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A rustling sound by the bed draws my attention, wood clanging against wood. I peer back through scraps of hair, immediately wishing I didn't—he's choosing his weapon.
“Podgotovsja!” Maksim yells for me to prepare once he's behind me, like he usually does.
I cower, bracing myself, then he whips me senseless with a sjambok, an African cattle whip,Wa-tch!Each assault blazes through my mind like red flashes of light.
Screams get caught in my throat, my body jerking back and forth against his attack.
Wa-tch!
Wa-tch!
It goes on for what feels like hours.
My back arches and my flesh splits open, hot blood slithering down my spine and soaking the waist of my trousers.
Wa-tch!
Wa-tch!
By the time he's finished, I'm in such a strange zone in my mind that I can't really see anything. I feel like a shell of a person, the old Blaire—the Blaire before Charlie.
Charlie...Fuck! Why does thinking about him make me want to cry?
I break into sobs, and Maksim punches me. Holding my neck in one hand, swinging with his other,*THUMP*he knocks my head back; blacks my left eye. Blood trickles down my cheek, over the throbbing where he slapped me.
No pain,I tell myself,you can't feel anything.
While I'm a messy, lifeless pile on the floor—I don't even know how I got here—he cuts me out of my trousers and my pants.
“Awh!” I wince in agony as he snaps my bra open and hauls it down my arms, tossing it across the room.
“On the bed,” he commands, panting with anger, “head down. Ass in the air.”
Not registering what's going to happen, I crawl to my master's command like a cat, from the floor, up the side of the bed, until I'm in the middle with my hands and knees sinking into the mattress.
The night gets so dark with punishments, Maksim doing fucking awful things to me. Things I can't even bring myself to think about.
The sound of buttons clanging against the wooden floors. He's undressing, dropping his shirt, and then his trousers. The bed dips at my feet, almost knocking me off balance. Large, cold hands on my hips; nails digging into my flesh with hungry pursuit.
“Open your legs,” Maksim says. He's breathing so hard I know he's excited, warm air blowing up my back.
Shivering, I do as I'm told, my ankles twisted inward because I'm nervous. He pushes against the low of my back, forcing me to arch, shoving my face in the sheets. They smell like musky man sweat.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Don't think.
It's so hard not to. Nausea rises through me when I feel he's parting my ass cheeks with callous hands, saying, “That Latin fuck is lucky, testing my goods before I have.”
A dripping, spitting sound. It makes me retch. The head of his cock is wet, I feel as he smears it against my anus, urging the tip in. My insides churn and now I'm silently crying my heart out, struggling to mentally will away what's happening.
He's going to fuck my ass and he's not even preparing me. How can I block that out?
A powerful thrust, he's roaring with dark passion, and then he's wedged right inside me, causing me to spew up all over the pillows and all over my hands.
The smell is vile; acidic and...
I heave again, my insides burning: my throat, my ass muscles. It's too much. I feel too full.
