Page 95 of Depravity

He gets right in my face, wrapping his hand around my cheeks, pushing them together. “Say it,” He says, “Say that you love me.”

I scowl, shaking my head with the limited movement I have. I won't give him that power, that last piece of me.

My defiance is met with another shock, a reminder that my silence comes with a price. Yet, as the pain courses through me,there's a flicker of something else - pride perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of hope.

Because, in this moment, I realize that as long as I can withhold those words, I still have something of my own. Something that he cannot bend or break, no matter how hard he tries.

And that keeps a part of me alive in the midst of this waking nightmare.

Because I am more than the sum of my scars. More than what he’s trying to make me. I have to be. I can’t just be this. I can’t just exist like this.

Why won’t she say it? Why can’t she just pretend for once? I wouldn’t even care if she didn’t mean it. Hell, I know she doesn’t mean it, yet.

But she won’t even play along. She’s so damned insolent, so fucking defiant.

I storm out of the room, going to grab something, anything that will hurt her enough that she understands. But nothing has worked so far, has it?

It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck her, how many times I shock her, the bitch won’t learn.

I need to do something more. Something worse.

I need to make her understand once and for all that this is her life, this is her future.

I come to a sudden stop as I realise what Icando. But is it too far? No, no it fucking isn’t. In so many ways, it’s not nearly far enough.

By the time I walk back into that room, I’ve made my mind up and I know this is the right decision, the logical one.

She looks at the weapon in my hand and she shakes her head, her eyes imploring me for mercy. But where was my mercy? Where was my god given respect?

All she’s done from the moment I brought her here is fight me, and I’m done with it. Done with the bullshit.

I tried to play fair, I tried to give her time. The softly- softly approach didn’t work. Now it’s time for the stick.

“You did this.” I state as I place the thing down with a thump and start unbinding her, manoeuvring her so that she’s lying on her front, with her entire back exposed.

“You had to be a little bitch, you had to keep fighting me…” I loop the rope back around, tying it firmly against the livid marks on her skin.

“Please,” She sobs, “I’ll be good, I’ll be…”

“It’s too fucking late.” I snarl. She always begs and pleads when she’s faced with the consequences, well maybe now she’ll understand once and for all that I am not fucking around. That this is not a game.

I reach for the mallet, straddling her thighs. She jerks enough that I know she’s trying to buck me off, but her feeble attempts do nothing more than piss me off further. Again, she refuses to accept my decisions. She refuses to submit.

“I will break you.” I state. “I will fucking break you. And then you will understand.”

“No…” She screams out, right as I lift the mallet up and I aim for her lower back, where her spine meets her buttocks.

I don’t want to hit too high. I don’t want to turn her into a complete invalid. I want her to keep use of her arms, I want her to be able to caress me, to jerk me off, to cup my cheeks and to kiss me.

But her legs. Her legs have to go. Her legs have to be rendered useless.

She doesn’t need them anyway, not when she has me in her life. I can carry her wherever she needs to go. And this way, this way she’ll never be able to run from me again.

She doesn’t need to walk.

She doesn’t need to dance or do anything but lay here and let me fuck her.

That is her purpose. That is her reason for existence. She’ll be my literal doll. A living, breathing toy that I can move and manipulate however I choose.

---