Beast(17)

She nods.

I don't know what she is thinking. If she plans to attempt escape.

I am uncertain. But I unlock the door anyway and leave her to follow me.  She is quiet while we walk, her eyes soaking up everything around us.  Her fingers reach out to brush the ornate details of each table and  piece of art that we pass.                       
       
           



       

I show her the rooms without telling her what they are. Without speaking  at all. I allow her to look through them, one by one. To become  familiar.

I want her to feel at home here. I want her to experience these comforts  and believe that she is safe. Secure. The way she feels right now.

It is exactly what I intended to do. But I did not expect it to be so  easy on my part. Or that I would enjoy watching her luxuriate in the  comfort. Watching each day pass as she reads and settles into her prison  and her life here with me. Enjoying the food I bring her that she  doesn't have to earn. Enjoying the clothing and gifts I bestow her.

It should not feel good to give her these things. It should not affect  me at all. But it has. And now, I know that it is time. I must stop this  from going any further. I must remind her who she is. And more  importantly, who I am.

She is pleased with the house. She enjoys each room that I show her.Until I lead her to the one that she knows best.

It is well lit now. The bucket is long gone, and the floor clean. But it  still possesses the same lingering effect. She stares at it, and her  fingers tremble.

For a moment, I find myself wishing she would be stronger. That she  would not be afraid, and she would simply sing a song for me. I miss  hearing her voice.

"Play for me," I demand.

She blinks, startled, and then turns to me slowly.

"You can't be serious."

She tries to edge backward, but I take hold of her arm.

"This is what you do," I tell her. "You sing, and you play."

She turns up her chin and tries to look tougher than she feels right now.

"No."

This is exactly the response I wanted. The one I anticipated. And yet, I feel disappointed.

I know what I should say next. What I need to do next. But it does not happen the way it should.

"Why do you let it bother you?"

"What?" she asks.

"What they say about you?"

Her face is sharp now, all her softness gone. I do not like this.

"Why do you lock yourself up here and speak to nobody?" she challenges.

I don't reply, so she takes it upon herself to answer for me.

"Because of what they say about you. That you are a murderer. That you killed your own..."

I slam her against the wall and wrap my hand around her throat before I  can stop myself. Before I can breathe. My temper is running hot, and she  is not backing down this time.

"Did you do it?" she wheezes. "Did you kill her?"

I squeeze a little harder.

"Shut up."

"Will you do the same to me?"

There are tears in her eyes now. And this time, they do not make me hard. My fingers fall away from her throat.

We are both quiet. Breathing hard. I can hear the drum of her heart. See  the vein pulsing in her neck. I can smell her fear. And her sadness  too.

"Do not provoke me," I bite out. "I told you not to provoke me."

"It's not my fault you can't control your temper," she snaps.

Her lip trembles and one of the tears spills over her eyelid and down  her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb before I have given it any  thought. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. Eager for the  brief moment of comfort I have provided her.

I want to do more. I want things that don't make sense. I want to hold  her. Kiss her. Lay with her. It has to stop. It has to stop now.

I grab her by the arms and drag her down to the dining room. Her vulnerability flees in the presence of fresh terror.

"Javi?"

Her Javi is gone now, and only the monster remains.

I don't tell her so. I don't need to. She will see for herself. This temptress who thinks she can fool me.

I hoist her up onto the table, and she tries desperately to scramble  away. She is fast this time, wiggling around as I bind her wrists to  each leg of the table.

It occurs to me that I have spoiled her. I have let her get away with  too much. I pull out my knife and slash the full length of the dress,  halving it from top to bottom. Then I slap each of her tits hard until  she calms down and obeys.

"Javi," she pleads through teary eyes and broken breaths. "Please … "

My only response is to bind her ankles next. So soft and slight and  delicate. I pause only briefly to appreciate them, and then I snap  myself out of it.

I remove the scraps of material from her body and toss them aside. Leaving her naked. Vulnerable.

Mine.

Just the way that I like her.

She looks so angelic when she cries, and I have forgotten how much I  enjoy this. I was wrong to think anything had changed. That it could be  any other way with her. Because this …  this is what I need. What I want  and what I will have.

I lean down to kiss her, and this time, the flames are back in her eyes.  She bites my lip and makes me bleed. My lips smear the blood onto hers,  forcing her to taste it. And then I pinch her nipples and make her cry  out one last time.                       
       
           



       

"Tonight, beauty." I stroke her cheek. "Tonight, you will receive your punishment."





CHAPTER NINETEEN





HE LEAVES me for six hours before he comes back this time. I know because I count each chime from the bell on the clock.

I am cold. Dazed. Bitter. I don't understand him. I don't understand why  he keeps doing this to me. Or what I've done to warrant this  punishment.

When I see him again, I tell him as much. But he has grown cold again. Closed off again. Unsympathetic to my plight.

"I have to pee," I tell him.

He doesn't care. He forces my mouth open and reinserts the ball gag that I thought was long gone, tapping me on the lips.

"Until I have a use for it."

And then he moves down below me. Touching me. Groaning at the moisture  he feels there. I try to mumble around the gag to tell him again, but  it's no use. He can't understand, and my words don't matter, anyway. Not  to him.

He pushes something inside of me, and it isn't his fingers. The  resulting struggle I offer up is hindered by my restraints, and Javi  just grabs me by the thighs to hold me in place.

"Stop," he commands. "Or you won't like what comes next. I'm being gentle with you. But that can change very quickly, Bella."

I don't understand what he means until he pulls the plug out of me and  pushes it against something else. Somewhere he's never touched before.

I shake my head frantically, trying desperately to clench my legs together, but he slaps my thigh and makes me open for him.

"Be a good girl," he says. "And it won't be so bad."

The reality is that he's right. It doesn't matter what I do or how much I  fight, it's going to happen either way. So I try to do as he says and  relax.

He slips the plug inside of me, and it burns. It's too large, and my body is not accustomed to such an invasion. Not there.

I want to hate him. I want to scream at him. I want to rip off his hood  and make him feel the way I do right now. Exposed and raw and wounded.  But then he starts touching me.

Fingering me.

And my hatred is swallowed up by the intensity of these foreign  feelings. The pleasure is amplified. Profound. It takes root in the  nerves I never even knew existed and holds me hostage. My legs fall  wider, exposing myself to him fully, and there isn't an ounce of shame  left in me.

"You see, Bella?" he taunts. "This is the only way. You are mine. Mine to do with as I please."

It's a truth I can't deny. I am a slave to Javi. Always. To his touch.  But it has never been so clear as it is right now. He owns me.

I squirm and twist and thrash against him, desperate for more. He has  created this animal. Bent me to his will and turned me feral. And he is  so proud of his little monster.

He bends forward and licks my face. Pinches my nipple. Clamps his hand  over my mouth and nose. Always playing his games. Reminding me who is in  control. As if I could ever forget.

My bladder is full, and there is so much pressure. I worry what will  happen if I give in, but then I give up caring at all. I cry out and  convulse like a demon from the onslaught of the orgasm. It is the most  intense orgasm of my life, and yet it has barely touched on what I want  or need right now.

I'm a mess. Physically and mentally.

Javi moves around the table, and I try to get his attention, mumbling around the gag.

"I have to pee," I tell him again.

He gropes my breast.

And then walks away.





I DON'T KNOW how much longer I can hold it.

The pressure is too intense. And I know this is what he wants. He wants me to humiliate myself.