He pulled away, and I managed to suck in a shaky breath, relief washing over me for a fleeting, fragile second as he hummed to himself. The sound made my blood run cold, and casually strolled toward the table where a bouquet of flowers and several bottles of alcohol were place I failed to notice.
For a brief, terrifying second, I imagined him grabbing one of those bottles and smashing it against my head but he simply paused, his hand hovering over the bottles as if he was pondering which one to pick. His eyes met mine over his shoulder and he chuckled.
The mocking sound tightened the noose around my throat.
I was on edge, watching him keenly though I was trapped, there was no escape but what horrified me more was him. Overall him. He was walking-talking sin.
"Care for a drink?" he asked seductively with a charm that made my skin crawl. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a bottle, his fingers curling around the neck and I felt my throat tightened and poured a glass. The liquid sloshed into the crystal glass more like a taunt than an offer.
My eyes moved from that glass to his face as he turned back to me, the glass in one hand, his gaze never leaving mine. "Or maybe," he mused in the velvety trap, "you'd prefer I pour it down your throat myself? I'd rather watch you choke on it."
Sometimes, I truly hope he would keep his thoughts to himself.
I stayed rooted to my spot as he walked closer. "I could be gentle, Ptichka," he said, though his tone promised anything but.
A breathless whimper escaped my lips as he reached out, his free hand wrapping around the back of my neck and pulling me toward him until our faces were mere inches apart. "But where's the fun in that?"
His grip tightened, fingers digging into my skin as he raised the glass to my lips, tilting it just enough for the liquid to touch my mouth. "Drink," he commanded and I tried to remnants of humanity in his pale eyes.
They said monsters lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike, but here he was, standing before me in plain sight, wearing his monstrosity like a second skin.
The darkness wasn't just around him-it was him dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. The real monsters weren't hiding in the dark. They were the ones who looked you in the eye, made you beg, and smiled as they broke you piece by piece. And this man was just that.
The glass was pushed against my lips, forcing them apart. The alcohol burned as it slid down my throat, and I gagged, choking on the taste, but he didn't relent. His hand on my neck kept me still, trapped and inescapable.
"That's it," he murmured laughing as I struggled to breathe. "Take it all in, little bird. Feel it burn, feel it consume you."
He pulled the glass away, leaving me gasping for breath as I pressed my palms against my mouth. But the reprieve was short-lived. I yelped as he leaned in and his lips brushed against my ear, "You'll learn to love this pain, this helplessness. You'll learn to crave it, just like you'll crave me. And you'll get on your knees and thank me."
He pulled back just enough to catch my gaze again and drank from the same glass he forced me to drink. His hungry gaze raked over my frame as he tilted his head and widened his stance. "Strip."
I froze unsure if I heard him correctly, when the shadows of his face didn't move, I swallowed. Was this the time, I grabbed his legs and begged? But why did I feel like that'd turn him on even more than he already looked like?
This was inevitable. Either I do it myself, or he'd do it in his way. Practically forcing me. At least, like this, I had a little semblance of control, even though it was fake. My hands trembled as I fumbled with the buttons of my coat hoping he'd change his mind. Though that was just a dream. I unbuttoned the first button, and then the second before the coat was opened and I lowered my head with fists clenched on my sides.
I didn't want to see what type of expression he was making. My body stiffened as his fingers tapped the cane he held against the floor-once, twice.
For a second, he didn't say anything. And then I dared to sneak a glance at him but instead of the wrath I expected, a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. He stepped forward, circling me and pushed the coat off my shoulders as it fell around my knees. "Stubborn as fuck, huh?"
His eyes roamed over the loose sweats and oversized sweater I had chosen instead of the lingerie he had sent.
I knew I had made a mistake in anger, but I couldn't undo it now. Before I could utter a word, his hand grabbed the back of my nape and in one swift he bent me over the edge of the bed. "What-"
I gasped, my hands instinctively reaching out to brace myself against the mattress, but my legs dangled off the side, leaving me completely exposed. Panic surged through me, and I thrashed instinctively trying to get free, but he was already behind me, his hands bunching the fabric of my woollen trousers.
With a rough yank, he pulled them down, baring me to the cool air.
"Is this how you want to play?" He growled in frustration. No matter how much I was readying myself, I couldn't bear it. Everything in me burned.
"Judas, please, listen to me!"
His hands gripped my hips firmly holding me in place while he leaned in and I shivered as his lips brushed against the back of my neck. "I wanted you in lace, little bird, but I'll take what's mine anyway I can get it."
"No, please," I whimpered as I struggled against him, but it was futile. He was unrelenting, his strength far beyond mine. He captured my wrists with one hand, and before I could even process what was happening, I felt the silken fabric of his tie winding around them, binding me securely to the bedpost.
I didn't even know when he took his tie off.
My wide eyes tried to look over my shoulder but he was pushing my head into the mattress, muffling my screams.
"Shhh, little bird," The spawn of the devil murmured dangerously softly as I felt him stepping back, leaving me tied and helpless. "Don't make me mad than I already am."
Mad? He was fucking deranged. I wanted to scream.
But I dared not move. I felt the cold air kiss my bare skin. The fact that I couldn't see him, and he was out there behind me somewhere while I was dangling half-naked over the bed, wasn't relieving. Instead, sobs erupted through my mouth, they were whiny and ugly. I hadn't cried like this in my life, whether it was alcohol or him, I didn't even know what I was intoxicated on anymore.
Just as I kept my heart in my throat, I felt something touching me-something cold. My eyes widened in fear and realization as I recognized the feel of it against my exposed behind.
His cane.
My breath caught in my throat, and I tensed, knowing what was coming but powerless to stop it.
"What did I say about disobeying me, Fenochka?"
Fenochka. There it was again. The same nickname he called me by when he was in the mood to ruin me.
Ptichka. Call me that, please, and not this.
I wanted to negotiate, to ask him to bring back that lace lingerie and I'd wear it, but the words died in my mouth as the cane struck my skin with a sharp crack, and I cried out as the sudden sting made my body jerk against the restraints.
The pain was immediate like a fiery line of sensation that seared across my skin, and before I could even catch my breath, he struck again, my body jolted and I let out a scream. "No, please, stop!"
"Count," he commanded.
I shook my head. This was embarrassing.
But when his cane struck again, I squirmed harder.
My breath hitched and the word was ripped from my throat. "One," I gasped tears stinging my eyes.
"Good girl," he purred. "You'll count every single one, Ptichka."
Ptichka. He was pleased.
My nightmare didn't wait for my response. The cane came down again, and I cried out, the sting sharp and burning. "Two," I choked out.
"Such a pretty sight," Judas murmured hoarsely and I could tell he was biting his lips. "Your ass looks so red and marked, just for me."
Another strike, another cry. "Three," I gasped, the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as the sensation overwhelmed me.
"Do you like this, Ptichka?" he taunted. "Do you like being punished for your disobedience?"
I wanted to deny it, wanted to scream at him that I hated it, that I hated him, but the truth was lodged in my throat, choking me. Because deep down, some part of me knew nothing good would come after pissing him.
The cane struck again, and I cried out louder this time, my body arching off the bed as the pain sent a rush of heat pooling between my legs. The sensation was so foreign and scary that I clenched my thighs together. "Four," I moaned in pain.
"That's it," he growled and I could feel his voice roughing up as he moved closer and the heat of his body pressed against me. "Take it all, Ptichka. Take it, and know that you're mine. Only mine."
The strikes came faster now drawing a cry from my lips, pushing me closer to the brink of jumping into the ocean. The pain was overwhelming and so was he.
"You're so beautiful when you cry," his breath hot against my ear as he leaned over me, his free hand sliding down my back and soothing the burning skin before gripping my hip with bruising force. "So perfect, so mine."
The last strike was the hardest and it was not the cane, but his palm biting deep into my flesh, I screamed, my body convulsing as the pain tipped over into something indescribable, something that shattered me completely. "Ten," I sobbed, the tears streaming down my face as I finally gave in, surrendering completely to him, to the pain, to everything.
I was scared and the fear strangled me. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The silk binding my wrists held me in one place.
A shiver travelled up my spine as I once again felt the cane tap against my thigh. I flinched, a soft gasp escaping my lips. He noticed, of course, he did, and he chuckled.
I bit my lip, trying to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape as he trailed the cane up, slow and purposeful. The tip grazed my skin, teasing, tormenting, sending jolts of sensation through my body. My breath hitched as my insides burned and I clenched my jaw preparing myself for another strike.
To my surprise, he paused, letting the cane rest just between my thighs. I swallowed hard, my throat burning from the alcohol, from the fear, from everything.
And then, with agonizing slowness, he moved the cane lower, brushing against my most sensitive spot. I couldn't help it-the whimper slipped out before I could stop it and it was a shameful sound that made my cheeks burn with humiliation.
He laughed, low and cruel, his grip on the cane tightening as he pressed the tip against my entrance. My body tensed, every muscle coiled tight and I looked over my shoulder with wide eyes. He couldn't be…
"You feel that?" he whispered darkly and I shook my head.
"Judas…"
The cane pushed forward slowly deliberately penetrating which made my breath hitch. I whimpered, biting down hard on my lip, but it was no use. No. No, no, no. It was too much. I couldn't take it.
He thrust the cane deeper with a brutal force that sent me jolting forward. I cried out. "Judas, please, stop this!"
"Take it all in. I'm just preparing you for my cock."
My world narrowed to the sharp, burning sensation, the cruel stretch, the relentless rhythm as he worked the cane in and out of me. My thoughts splintered, shattering under his control, his power. I was lost, drowning in the darkness he wove around me, with no escape, no reprieve.
And through it all, his voice whispered in my ear. "Now you know how to beg, huh?"
My body trembled, the sensations overwhelming, too much, yet not enough. I was caught in his web, trapped by the pain, the pleasure, the brutal truth that he had carved into my soul.
By the time he finally pulled the cane away, I was nothing but a trembling, broken thing, gasping for breath, my body alight with the fire he had ignited. But even in my shattered state, I knew one thing with a terrifying certainty.
He was right.
And I hated myself for it.
Before I could react, Judas tossed the cane aside and his hands on my hips pulled me back against him, his hard length pressed insistently against my entrance. I was still trembling, my body slick with sweat, when he rubbed his clothes erection against my wetness. This wasn't me. this was just my body's response. He purposely had me drunk. The sick bastard.
"Now, let's get to the real fun."