A muscled worked in her jaw. She wouldn’t look at him.
“Does he like it that way, too? Does he like a bit of dirty talk? Does he call you a slut, just when he’s into you, just before you come? Gives you a bit of roughing up, a little bit of, ’you slut’, ’you bitch’, gives you a few slaps? He’d like that, don’t you think?”
“He’s not like that,” she said.
“Like what? Like me? Let me tell you something, sweetheart. They’re all like me. You’re nothing but a hole to fuck, just a slut and animal, like all women. You got to remember that to every man you’re nothing but hot cunt. That’s all you’ll ever be.
“It’s that hungry pussy of yours. That’s what gets you into trouble. It makes it so you can’t help but love the man beatin’ up on you and fuckin’ you, making you want it. That’s what your body is made for, that and giving birth. That’s what men see when they look at you. They all want to stick their cocks in you, even your daddy.”
Angry tears burned the backs of her eyes, followed by a feeling of panic. He leaped on her and crushed her face in his hand. “You ever look at me that way again, you little bitch, and I’ll cut you so bad your boyfriend couldn’t be paid to let you suck his dick!”
He shoved her away, and kept eating ice cream as if nothing had happened.
She stared at him in shock, then hid her face in her hands, murmuring brokenly, “What do you want from me? What do you want?”
He suddenly stood up. He disappeared into the kitchen. She heard water drumming into a kettle or something. In a moment he came out with it. It was steaming. He grabbed hold of her hand.
“What are you doing?” she cried. She fought him, pulling and twisting, screaming no no. She was strong. She was still strong. But he straddled her arm, her face pressed against his backside, and he poured boiling water slowly over her hand and fingers. She screamed and strained desperately to break free behind him. He let her go and she fell back, clutching her hand, making torn sounds from her throat that she couldn’t even recognize as her own. It just kept burning.
She was rolling, and squirming trying to get away from the pain. He kneeled on her chest to make her still, holding her head back by her hair to make her look up at him. She sobbed making deep sounds of agony.
“Stop crying! Stop crying or I’ll do it again,” he said. He kept her face tilted up toward him. Tears kept rolling down.
He stuck her hand in a bucket of ice water. It helped. It numbed everything. Her hand was red, the colour of pain, and white blisters were showing up over the back of it and on her fingers. He raged around the room tearing at things and swearing. Then he stopped and looked at her. His brown eyes were shot with red. “You shouldn’t of pissed me off,” he said with some emotion.
He stayed away from her all night and all the next day. He didn’t touch her, except to put burn treatment cream on her hand and bandage it. He fed her and gave her water. She didn’t move much. This unfamiliar aching weakness was alien to her, and her wounded hand frightened her. She hoped it wasn’t too bad. But most of all she was afraid of what he was capable of and how far his violence would escalate if she triggered him.
It was late afternoon when he wanted to take her outside. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to her feet. “I know you’re tired, and a bit weak, but you’ve got to move,” he said.
“Um… Okay,” she whispered. He walked her to the front door and took her outside. The sunlight seemed really bright and unnatural. She let him hold her in his arms, clasp her close against him.
“You’re not so scared of me anymore?” he said quietly.
“No. I’m not scared.”
“I got you somethin’. It’s still in the truck.” He led her over, holding her by the hand. The grass was sharp like prickles under her feet and she walked gingerly. He opened the car door and leaned in, still holding her with one hand. He pulled out a white linen summer dress with lace trim and spaghetti straps. He got her to lift her arms and slipped it over her head, careful of her bandaged hand. She pulled the dress down the rest of the way by herself. It was light and comfortable and so strange to be wearing. It almost made her cry.
“You like it, baby?” he asked.
She nodded, choked up.
“You look so fucking pretty,” he said. He raised his left arm, and nestled her nape in the crook of his elbow, and pulled her face, her trembling lips, right up to him, tight, and planted another kiss on her, a soft and wet one.
“I don’t want to do nasty shit to you,” he said pityingly, as if he were comforting a child. “You just got to be real careful not to trigger me.” He gathered her hair in his hand, and burrowed his face in neck. “Say you love me,” he pleaded. “Say it, baby. Say it.”
Only his voice forced her. Her senses were entirely shut off from him.
“Tell me you love me,” he said. “Say it, even if you don’t mean it—say it Nicole, say you love me.”
“I love you,” she said, in real agony, forcing the words out.
He picked her up as he had when he first brought her here, just over a week ago, and stood clutching her tightly to him. Her arms were around his neck, and her face lay on his shoulder. Holding her around the waist with one arm, he smoothed his other hand up and down the curves of her thigh, and under her dress to her naked bottom. “Do you want me to fuck you? Tell me.”
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered.
He carried her back to the house. She didn’t make a sound. She was too broken up inside, torn into pieces. He set her down on the mattress but didn’t chain her or take off her dress. He dropped first to his knees, then he lay on top of her. Guiding his dick with his right hand, he pushed it about the lips of her pussy. Then, tightening his grip under her shoulders with his left arm, he slowly lowered himself. As she felt his shaft press between the inner lips of her pussy, she uttered a sobbing groan. She was tight and closed. Suddenly something seemed to give way inside and his prick glided well up her cunt, and he settled down on her body.
“Oh, you feel how that just slid in?” he said. “You see? It feels good when you relax.” He began to move slowly. “Put your arms around my neck.” She put her arms around him. “Just keep kissing me,” he said. He moved his mouth over hers with prolonged, adoring kisses.
She was loosening up, but just a bit, and was getting moist down there. He clutched her harder. He lifted his face to her and watched as she made efforts to stay relaxed. She didn’t want to hurt any more.
“I love you, I fucking love you!” he said. He clamped his hand around her throat. “Are you thinking of that other prick? Is that who you’re screwing right now!”
He pumped her harder and harder. His large eyes were open and inflicted on her a red, raging look. She clutched his hand at her throat, and shook her head. He released his hold slightly. “Tell me you want me to fuck you. I want to hear you say it.”
“I want you to fuck me,” she said, gasping.
He hid himself against her, thrusting blindly. “Bitch, bitch, bitch. You’re such a fucking bitch,” he said and he fell forward on her breast as he came helplessly.
In a minute he chained her up again, and she sat restless. She wanted to get up and walk. “If you unchained me, I could do some cleaning or something, would you like that? I want to move around a bit.”
He was fiddling with an oily car part on the coffee table. “You already did just move around a bit,” he said. “That’s a real pretty dress you got on there, don’t mess it up.”
Chapter 8
That night instead of slinking off after he’d finished with her, he simply eased to one side, leaving his arm draped about her waist and she felt his breath against her neck. It was not a comfortable night that she passed. He was practically in the same position the following morning. Only his hand had found its way between her warm thighs and was lodged there. He was sound asleep.