Ruthless

16

Frustrated with my incessant inquiries, the man abruptly stopped, almost causing a collision. I managed to halt just in time.

"I'm sorry," I apologized in a hushed tone, realizing I might have overdone it.

I hadn't meant to be so noisy. Nervousness had a way of making me ramble, fueled by an unquenchable curiosity and apprehension.

He stared at me for a few seconds before resuming our journey. Deciding not to disrupt the silence with more questions, I cautiously followed him and observed my surroundings, taking note of every detail.

************

The rustling of leaves, the sound of birds chirping and our harsh breathing were the only sounds I could hear. As for sight trees and trees everywhere.

Eventually, the narrow path led us to a clearing, and in the middle stood a warehouse. Since it had started getting dark, the old and dark exterior blended seamlessly with the darkness. This could have been a popular haunted shoot location.

He motioned for me to step inside, and as my eyes swept the surroundings, I was pleasantly surprised by the coziness within—unpretentious, yet emanating a genuine homely charm.

Without pause, he continued into space. Unsure whether to linger or follow, I chose the latter, following the way where he had vanished.

Inside, my attention immediately gravitated toward him, standing at a distance, a mask now in his hand with his back faced towards me. The anticipation of glimpsing his face stirred excitement within me.

Upon turning, he revealed a face that caught me off guard—a remarkably attractive man with cascading blond locks almost reaching his deep blue eyes.

His features were finely crafted, from a perfectly proportioned nose to lips that complemented a robust jawline and well-defined cheekbones. A rugged scar tracing from temple to left eyebrow added a touch of manliness.

"Open your clothes," he directed, his tone strangely deep and soothing.

Despite harboring resentment, I couldn't deny the magnetic pull of his good looks and the allure of his voice.

I saw thinking when something clicked me.

Frowning, I shot him a questioning look. Did he just ask me to undress?

"I-I," I stammered, momentarily at a loss for words.

"You heard me," he affirmed.

He was right; I heard him, though I grappled with reality.

'I won't,' I wanted to assert.

How dare he have the audacity to ask me to do something so inappropriate, only to then shout at me when I hesitated his unethical demand? Despite the storm of emotions raging within me, I clenched my fists and held back the torrent of feelings.

Lowering my head in a mix of shame and defiance, I began to undress until I stood in my undergarments, shielded by both hands. Fortunately, he made no comment about removing my inner.

His penetrating gaze lingered, and I resisted the urge to meet his eyes directly. From my peripheral vision, I saw him rise from the armchair.

"Get in bed," he ordered.

As his words reached me, my eyes met his, mirroring the stoic expression Adam always wore. Reluctantly, I complied, a growing sense of unease about what might unfold next.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice low and menacing.

My jaw dropped, nearly grazing the floor as I gazed at him. This man was delivering one shock after another.

Snapping my sagging jaw shut, I hissed. "I won't do it. Kill me, but I will not do anything you ask me."

You can't blame me. There is a limit to what one can endure, and mine has been reached.

With swift, purposeful strides, he closed the distance between us in no time. I observed as he unfastened his leather belt, rolling it over his hand while maintaining a piercing gaze on me.

Despite the turmoil within, I refused to bow before him. I ensured my head remained held high, locking eyes with him and baring my teeth defiantly.

His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles on either side twitched visibly. Veins throbbed in his neck, a display of dominance or aggression. This man exuded an aura of death, not suggesting a rotten smell.

Raising the belt high, he brought it down on my feet. A cry of pain escaped me. Never had I imagined a belt lash could be so excruciating. Given that there are people who entertain fantasies of being struck with a belt, I had presumed it would only cause a mild stinging sensation, nothing more.

With a single strike, my courage evaporated. The welt left on my leg throbbed with a burning sensation as I rubbed it, attempting to soothe the pain.

"Please, I don't know. I have never—" I pleaded as I saw him preparing for another strike.

He leaned in, seizing me by the neck in a stranglehold that caused a slight gag. "Never say 'No' to me. I don't handle that word well."

His face was inches from mine, the scent of cigarettes emanating from his breath as he spoke.

"I don't... I haven't—"

A sinister silence hung in the air as he stared at me with ruthless oceanic eyes, making my heart sink. I feared my response might not satisfy him, and more beatings could follow.

"Stand up."

He sat on the bed, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back onto it. In our new position, my back pressed against his chest, he secured both my hands with one of his, locking them behind me. His legs enclosed mine, leaving me exposed.

"I'm teaching you just once," he whispered.

I jerked my arm when his hand touched me, but his grip tightened, keeping me in place.

Tears brimmed in my eyes, casting a haze over my vision. I had never known such intense shame and humiliation in all my years. Unending tears cascaded down my face, not only a response to helplessness and humiliation, but also to the physical pain inflicted upon me.

He was so rough with his hands. As if he intended to tear me apart.

His breath was warm against the back of my neck. I could feel his hard pressed against mine. He was painfully turned on.

He pushed the hair from my neck, exposing my fragile neck, and his lips sizzled a hot trail in the nape of my neck. Disgust crawled up her head and penetrated deep within.

My breathing became heavy and labored, coming in short, rapid gasps. As disgusting and shameful as it was to admit. My body was reacting to his touch.

I don't know how long his fingers kept poking me, but I was so exhausted emotionally and physically when he had stripped all my self-respect.