inside. He rubbed frantically, urging it to harden and then lifted me off him and onto the bed then got his face down between my legs and flicked it with his tongue and slipped a finger into me working it hard and then pulling it out and licking my juices off. He buried his tongue in me and spat mouthfuls of spit onto the hole and let it drip down over my arsehole and onto the bed.
He opened his belt and climbed on top and started thrusting only the tip of his dick into me slowly-his knees held him above me, the hard head of it felt as though it were popping me open everytime it left my hole. His hands caressed my shoulders, but as my pussy got slicker he started pounding maniacally. The long, spindly fingers of his right hand twisted my nipple whilst the other hand was underneath cupping my arse and then pulled me open so his thrusts go deeper.
I wanted to slow him, but he might have gotten mad. That was neither the time nor the place to upset him. He was trying to get a finger in my other hole whilst pounding away, the hole was wet from the spit and he forced it in. I hated it, he knew it. He forced up another.
I could have cried from the searing pain, he had gone mad on it just days ago and it still felt raw, it was exacerbated further when he pushed in a third finger… but I couldn’t. I refused to. He was holding them in like he wanted to feel the motions of his own dick inside me and he was swearing and jolting like a maniac.
Why? I don’t know, I could hardly ask.
He pulled his fingers out, and also his dick-moving it down to where his fingers had so painfully been before. He was flat out and panting. As the head eased in I closed my eyes. With every slow inch I bit my lip harder. Relax, relax.
“You’re mine, you’ll always be mine. You’ve only ever had me, and you will only ever have me” He reminded me.
The fluid motion was just not there,… it was a jerky and heaving, painful sting, but he was balls deep in it, and my tense and tightening muscles render his groans louder and longer. His head was back, his face looked like he was in intense agony as he rode up into me. I can’t say I was not pleased to be pleasing him, despite the fact my head was reeling from both hunger and the blows.
He felt so heavy and overbearing for a man so lacking in weight. He hadn’t looked me in the eyes for ages, He was rolling my nipple in his teeth and his large hand on my small breasts made him feel all the more domineering to me.
He lifted himself up and pushed my legs back, holding my ankles-discarding my body and just hammering away at the hole. He spat on it and increased the pounding, sometimes pulling out to the base of the head and slamming the whole length back in. Never fully out… he wouldn’t even give me even a seconds rest. He forced his thumb into my pussy, riving me back and forth with it and then reached over and covered my face with a pillow. He continued to jerk dementedly until I felt his hot cum go right up into me, he pulled out and put his mouth to the hole, licking his own spunk up as it started to dribble out.
He got up onto his feet and fastened his belt again, smiling contentedly and then stroked my hair. I wiped myself on a towel and climbed into the bed. I hoped he’d get in with me and hold me while I slept.
“I’m going out for a drink” he declared. “I will be back in a couple of hours, so don’t sleep” he said in a low, almost threatening tone. I hated it when he’d been drinking, he got too dominant. It could sometimes get scary, especially if he procured some Viagra and/or speed. Yes, he was perverted but he could be so thoughtful and caring at times. The good outshone the bad, but I knew it was going to be a long night.
I watched him leave the room, dreading his return.