Page 3 of Dirty, Bruised Martini
I WILL ALWAYS BE YOURS!!!!
He was angrier at me for screaming at him in front of his guards. More fury in eyes than I’d ever seen before when he choked me. His ugly scarred face pinched together with rage as I clawed at his thick hands on my throat until everything went blurry and my head flopped around like I wasn’t even there anymore. I thought I was really going to die this time. It scared me, that for the first time ever, I actually wished I would.
Obviously I wasn’t that lucky. At least when I woke up I was in the cage and not hanging from the ceiling again. After the suspension ripped my arm out of the socket last time, I guess he’s not going to do that to me anymore. He let me out after only two days. Only because he wanted to fuck me. (Sorry Mom :( ) Making me thankful I’m not being treated like a dog trapped in a pen any more. Well now that I think about it, I guess maybe I am. Chained to an owner who only wants to beat me and fuck me and torture me.
Ensuring no matter what I do, I can’t ever be free. I’m beginning to believe I won’t ever be free.
I think about you when the minister pronounces him to be my husband and me to be his wife.
I wanted to scream and tell the priest I can’t. I don’t. I won’t.
But I think he would have continued with the ceremony anyway despite my outburst or my lack of consent. Too scared to do anything but follow the orders demanded of him at gun point. Kind of like me. Too frightened to protest because of the warning I received. Let the pastor marry us or he really would shoot him.
Although I followed his commands, I’m still going to be punished. But I couldn’t sacrifice this holy man’s life to protect myself. Because nothing can really protect me from him.
So I stood there in a beautiful, white dress that mocks the hideousness of the situation and let my captor vow to love, honor, and cherish me. Even though he does none of those things. Only you do. Only you ever have.
I let him slide his repulsive ring on my finger. Naked from the loss of yours.
I let him shove his tongue in my mouth and his hand between my legs. Shaking from a harsh touch so different from yours.
I let him carry me upstairs. Unable to hold back my sob when he whispered into my ear that a good kitten doesn’t fight giving her daddy her pussy either. Crying from cruel promises so different from yours.
Everything different from yours.
From what we would have said and planned and meant. And, may never get to.
I think about you when he smothers my face with the pillow.
Always infuriated and brutal with me for waking him up when I scream from the nightmares that haunt me almost every night. It’s not like I can help it! Nor do I want to be in bed next to him!!!
This time I dreamed about Trent protecting me during the ambush. You would have been so proud of him. He was so brave. As soon as the window shattered, he shoved me to the floor and covered my body with his. I could hardly breathe, but I stayed as quiet and still as possible just like he whispered to me. Just like you had always told me to do if anyone ever attacked us. But then he was quiet. Too quiet and too still, and I knew. I smacked my hand over my mouth to keep from crying but they still found me. Lifted up Trent’s body like a rag doll and threw him onto the pile of your other men. A pile of men who died trying to save me.
But he had too many guards of his own. They seemed to be everywhere and no one could stop them.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get the image out of my head of him staring down at me and smiling that smug, vicious smile. Trembling when he caressed my cheek, slick with Trent’s blood, and said, “Don’t worry kitten. I’m your daddy now.”
At the time I was praying to survive. Grateful to at least be alive. Now I realize I should have prayed for the bullets to rip through me too. Desperate to have been gunned down too.
I’m sorry I’m so negative. I’m really struggling today. I’m tired. And I’m scared. I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I really don’t. All I know is that I love you. I hope you still love me. I hope you’re still trying to find me.
I think about you while he rapes me.
Yes, I’m finally able to actually write the word. I knew it. In my head. And in my heart. All along that’s what he’s been doing. That’s what it’s called. When a man forces himself inside a woman no matter how much she cries. How much she begs him not to. How much she screams for him to stop. And he doesn’t.
He never stops.
But that word makes it real. Which it is—was—tonight. Last night I guess. He’s still downstairs celebrating with his friends. Partying with your enemies who he forced me to parade around naked in front of so they could see his brand on my back. His collar around my throat. His ring on my finger. Not delicate and beautiful like the one you gave me and his men yanked off my finger when they grabbed me. No, it’s an ugly, disgusting, horrible blood red diamond to represent his ownership of me. Of him stealing me from you. Of him winning.
Then they watched. They watched him rape me. They watched him bend me over the whipping bench and jam his dick inside me. They watched him rut into me over and over, pulling out at the last second to yank my head back and release himself all over my face.
Then they cheered.
They cheered louder when he waved a blindfold into the air and asked who’s next. All I could hear was the adamancy in your voice when you told me that you can’t even stand for another man to look at me let alone touch me.
How no one but you would ever earn my pleasure.
And then he offered me to a room full of men who hate you.
