Page 67 of Trapping His Darling

“N-no, please. Stop. I’ll be good,” I sobbed.

“I’m sure you will now.” He continued pounding into my nether hole. “Take this, my little fucking brat. It’s time this attitude changed,milyy.”

“Mercy,” I begged, crying hysterically. “I’m your wife. Don’t irreparably ruin me.”

Snarling, his teeth broke into my shoulder. I shrieked in protest. Blood poured from the wound, dripping down my back and into my ass crack.

While he used my blood as lubrication to ease the ass reaming I was enduring as punishment, I relaxed into his hold. It hurt a little less, but maybe I could reach that euphoric state if I let myself go.

As if sensing my yielding to the pain, Viktor cupped my breasts, massaging my blood into their heavy weight.

“Yes, take my fucking cock,milyy,”he panted in my ear. “No matter how much I hurt you, I need you to submit to me.”

His words were mesmerizing.

Before long, I was coming, squeezing the cock in my ass while my womb pulsed in ecstasy. He groaned in pleasure, like he forgot that he was punishing me.

I felt the flood of warmth as he came inside of my ass. I panted hard as the last of my orgasms were waning. I was tired. I was soaking wet. I was a mess with sweat, blood, tears, and cum dripping from me. The floor beneath my feet was slick. Now I understood the need for a drain.

My husband didn’t linger there long. Viktor pulled out, tucked himself back into his bloody pants, and walked away from me. I shivered, my body missing the warmth.

He moved over to a utility table off my peripheral. I realized that this was, at some point, an area of torture.

I heard the soft whoosh, smelled propane, and knew he was using a fire source. When he returned with his signet ring glowing red in the grip of the needle-nose pliers he held, I knew I was fucked.

“It won’t hurt for long.” His ominous tone showed me that he was every bit thePakhan’sson. “I won’t even press hard.”

Before I could object, he laid the ring’s face on the top of my left hand, right above where my wedding band rested. The metal seared my skin and I screamed. The motherfucker was branding me.

When I caught my breath, I stammered out, “W-why?” The world spun. I didn’t know if I was going to vomit or pass out, or both.

“So they know who you belong to,milyy.”He reached out, gently brushing a tear from my cheek.

That was the last thing I heard before I passed out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Tiffany

It’s been three months,and Viktor’s father has been very ill, which required Viktor to take on more responsibility. I was slowly killing my father-in-law. While many would judge me on that, the man was horrible. But while I was poisoning him, I had to spend time with him as well. He grew too weak to leave his bed and I played chess with him, so he’d see a friendly face. I could’ve made it bloodier, since he hated me and all, however, I wanted it slow and painful. I wanted to relish in the aftermath of his demise. It was the least he deserved.

The burden of the secret should have weighed heavily on my mind, as I spiked his drinks with poison. I watched the staff and learned their habits, so they wouldn’t catch me hastening his decline.

During those final days, as his strength waned, I found myself sitting by his bedside, engaging in activities that would provide a semblance of normalcy. Chess became our refuge; a strategic battlefield where I could distract him from his deteriorating health, and allow him to see a friendly face.

As we played, I watched his once-sharp mind struggle to navigate the intricate moves, his hands trembling with weakness. It was a bittersweet sight; a man whose power and influence had once struck fear in the hearts of many, now reduced to a frail figure confined to a bed.

In those moments, I grappled with conflicting emotions. The guilt of my actions gnawed at my conscience, but at the same time, I felt a strange sense of liberation. Liberation from the tyranny that had plagued our family for far too long, and the knowledge that our future could be built upon a foundation of peace and unity.

But as the game unfolded that evening, something unexpected began to happen. In his old age, he’d mellowed. The bitterness and cruelty that had marked our previous interactions seemed to have faded. Perhaps it was the inevitability of time that had softened his heart, or maybe it was the realization that he needed me now, more than ever, to secure the future of the family business.

I watched his face closely as he contemplated his next move, his brow furrowed with thought. I could see the weariness etched into the lines of his face. For the first time, I saw a vulnerability in him that I had never noticed before.

“You know, Tiffany,” Ivan finally spoke, breaking the silence that had settled over the room, “this game has always been a metaphor for our lives. A battle of wits, a struggle for dominance.”

I hesitated, uncertain of where this conversation was leading. “Yes, it has,” I replied cautiously.

Ivan let out a sigh, his gaze fixed on the chessboard. “I must admit that I haven’t always been fair to you. I’ve made mistakes, grave ones.”

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