19. Conrad
T he drive home gives me time to calm my rage, though not enough. My knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel too hard, and my jaw aches from clenching it for the past hour.
I knew she’d try it, I bloody knew it. It’s why I laid the trap, I needed to show her how useless her fight is, how futile it all is. But deep down, there was a part of me that hoped she wouldn’t dare, hoped that perhaps she was accepting her situation.
Every mile closer to home just reminds me of her betrayal, of her stupidity, of her utter lack of gratitude for everything I've given her.
The guards nod as I pass, and I know from their reports exactly what happened. How she tried to slip past them, how she fought like a wildcat when they caught her. Good. Let her learn the hard way that there is no escape.
When I get to our bedroom, she's curled up in the window seat, staring out at the grounds below like a prisoner counting the bars of her cage. Which, I suppose, she is.
"Did you really think you could just walk out?" I ask, letting the door slam behind me.
She jumps at my voice, spinning around with those big doe eyes that usually make my cock hard. Right now, they just fuel my anger.
"I want to go home," she whispers, and it's the wrong fucking thing to say.
"This is your home." I snarl, crossing the room in three strides, grabbing her by the throat as I force her to face me. "Or have you forgotten that you're my wife now?"
"Please, I jer-jer-just want…"
"What you want doesn't matter." I snarl, closing the distance between our faces. "What matters is what I want, and what I want is my wife to show some fucking gratitude for everything I've given her."
A tear slides down her cheek. It’s soft, delicate, just like the rest of her but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy. "Give, give, given me? You've imprisoned me." She gasps.
"I've saved you." The words explode out of me. "I’ve fucking saved you. Your family never gave a shit about you. Your grandfather would happily have shipped you off to Oblivion the second you stepped out of line. Your aunt actively tried to destroy you. I'm the only one who's ever protected you."
"Pro-protected me?" She tries to wrench free, but I hold her tighter. "You raped me."
"I claimed what was mine." I state. I'm not a rapist, at least not hers. I'm her husband. She was born to be mine, destined for it. I have every right to touch her, to take her, to teach her. She needs to understand that her body, her life, her everything belongs to me now. This was God’s path, his intention. He created her for me and me alone.
But she's not ready to hear that. Not yet.
No, she wants to push me. To test me. To see if I’ll just give in to her pretty face and sad tears.
I guess she’s about to learn another lesson.
I push her back, push her hard and she lands half on the bed, half off it. A squeal escapes her and she tries to scramble free but I pin her down, holding her in place with one hand.
She’s so fragile, so easy to overpower. I don’t know why she even bothers fighting when she knows she doesn’t stand a chance against me.
Her legs kick out as she tries to wrangle free but I’m on top of her, in her, consuming her.
I know they say makeup sex is meant to be good, but hate fucking - that’s just as satisfying.
And right now, I do hate her, I hate that she makes me hurt her, that she makes me force her. If she just behaved the way a wife should, I’d treat her like a queen.
I can feel her insides protesting, refusing to give way and I force myself harder inside her. If I have to tear every inch of her apart, if I have to make her bleed, then by god I will.
She screams more, scratching at the sheets like a wild animal.
“This is your fault.” I hiss into her ear. “You’re the one making me do this. Making me hurt you.”
She spits back words that are muffled, incomprehensible.
“You want to go home.” I repeat, “You want to run back to your family. Well, I am your family now, I am everything.” I slam into her, emphasising each of those words. I am her entire world and the sooner she accepts that, the better it’ll be for both of us.
“You’re hurting me.” She screams, like I’m not doing it on purpose.
“You deserve this.” I reply, wrapping a hand around her hair, tightening my grip enough to ensure she feels every bit of the pressure. “You deserve this pain, Brynn. You deserve everything you get.”
The little bitch is still fighting, still resisting.
I pull her head back, and then push her face hard into the duvet, lowering my mouth so that it’s right in line with her ear.
“I’m going to keep doing this, keep hurting you until you accept this, until your belly is fat with my child and you’re eager to please.”
I thrust into her, that thought spurring me on. Of her pregnant, her body swollen and ripe. Christ, she’ll look so perfect, so fucking beautiful. I groan out, imagining the feel of her soft skin, the plumpness of her breasts. I’ll have to be careful with her then; I won’t be able to fuck her nearly as hard for fear of hurting my child. Perhaps she can ride me, she can climb onto my cock and bounce merrily while I cradle that life growing inside her.
Yeah, she’ll be obedient then. She’ll be a good little wife. Once she’s pregnant, then she’ll give in. Once she’s pregnant, then all this pathetic rebellion will cease.
She whimpers again and I push myself into her one final time before letting my release take over me.
My dick jerks, my body shudders and all I can think about is my seed inside her, seeking out the most precious of targets.
I slump forward engulfing her body. She smells so sweet, so floral, as though she were an innocent flower and not a disobedient little bitch. For a moment I lay there, breathing her in, devouring that scent as if I could devour her soul.
And then I get to my feet, staring down at where she’s still laying. She won’t win me over with her sweetness. Afterall, what is the saying? Spare the rod, spoil the child? That’s exactly the case with my wife. I spare her any lessons, and all it will do is spoil her further.
“Get up.”
She doesn’t move. She just curls up more, sniffing into the covers.
“Get up now, and accept the rest of your punishment like a good girl, or I can drag you to Oblivion and let every man there have a turn."
Her eyes widen in horror, and I can see the fear in them. Good. She should be afraid, Oblivion is no place for a girl like her. She's too soft, too innocent. She wouldn't last a fucking day.
Not that I intend to hand her over. No, I’d sooner put a bullet in her skull than ever let another man touch her, but my sweet little wife doesn’t know that.
"What's your choice, Brynn?" I ask, my voice deceptively calm. "Are you going to be a good girl for me, or am I going to have to teach you another lesson the hard way?"
She swallows hard, and I can see the struggle in her eyes. She wants to defy me, to fight me, but she's not stupid. She knows what awaits her at Oblivion.
"I'll b-b-be good," she stutters in a broken whisper, and it's like music to my ears.
"Prove it." I taunt as I sit down on the edge of the bed and pat my lap. "Come here."
She hesitates for a moment, and I raise an eyebrow. "Do you need me to drag you over here, Brynn? Because I fucking will."
She shakes her head and slowly moves towards me. Her hands are shaking as she places them on my thighs, and I can feel the heat of her skin through my pants.
"You tried to run," I say, running a hand over her beautiful ass. "You need to understand that there are consequences for your actions."
She nods, and I can see the tears welling up in her eyes again. Good. Let her cry. Let her learn.
"I'm going to spank you now," I say, and she tenses. "Ten times. You're going to count each one, and you're going to thank your husband for teaching you this lesson."
She whimpers, but she doesn't fight me as I guide her down over my lap. Her ass is perfect, round and firm, and I can't wait to see it turn red under my hand.
"Count, Brynn," I say, bringing my hand down hard on her left cheek. I want her to feel every moment of this. I want her to feel what the consequences of her behaviour are for days.
She gasps, her body jerking in my lap. "One," she squeaks out.
"Thank you," I prompt.
"Th-thank you," she whispers.
I bring my hand down again, this time on her right cheek. "T-two. Than-thank you."
I tilt my head, staring at where her lower lips are on display for me. I can see it, my come dripping out. My fingers brush against her and she whimpers again in fear.
“I can touch where I like.” I state.
She sniffs, nodding, submitting like she has a say in this.
With two fingers I penetrate her, pushing my come back inside. She won’t get pregnant if she lets it all out now, will she?
She squirms enough for me to notice so I dig them deep into her inner walls, hoping she feels the strain. Daring her to protest.
With my right hand, I strike her again and she shrieks like she expected her spanking to be over. As if I’d be that easy on her.
I curl my fingers, focusing on her g-spot and her body locks up, though I can’t tell if it’s from fear or pleasure. If she comes now, I’ll let her go. I’ll call us even. But if the little bitch refuses, well then, it’s fair game.
Her breath hitches, her hands dig into the sheet like she’s trying to master herself and for one beautiful moment, I think I have won. I think I have beaten her.
Only, she clamps down on her lip, biting painfully hard to stifle the impending orgasm, and the last of my mercy dissolves with her show of insolence.
“You wanna be a little bitch?” I whisper. “Then fine,”
My hand comes down harder. The sound of my palm meeting her arse reverberates around the room, and she screams again.
“Thank me.” I command. “Count each one and fucking thank me.”
Her voice is pitiful, broken. I can hear from the way she’s stammering so much that she’s taken far more than she can handle. But that again, is her own damned fault.
She tried to run. She tried to leave me. After everything I've done for her, after everything I've given her, she still thought she could just walk away. My anger flares more with every blow.
We continue like that, her voice getting louder with each strike, her body trembling more and more violently. By the time we reach ten, her arse is a beautiful shade of red, and she's sobbing openly.
"Good girl," I say, rubbing her back gently. "You took your punishment well. At least at the end."
She hiccups, trying to catch her breath, and I can feel the heat radiating off her skin. I want to bend her over and fuck her again, claim her as mine once more.
But I know she won’t be able to handle that. She won’t be able to take it. As much as I want her to hurt, I don’t want to ruin her entirely.
Instead, I lift her up and cradle her in my arms. She's so small, so fragile, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt for what I've just done. But she needed to learn. She needed to understand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, burying her face in my chest. "I'm so, so, sorry."
"I know," I say, stroking her hair. "And I forgive you. But if you do that again, if you try to run, then I will hurt you more, do you understand? I will beat your arse raw, I will rip your back open if that’s what it takes. You are mine, Brynn. And you’re not going anywhere."
She looks up at me, her eyes rimmed with red, her cheeks stained with tears.
I don’t want to do that, to mar her skin. To permanently damage her. But if she forces my hand, then I will. I will break her bones, I will cut her flesh, I will fucking snap her spine in half so that she’s paralysed and can’t move at all.
“Say it.” I growl. “Say that you understand.”
"I, I understannnd." she says, and I can see the sincerity in her gaze.
"Good girl," I say again, and I press a kiss to her forehead. "Now, let's get you cleaned up."
I carry her into the bathroom and set her down on the counter. She winces as her arse touches the cold marble, but she knows better than to complain. I run a washcloth under warm water and gently clean her face, wiping away the remnants of her tears.
She watches me silently, her eyes never leaving mine, and I can see the trust building in her gaze.
Once she's clean, I help her off the counter and lead her back to the bedroom. She's still naked, her body shaking from both the adrenaline and the cold. I guide her to the bed and pull back the covers, gesturing for her to get in.
She hesitates for a moment, looking up at me with those big doe eyes.
"Get some sleep," I say, pulling the duvet over her. "Tomorrow is a new day."
As I step back, I see that micro expression of surprise and I have to suppress a smile at her reaction. So, she wanted me to join her. She wanted me to comfort her. Is that how she imagined this would end, us curled up with my arms around her, holding her?
My fingers flex, and my dick responds to that. But she needs to learn that her pleasure, her wants, her needs, are all secondary to mine.
I lean down, planting a kiss on her forehead, and I can't help but feel a pang of tenderness towards her despite my anger.
She nods, snuggling down into the pillows, and I can see the exhaustion written all over her face.
I watch her for a moment longer, and then I turn and leave the room, locking the door behind me.
She’s going nowhere now, she’s not taking a single step in this house without my say so. She thought she had a prison before, now she’s going to learn what it means to push my buttons.