ENGAGED AND HIS SLAVE

EPILOGUE

"Stop", I cried. "Make it stop".
Blood was streaming down my legs.
I stood in my lingerie, and I was shaking. Not only because the room was cold, but also because the man who stood behind me was cold.
Everything about him was cold. His bare chest. His d*ck. His heart.
"You want this. You deserve this", he said and laughed softly.
I couldn't stop, but it was still something that made him incredible sexy.
Was t that smile of his? His thought that he ruled the world?
I don't know. But I was dragged to him - although that was wrong.
He hurt me. It hurts.
He had made love to me, non stop, all night. I'm so many different positions.
The first nights, I enjoyed it. He was so sexy and he turned me on, just as much as I turned him on.
But after a week - when he started to hurt me... my pleasure was all gone.
This night he took a butterknife from the kitchen and slowly walked into the bedroom, where I stood chained.
My chest was pressed against the wall. My hands was locked up together in my back.
I couldn't see him entering the room, but I knew that he wore his black pants, and nothing on his chest. He took his white shirt off the third time he fucked me.
He had no stop.
He laughed as he sat down at my legs and kissed them. Gently, fondly....
He moved up, and he kissed my ass, biting, and kissed my back and then my neck.
Suddenly I felt something on my right leg.
I looked down and saw blood streaming down my leg.
I gasped.
It wasn't the pain that took my breath away, because the pain wasn't that bad, but it was just the way I looked at myself, suddenly.
Like an object.
His object.
And that was how he looked at me as well. I was his slave. His whore. He could do anything to me.
He was to strong, psychically and mentally. I would never be free. I would never get away.
I cried silent, as I felt how blood now covered my legs.
And then he fucked me, again.