“What kinda work you do?” My mind fills with dirty thoughts of the work I could do to him. I’m getting sucked right back into the land of never-gonna-fucking-happen. Even thoughts of Mario killing me isn’t enough to prevent me from daydreaming. But noticing the golden ring on Luke’s left hand is.
“Well, fuck,” I mutter, not realizing I’ve said the words out loud until Luke asks me to repeat myself. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.” He offers me a sympathetic, understanding look. If he only knew the real reason behind my dismay. Fucking marriage… Who came up with that shit anyway? And why do I have to have morals?
“Here.” He hands me a piece of paper and I nearly laugh at the bold words centered on the top line. “Application for Employment.” Haven’t seen one of these in a while. “Take this home and fill it out. You can drop it off later this week.”
“Thank you.” Letting my hair hide my eyes, I pretend to look at the application while I search his desk for the keys to his truck. I find them tossed carelessly to the side. “I hate to bother you, but do you have something to drink?”
He pauses a moment. His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s still a hint of a smile on his face. Maybe he’s thinking of stepping outside his marriage… Doesn’t matter. I couldn’t do it if I tried. Well, with him, maybe I could.
“Of course. It’s in the back. Just give me a minute.” He walks away, leaving me alone and his keys only inches from my sticky fingers.
I always trust my gut. Right now, that bastard is telling me something is wrong. But my mind sees everything in black and white. Either I take the keys and live, or I don’t and die. That’s my choice. To hell with my instincts. This is about survival.
Quickly and quietly, I snatch the keys from his desk and shove them in the back pocket of my jeans. When he returns with a bottle of water, I graciously accept it.
“I’ll get this back to you tomorrow,” I promise. Then frown—feeling guilty for lying. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I allow myself one more glance at the beauty that is him before leaving. When my feet hit the concrete, my pace quickens. I look down the street for the black Mercedes parked a few houses down and nod. Even if he can’t see me, he’ll know in just a moment that it worked.
Without thinking twice about it, I hit the unlock button on the truck just as I’m rounding the hood. Climbing inside, I turn the ignition, slam it in drive, and tear out—not bothering to look and see if Luke walked outside or not. Truth is, I couldn’t look.
There was something about his presence that made me feel different than I’ve ever felt before. I felt safe and protected. I had the sense he cared about me—a complete stranger to him.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I tell myself. Out loud. I need to hear it, so I tell myself again and again until I make it to Mario’s. By the time I get there, I finally believe it. And if I forget again, I can rest assured that Mario will remind me. After all, that’s what I’ve been trained to believe. Not that I’m an idiot, particularly. But that I’m whatever he says I am.
“Get the fuck out of the truck.” My heartbeat quickens at the tone of his voice as he jerks open the door.
Climbing out, I keep my eyes down and try to keep as much distance from him as possible. But it doesn’t work. I’m still within arm’s reach. My skull shakes and white light flashes behind my eyelids when his opened palm connects hard with the back of my head.
“What did I tell you, huh?” Now in front of me, his hand comes up again. This time, it slams against my ear causing it to ring and hurt in places deep inside my brain I never knew existed. “What the fuck did I say, D?”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. I’m just hoping the words are enough to keep me from getting hit again. Nope… That didn’t work. A sharp pain shoots down my neck. I’m not sure where the blow actually landed, because the ringing still happening in my ear is enough to take my mind off it.
“I told you three minutes. You took twice the time. What the fuck were you doing, D?” Grabbing my chin, he jerks my head back until I’m staring up at him. “Don’t you lie either. You know I’ll know if you are.”
He’s telling the truth. He can read me like a book. Even if he couldn’t, I’d never lie. It’s not possible. Not to him.
“He wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought he was old, but he’s young. And attractive.” My voice falls slightly at my admission. The truth. Ha. I really am an idiot. The truth is fixing to get me killed.
I look up into Mario’s big, dark eyes and see nothing but hate and evil. He’s a massive man. He reminds me of that wrestler…The Bigshow…I think. But even if he were small, he’d still have the same power over me he holds at nearly six foot five. I’ve never feared a man so much in my life. Craig, my piece-of-shit brother, is a saint compared to this man.
I wish I could leave him. I want to walk away. But I can’t. He owns me. If I stay, I live. If I leave, I die. My life is like a quarter—a quarter I can’t flip because I’m scared of the answer no matter the outcome. Life as I know it is just as bad as the idea of death. Maybe even worse.
“You’re a fuckin’ whore. You know that?” I try to answer, but the hold he has on me makes it impossible to open my mouth or nod my head. “You’re sick. You gotta itch that can only be scratched if you’re on your back. You’re a damaged bitch with some nasty fuckin’ issues goin’ on. You were used early and you fuckin’ liked it.”
While he stares down at me in disgust, I let the hate I feel toward myself cripple me further. He’s right. I do have issues. As much as I despise him, I thank him for reminding me of how fucked up I really am. I was introduced to sex at an early age. It doesn’t matter what kind of creature preyed on a young girl starved for attention. All that matters is it ruined me.
Now I’m addicted to sex. It’s all I want. All I think about. I crave it like a drug. The release I get from it helps to distract my mind from a bigger issue—the monster inside my head that eats away at my feelings. Every time I have sex, it’s like I’m chipping away at the memory that reminds me why I am the way I am. Maybe if I do it enough the memory will eventually fade and the monster will stay caged.
“Don’t ever forget, D. Don’t you ever forget who you belong to.” He releases me, and instead of feeling relief, I feel rejection. I want his hands on me. I need him to punish me. To remind me. It’s what I deserve. It’s the only thing that makes me feel better.
He doesn’t give me what I need, he just walks away. But I know he’ll come back. He always does. He’s not stupid enough to leave behind the one person who is his personal servant. His property. His submissive.
You see, Mario isn’t my husband. He’s not my boyfriend or my lover either. Hell, he’s not even my friend.
He’s my dominant.
Well, kinda.
Sunday is considered a day of repent. With repent comes forgiveness. But forgiveness is earned. In the eyes of Mario, the only way to earn something is to pay the price for my sins. I actually look forward to the physical punishment. It offers me a break from the mental abuse I have to endure the other six days of the week.
Today, I’m serving out my punishment in the cage, which is actually a dog crate just large enough for me to be on my hands and knees—mirroring the position of a dog. A rubber ball gag is strapped tightly around my face, preventing me from speaking and making it nearly impossible to swallow. This causes me to drool—like a dog.
I’m naked, cold and afraid of the unexpected. I long for Mario’s return, even though I know with him comes pain. But with him also comes company. My fear of being alone outweighs my fear of pain which is something I enjoy. Something I yearn for.
Judging by my previous experiences, I have until my elbows nearly collapse from holding me up before he comes back. On his last trip in here, which could have been hours ago, he shoved a plug into my ass that was much larger than I could accommodate. He made it work, though--but only after he got pissed when he had to spit on it. It seems the greater my pain, the greater his pleasure. Even with my limited knowledge of BDSM relationships, I’m pretty sure that isn’t how this is supposed to work. I mean, don’t I get some aftercare? Some reassurance? Some special prize if I do well?
I might be sick in the head, but I’m not stupid. I know this isn’t right. Truth is, I need this. I need to be told what to do. I need control in my life. I need to feel the physical pain. It’s the only thing that keeps the darkness at bay. Before Mario, I never had that. And something was always missing. Now that I have it, I feel…almost human.
The worst part? I see this as a cure. He sees it as a turn-on. He’s one sadistic, fucked-up monster who gets off on this shit. On controlling me. On hurting me both physically and emotionally. There’s no aftercare or reassurance or prize. So he might be dominant and I might be submissive, but it’s not in a traditional BDSM-lifestyle kind of way—if one even really exists.