Page 16 of Bleeding Blackheart

I barely remember waking up. I think Blackheart screamed at me, but I’m not sure. I didn’t think twice about getting naked in front of him since I’ve spent most of my time naked in front of him sofar, and I forgot I was wearing a pad until I heard him rip it from my panties and toss it in the trash.

I started to relax as the warm water began to soothe my building cramps, but my anxiety spiked when he started to get naked in front of me. At first, I panicked and thought he was going to get in here with me. But he’s not. Still, he’s going to bathe in the same room at the same time as me. And I have a lot of mixed feelings about that.

The glass door closes behind him while the water pours from the shower head, and I get a view of his side profile. His face is forward, giving me the confidence to take a look at him.

His legs are thick and strong. He could probably crush a watermelon with those thighs. And he’s got hair. Dark brown hair on his legs and on his scrotum.

And he’s got hair on his pubic area framing his dick.

I’ve seen penises in school textbooks and felt one or two in the dark during a drinking game, but I’ve never wrapped my hand around anything that size. I’m sure of it. Is it all penis? Maybe it just looks so big because I’m across the room and it would look a little more normal in my face. Not that I want it anywhere near my face or any of me for that matter.

And it’s hard. He’s hard. It’s dark red and veiny. It’s like a monster. Threatening me. I see one of his strong,calloused hands wrap around it, and when I move my eyes up his chiseled chest, his thick neck, and land on his face, I see he’s staring right at me.

His entire body is soaked with water, and I can see his eyes better with his wet hair pushed back. They’re gorgeous eyes. Not like my father’s at all. My father’s eyes are cold. Frigid and consuming. Blackheart’s eyes are crystal clear and warm. Unlike his soul. He makes shallow grunting noises, and his right arm moves aggressively up and down. I follow the movement and see that he’s beating off. When I look at his eyes again, they’re focused on my nipples.

My brain tells me to cover myself, but I can’t bring my arms to do so. Instead I scowl at him, keeping my eyes on his face. “Are you seriously doing this shit in front of me?”

He groans louder and nods his head.

Fucking animal. I do try to cover myself this time, but my tits outweigh my palms, and all I do is cover my nipples and shove them together which makes him stroke himself faster. I let them go and sink into the water where only my head is showing. “You’re gross. Just vile. I don’t want you jerking off to me, Blackheart.”

He smirks and slows his strokes while he adds some soap to his shaft. “Trust me, little girl, you want this more thanyou want the alternative. And, you don’t have to watch. Pervert.”

I gasp which only makes him laugh, showing me his blinding smile. I can’t believe he’s calling me a pervert. The man who kidnapped me and is beating off to my bruised body is calling me a pervert. Go figure.

I watch him a little longer unconsciously while the strongest ache I’ve ever had blooms between my legs. He turns his body from the side, facing me head-on, and that’s when I look away and close my eyes, trying to enjoy the remainder of my hot bath before it gets cold and Blackheart turns into an angry psycho again.

But his loud grunts echo in my head, and then his grunts turn into moans. I slip a finger between my legs in the water, stroking myself just a little to try and feel better. My desire has nothing to do with him and everything to do with biology. I’m a woman, and it’s my time of the month. I want sex. Doesn’t mean that I want him.

I pull my hand away before I get too lost in the moment, and that’s when I hear him moan my name. He does it so quietly that I don’t think he meant for me to hear it. I know he didn’t. Because when I look back at him, he’s facing forward again with his eyes closed while his cum squirts all over the wall in long ribbons in front of him.

He starts to rinse off, and before he gets out, I look away, pretending I didn’t see any of it.

This can’t possibly be real life. The man who pointed his shotgun at my head basically threatened to rape me if I got on his nerves too much, forced me to make him a sandwich, and rubbed one out with my name on his tongue. I must have done something really fucking awful in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment.

After a few more minutes, he gets out and wraps a towel around himself and grabs a razor and some shaving cream from under the sink. He’s so fucking bitter that I would’ve never guessed he could care about his appearance. I’m eager to see what he looks like clean-shaven. Hopefully he’ll be less scary.

I look under the water at my legs. I shaved the day my father took me, and after getting scraped up, my legs are nearly hairless again. And even if they weren’t, they’re in no condition to be shaved. Still, my pits could use a little attention, and I’d like to make my pubes look a little better.

Bringing my knees to my chest, I try to keep myself covered while I look over at him. “Do you have an extra by chance?”

He holds the brand new razor tightly in his hand while he stares in the mirror, and then he hands it to me alongwith the cream and gets a new one with a different can of cream from under the sink.

His beard is so big that he’ll have to go over it several times to get it clean. When I see he’s distracted, I lift my hips just enough to rub some foam over myself, and I get to work.

I clean around my bikini line, the tops of my inner thighs, and then work on the bush until it’s just a thin layer of hair. I pull the drain to the tub, and I stand up carefully while he stays focused on what he’s doing. I look to where my towel was this morning, and it’s been replaced with a new one, so I grab it and wrap it around myself.

He pulls his razor away from his face and glances at me through the mirror. “Go put something on for bed and I’ll replace your bandages in a little bit.”

“Alright.” I turn and head back to the bedroom to get dressed.

That’s when it dawns on me that the only clothing I have for bed is lingerie. In my apartment, I had sleep sets and cute night shirts. It’s crazy to think that all my stuff is still there. Abandoned. I need to go back and get it before I’m evicted. But more importantly, I need to figure out what I’m going to wear.

The old T-shirt I wore earlier is soiled and long gone. I could ask him for another shirt or look in his drawers, but I don’t want that sort of closeness with him.

I need to just man up and get over myself. Going up to my new garments on the dresser, I hold up a black silk gown with lace cups. It’s far sexier than I’d like, but it’s the least sexy thing in the pile. I slip my towel off, placing it on the wicker chair beside the dresser and slip on my new nighty with a fresh pair of panties and a pad.

Part of me wants to leave the room and look around the house. It’s so quiet and I’m so anxious that I feel like I need a book or some music to help me relax. But if I even try to go out to the hall, I know Blackheart will drop everything and drag me back in here by my heels. And if I ask him for entertainment, he’ll probably laugh in my face.

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