Chapter 22 #4
But while he’s reminding me who I belong to, beneath all of my comforting submission and fear of his violence, the true part of my soul knows I’m not ready to submit.
So I grit out the words I know will push him just a bit farther, words that will, in turn, bend my will to his hand.
“Fuck you, Hayden.”
He tuts at me, displeased as he rears back and delivers a slap to my other cheek, forcing my head to whip into the side of the bed.
He pinches my cheeks together with one hand, his chest rising and falling as he licks his lips, taking me in.
I’m a wriggling, crying mess, shocked by his sudden brutality, but dripping with it as though my body has no concept of this betrayal.
“Thank me for hitting you, and beg me to do it again,” he huffs out, his voice hard and edged with the sound of his arousal I’ve come to love.
But I can’t concede, I can only sob as my husband stares at me, one hand reared back, ready to slap, and the other coming forward to grip my throat.
“Beg,” he snarls.
“Fuck,” I pause, sobbing quietly and trying to regain my voice, “you.”
He roars, both hands finding my neck, my thighs clenching together as I gasp for air. Struggling to breathe, my vision becomes spotty as my body betrays me and nipples harden.
I can’t breathe, I can’t speak, I can barely think, it’s all too much. Too much good, too much intensity. My toes curl against the hatred coursing through my veins.
I’m so close to conceding. I’m so close to coming apart and unraveling under his touch. Am I going to orgasm from his vicious slaps alone?
I need air soon, or I’ll pass out.
The stars are approaching, and my vision is becoming spotty as I utter the words I finally truly mean, and my dripping pussy is desperate for me to say.
“Thank you, Hayden,” I cry, choking and sputtering, saliva falling to my lips as I gasp for breath, and the last sliver of my will crumbles, and he gives me a bit of space around my throat to speak, “please hit me again.”
“Hmm,” he muses like he doesn’t believe me, “I’m not sure you mean that, you little whore.”
I gulp against his palms, struggling to breathe as I thrust up to wriggle against him, hungry to be near.
“I swear it, please. Please slap me. Thank you, thank you. I’ll be good, I promise!” I cry out to him desperately, my thoughts a jumbled mess as I try to gasp in the slightest bit of air he grants me as everything turns fuzzier and fuzzier from lack of air.
And right now, I want nothing more than to be claimed. I want to forget any pain that doesn’t come from his hand because anything else isn’t real.
A sinister smile takes over his face as one of his hands leaves my throat and grants me the air I was about to pass out from lack of.
“You belong to me, you little brat. And the only thing you get to feel,” he says as he caresses my hot red cheeks, giving me a gentle rub after another painful slap, “Is what I tell you to feel. Your pain belongs to me.”
But I want to challenge him. I want his answers and his words, and if we continue down this dark path, neither of us will come up for air. But instead of challenging him, digressing, I bare my teeth and growl at him through my clenched jaw.
“Please hit me, I promise I’ll—” I beg, wanting the pain to go away, but craving more of it from his hands.
“Should I send Archie in here to use you? He would love fucking your tight little holes,” he threatens, and I cry out. Sobbing, horrible, torrential tears as I pull on my restraints. My body bows up and off the bed awkwardly, trying to get away from him.
“You wouldn’t,” I cry out.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to teach you your fucking place. If you forget who you belong to and who makes the rules, I’ll show you.”
I can’t move, I can barely breathe through the snot dripping down my face from the pain cracking in my chest. This isn’t right, this isn’t safe. This is terrifying, but instead of crying to be released, I moan.
“Does my little whore want to please me?” He asks in a dangerously soft voice, and I look up at him, finally seeing him clearly through the blur of my tears.
He is unhinged, breathtaking in his unraveling.
His hair is wild, tousled by restless hands that have been dragging through it in frustration.
A glint of steel catches my eye—a blade tucked carelessly into the waistband of his trousers, half-hidden but unmistakably present. The sight sends a thrill down my spine.
There's a circular scar on his abdomen I’ve always been curious about, but never brave enough to touch. In this light, I can almost make out a skull-and-bones brand inside it—the brand of the Bonesmen.
I fight with myself momentarily, teetering between fear and desire. How can I crave something so dangerous to me?
His eyes are cold, detached in a way that makes my blood quicken. There is something feral in his stillness, something beautiful and brutal. He looks like a man on the edge of something unspeakable, and somehow, impossibly, it makes my toes curl.
“For a moment, you seemed to think you had control here.”
I pull on my reinforcements, my eyes locked with his. His full lips look so plush, I bite my own in desire.
“I didn’t mean to misbehave,” I whisper through tears, trembling beneath the weight of his threats. A part of me believes there is no limit to how far he would go to remind me that I belong to him, to prove the extent of his control.
He comes close to my head, leaning down and licking a tear that fell from my eyes. “You didn’t mean to what?”
I gulp, breathing in his smoky skin scent, savoring it as though I can’t inhale it quickly enough.
“I didn’t mean to misbehave, sir.” I correct myself.
Suddenly, he's on me, straddling my waist. I hear the sound of his belt opening, his slacks button popping open, which makes my back arch as I grind into him, my eyes never leaving his.
Suddenly, his belt is at my neck, wrapped around my throat tightly as he pushes my panties to the side, and within seconds, I feel his thick and heavy cock nudging at my entrance after he spreads my legs around his torso.
I whimper at the hot feeling of his thick head at my entrance, but the belt around my throat tightens as he drives home, and I scream.
Fully seated inside of me, my breath is stolen. I gasp, barely breathing as I quiver around his thick cock.
“I’ve been easy on you,” he grunts, working his cock in and out of me, “But it looks like my darling wife needs more training. I’ve let you talk too freely, but it seems this beautiful little voice needs to be taken away.
” He grunts as he fucks into me, still unrelenting with the oxygen he steals.
With each thrust, it's a back and forth of the tugs at the belt wrapped around my throat.
“From now on,” he thrusts and grunts, “You’ll only speak with my permission.”
His words make me quiver around him, suddenly angry and saved by the loss of my will.
“You’re so beautiful, but a fucking mess, and it’s my fault,” still fucking me with the tender thrusts that contrast with the violence around my throat.
I sputter, thankful for the moment when he releases the belt slightly to cup my breasts as he fucks into me, and god is it incredible.
My toes curl.
He leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek as he pounds into me with a violent desperation. He fucks me so hard I’m sobbing, the head of his penis punching into the depths of my abdomen as I wish with all of my heart I could be free of the restraints.
“It hurts,” I cry into his cheek as he peppers kisses to the side of my face and neck.
“I know, darling,” he growls, as his shaft thickens inside of me, filling me with hot streams of cum.
Even his ejaculation feels angry. I feel so full I
can’t contain it, the cum dripping out of me along his shaft, as he slowly fucks it back up into me.
I sob as I feel utterly broken. So used without my own release.
“Shhhhh,” he says softly as he pulls out of me and begins releasing my arms.
My sobs turn embarrassingly ugly as I let the pain out. All of the pain I’ve felt for the past weeks. All of the loss. The loss of my control. The loss of my family. The loss of my empire.
I let out big, bellied, retched sobs as he pulls me to his chest. All I can do is sniffle as snot and tears mix into one stream as they run down my face.
Hayden scoops me up into his chest as he covers us with the bed sheets, and I curl into him, dying for his warmth. Hungry for his protection, desperate for his control.
“Please,” I cry, unsure of what I’m asking for.
“It’s okay, my darling,” he mumbles into my wet hair, holding me close.
I quiver and shake into his chest as he grips me close, my sobs impossibly loud.
“Shhhh, your only responsibility is to be my perfect little whore and nothing else. You need to behave, let go, and leave the world to me,” he mumbles into my hair.
And I realize.
Without his pain.
Without my submission.
Without his prison.
I would never be as free as I am now.