Page 64 of Depravity

“My perfect wife,” I grin, pushing her face down, shoving her head into the pillow so I don’t have to listen to any more of her bullshit. “My perfect little fuck doll.”

He lays there, half-collapsed on top of me, all fucking night.

When he gets up I play dead, I play docile.

He fucks me again, gently, almost lovingly, and then he gets dressed and heads off somewhere. Work, I guess.

The maids bring me food. They arrive ready to wash me down and they pause, confused when they see I’m no longer tied to the bed. I don’t make a big deal of it, I don’t say a word. What if they decide to lock me back up, chain me again?

I stand still, obedient as they scrub me down, as they spread my legs, and they shave me all over like I’m an invalid. I’m half tempted to grab the razor, but I don’t stand a chance of getting out of this place even if I can overpower them.

When they leave, they switch the tv on to that awful channel, and then I hear the door lock so I know I can’t get out.

That isn’t going to stop me. Not this time.

The sounds of fucking fills the air and I narrow my eyes, trying to block it out.

There’s a bathroom to the left and I search the space, but the window doesn’t open and there’s nothing of use whatsoever.

In the bedroom I try to undo the window, but that too is locked tight and won’t budge.

I can’t get out.

In the drawers there’s instruments, sex toys, things I have no clue what they do, nor do I want to know.

For hours I just pace, covering my ears, trying to come up with some sort of plan but there is none. The maids come back with lunch and this time, because they know I’m not incapacitated, there’s three of them. Two to bar the door, one to put the tray on the bed and pretty much run out, as if I’m contagious.

My mind flickers back to the maids in my home, how they treated me at the end, and it feels the same. I’m not a person in their eyes, I’m a problem.

I stare at the food, a club sandwich and chips. It’s not exactly thrilling but I’m so hungry I wolf it down, practically licking up the crumbs too. The plate is paper, as if they were worried I’d smash a ceramic one and turn it into some sort of weapon.

I snarl, folding my arms, pacing the room again as I realise I can’t get free, but I can get even.

The door opens. Conrad peeps through it as if he’s expecting me to be there, splayed and ready like I’m a mindless slave now.

As he steps through I move quickly, bringing the lamp down on his head and it shatters into a million pieces like an explosion.

He groans, falling onto his face and I take the chance to drag him, to tie him, to make sure he can’t fight back.

As he lays there, in that same defenceless position he’s put me in so many times, all I can feel is anger. Sheer bloody fury.

“You bastard.” I scream, slamming my bare foot into his side.

He looks around, and I see that smug fucking look on his face. As if this is a joke, as if this is some sick game we’re playing.

“I didn’t realise you wanted to be in charge, wife.” He says, in that awful sexy tone.

I kick him again and he rolls over, landing on his side.

But the way he’s looking at me… I want him to feel fear, I want him to understand. Does he see me as that little of a threat, is that it?

I storm over, not even thinking logically about this but he did it to me, he’s raped me so many times. I grab the toy, the big one, the one that he hurts me the most with.

It’s solid enough, and it represents a truncheon in my mind. I whack him around the head, the arms, beating him as hard as he can while I scream out my rage.

He groans and he takes it but still, I can hear the mirth in his voice, the amusement as he taunts me further, like the blows are nothing to him.

Maybe I’m the monster now. Maybe I’m becoming as fucked up as he is, because I’m suddenly clawing at his clothes, ripping his fancy suit off and I’m shoving that thing so hard up his arse he really does react. He jolts, his body locks up and finally, finally he snarls in actual pain.

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