Looking around I can see this is going to be a bitch to clean up. Oh well, I still have a few hours before it should occur to anyone to come looking for me. Hopefully there’s enough time. As I begin to mop up I can’t help but think about what brought me to this point.
It had been wonderful. Mark and I weren’t discussing marriage, but we’d moved in together about two months ago. Our routine had been set within a week of him moving in. He arrived home earlier than I did from work so he’d get dinner on the go. While he finished making dinner I’d go upstairs to change, usually into whatever he put out on the bed for me. Most times it wasn’t much, just enough to give him something to remove, and for me to feel as if I was wearing something. I’ve never been comfortable walking around without a stitch on, although he told me I would eventually. He usually pulled on sweats, or stripped down to his boxers before I arrived home, walking in to see him standing there, bare chest, nearly killed me. For the first few weeks everything seemed just amazing. I’d do clean up after we ate, and then go join him to watch a show snuggled up on the couch. Most nights we wouldn’t even get past the opening scene before… well… I can still feel his hands on my skin. It had never been like that with any other man, desire so strong that it overwhelmed every other thought, every other feeling. From the moment I’d start to unwind during dinner it was as if nothing else mattered, nothing at all, except having him inside of me. I’d never considered myself quite so needy. It was almost as if I was addicted to his touch.
Last night I called him on my way out of the office and suggested that we go out for dinner. Just for something a little different. He hesitated a little, said he liked having me all to himself at the end of the day but, if I really wanted to, we’d go. When I arrived, he handed me a drink and told me he’d made reservations but the earliest we could get in was in a couple of hours. I went up, had a quick shower, threw on my robe, did up my hair and makeup, and went in to get dressed. Lying on the bed was a skirt, a nearly sheer blouse, silk stockings, and a garter. No bra, no panties. I decided I would agree to the no panties if it pleased him, but there was no way I was going out of the house without a bra especially wearing a shirt like that. I called out to him when I realized that there was nothing in my drawers. My panties and bras were all missing. A couple of moments later he came into the room, he tried to sweet talk me into doing this, for him. I’m not sure why but just everything about him had my skin crawling. His voice was making my head ache, so I said no, and told him to give me back my under things. He reached out to touch me and I couldn’t stand it, I stepped away, out of reach. I felt as if his very presence was making me ill.
He looked sad all of a sudden, sad and hurt. But I understood, I’ve always desired his touch before, I had no idea what was going on. He asked me to give him a moment and left the room. When he came back he handed me a drink, and put a bag with my underwear on the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and told me that he had only wanted to make the evening a little more fun. I pointed out to him that everyone else around us would be able to see my breasts that the shirt was too see through for going out without something under it. He surprised me when he said he wanted every other man to see what he had, what they could never have. I have to say it threw me. I needed a moment to think about it, so I drank my iced tea. As I thought about it I realized that all I really needed was him, to please him, to tease him, to be whatever he wished me to be. If he wanted me to go out with my body on display then that was what I would do. After all who was I to deny him anything?
He’d gone downstairs while I was thinking so I got dressed, and by the time I was ready to go I was already wound up. We still had about half an hour before we needed to leave so I slipped down the stairs as quietly as I could in my heels. He was sitting in the living room, looking lost and sad when I walked in. He looked up at me and I could see the fire ignite in his eyes as his gaze raked across my body. I walked up to him, stopped just before his knees, and apologized for my reactions.
I’m not sure I even managed to get all the words out before his mouth was on my breast, through my shirt, and his hands were on my ass, squeezing, kneading, lifting me as he stood. Within moments my back was against the wall, I felt one hand leave my ass, and heard his zipper. There was nothing slow, nothing romantic about it. His cock slammed into me, his now free hand pulled my shirt open grabbing my breast and gripping it so hard I could feel bruises forming almost instantly. His mouth had moved up and he was biting, devouring my neck, and with every bite he fucked me that much harder. Just as I was about to cum he slowed things down, growled in my ear telling me that I needed to wait. His hand left my boob and slid down between us, he carried me upstairs to our bed, playing with my clit, keeping me on edge. I was so close and he controlled it.
We got to our room and he lifted me off of his still hard cock. I whimpered a little, I wanted it back, and then he did something else he’d never done before. He hit me. Hard. He pushed me down on the bed, and pulled cuffs out, tying me to the bed frame. I tried to pull my legs up, to protect myself at least a little bit but he grabbed each leg and cuffed them as well. When I opened up my mouth to scream he stuffed a silk scarf I had bought for a friend in. I was still trying to move, trying to get free, and he smiled and told me to keep it up, he liked it when they fought. They? His mouth was on me in an instant; biting, sucking, hurting me. His hands roamed everywhere and wherever they touched he pinched, squeezed, bruised. I’m not the kind of girl who likes pain and I can tell you that my body reacted accordingly. It didn’t stop him though, he slammed his cock back inside of me, and I could feel skin tearing.
I’m not sure how long he kept going. Eventually I felt him roll off of me, I’d closed my eyes to just get through it. He whispered in my ear that he was sorry he’d never wanted to hurt me. That he’d just gotten so mad when I’d denied him what was his. He promised it would never happen again as he released me from the cuffs. But I couldn’t help myself from wondering, if it was never going to happen again, if he’d never meant to hurt me, why was it all set up before I got home from work?
I was smart, I nodded and went in to have a shower. The pain had cleared my head somewhat, and I was trying to figure out why I was suddenly so willing when not ten minutes before I hadn’t wanted him to touch me at all. It occurred to me that I suddenly wanted him after the ice tea, that every evening I wanted him so badly I couldn’t bear it, after eating dinner. I didn’t know what he was giving me, but he’d been doing so since we started dating.
When I came out of the shower, he handed me a couple of Tylenol and something to drink it down with. Like I was going to take anything he gave me. I walked by him, down to the kitchen to grab my own water, from the tap. He got angry and grabbed my shoulder. I don’t know how I ended up with a knife in my hand but when he spun me around he ended up with it in his gut. It really seemed to just piss him off more so I pulled it out, and stabbed him again, and again, and again, and… well now I have a lot of clean up to do.
I wonder if my sister is busy?