Most people wake up to the distinct smell of coffee, chirping of birds maybe a sweet kiss from a lover.
But I on the other hand, woke up to stinging pain in each of my wrists. I opened my eyes, slowly, painfully, realizing that I was in hand cuffs. They looked brand new.
I was also naked apart from a burgundy silk G-string that enveloped my body. My chest was also dotted with dried up cum. And my bottom felt awful. Not to mention I was alone, in the dark even though it was around afternoon.
The last thing I remembered from yesterday was a sly fox named Breux, and Jake, holding me as I toppled over like potatoes.
I began to call out, even though my throat felt like sandpaper. Soon after, Jake emerged from the other side, a half used cigarette held all artsy between his fingers.
“morning sunshine” he quipped, with a sickenly sweet tune.
“uh, Jake, what's with the handcuffs?”
“oh those?” he said “Thought we'd have some fun yesterday after I gave you the pill.”
It was all hitting me like a train.
I remembered Jake, a sly fox named Beaux, and Jake enveloping me in his arms as he popped a bitter tasting pill in my mouth. And worst of all, I can't remember anything after that.
Jake gave me the pill, to make me pass out...why?
Why?
Why?
The discomfort in my butt hole gave me the answers i was trying so hard to ignore.
“Why?!” I croaked out. “you could've just had sex with me conscious!”
He blew the cigarette smoke in my face then settled next to my sprawled body.
“You're my bitch” he spat “I can do whatever the fuck I want to do to you... conscious, or unconscious.”
“Besides,” he drawled,“its more fun when your unconscious, no squirming around.”
I felt my dick twitch. This is not the fucking time Dimitri Jr!
“Plus this is just a lil price you gotta pay for not wearing the outfit I picked out for you the other day.”
Sure, this was a fantasy I had thought about, Jake fucking me senseless while calling me ‘His bitch’ my hands stinging because of the silver hand cuffs on my dainty wrists. But the fact that he did it to me while unconscious, just proves how utterly sick he is. And I'm even sicker by wanting him to keep surprising me like this.
Then he grabbed my jaw forcefully and pulled me in for a sloppy kiss. He pulled out, took a drag of his cig, then kissed me again, blowing the smoke in my mouth, which left my throat feeling like the Mojave desert.
He pulled out, then ashed the cig on my G-string. He then pulled out the key from his jeans and uncuffed me.
But the crazy glint in his psychotic cloudy eyes let me know we were far from done.
He pulled me onto his lap, And pulled down the G-string forcefully, exposing all my goods. Is it sick that I'm turned on by this?
“Now baby,” he began “Ride me...”
The crazy glint in his eyes promised pain if I didn't comply with his wishes. And Even though my body was exhausted and in pain, I found myself unquestionably obeying him.
>.< >.< >.<
Sex with sex beast Jake is something I'll never get over no matter how hard I try. The way he stares at me, his eyes fiery with unfiltered lust, the way he breathes on to me, the way his hands are wrapped wildly around my neck, his body moving mechanically in sync with my own. Oh, how I love it.
But what I can get over, is how he looks at me afterwards, like I don't matter, like I'm some prostitute he collected from the streets for a glass of Chardonnay.
His eyes lack that fiery glow, and he doesn't need me for solely for his pleasure. It's displeasing and disgusting, like a puppet without it's master. But yet, I my existence orbits around him like how earth orbits the sun. All I want at this point, is for him not to look at me like that anymore, for him to cuddle me and praise me on the good job I did to please him, but yet, here I am, cold, disgusting because I couldn't bring myself to shower, and alone because Jake had to go on set which I guessed was an obvious lie.
I've been stuffing my face with ice cream, while watching shitty rom coms when the program had to be interrupted for a brief announcement.
Obviously it was about celebrities, who had nothing better to do than to brag to us common people about their nice lives, what first word their kid said, how they are backlashing with other celebrities, yada,yada.
But I was surprised to see Kamila on the screen she was pretty, glowing even, wearing a sparkly blue tube dress, her hair in a beautiful afro. Typical. She was on some talk show, and she was talking about her and Jake Oliver, my Jake Oliver. And the girls around her were fawning over something I didn't know.
Then the talk show switched and froze on a post on her insta story, a lovely picture focusing on her manicured hands, one of her fingers having a lovely gold ring with a diamond icing on top with the caption “Holla! I'm engaged bitches!😚💙🌼”
No.
No.
No.
It can't be.
No.
All that was running through my mind was prayers that it should not be Jake Oliver.
But the preppy news reporter, I believe her name was Toni Whitman, said, and I quote;
“Hollywood's golden couple, Kamila and Jake, have officially put a ring on it, following an insta story by Kamila at Kammy_Kai where she proudly announced her engagement to our golden boy, Jake Oliver. Jake and Kamila have been working on a blockbuster movie called Anarchist Warlord that will premier in a few weeks to come-”
I turned the TV off, feeling a wave of nausea clouding my throat.
How could he?
I thought...I thought...
I thought what? That I'd be the one he would propose to? That we'd get married in horses and a white carriage, yeah, dream on Cinderella.
I'm just a slut to him, he'd never love me. Hell, he doesn't even like me.
I wish I could curl up and just die.
I suddenly remembered highschool, the bullying, the crying, until Jake came along and gave me hope despite me being a nobody. Of course any affection to a loser like me translated to love.
I curled up in a foetal position on the floor and cried myself to Kingdom come.
My eyes were red, puffy, bloodshot and ugly like sin. Snot covered my lips and mouth, and I didn't have the energy to wipe it off. I'm disgusting right? I should feel disgusting.
