Page 10 of Deliria

It’s true.

His words are true.

Maybe I am a whore. Maybe the fact that the pain does something is a testament to how fucked up I really am in my head.

Or maybe it’s him. Maybe he’s the problem – I don’t dare voice that though. He’s the one with the power, and I’m just his pretty, docile wife who needs to tread carefully. Very fucking carefully.

The moan I let out seems to confirm every word he’s spoken. He lets out a laugh that sounds far more cruel in this bleak house.

And then slowly, almost lovingly he starts rubbing his fingertips, circling, teasing, getting me off just the way he knows I like.

“My filthy little slut.” He says, knowing those words are just as effective as his touch is in that moment.

“Yes.” I sink back into the pillows. My body spreads further as that pleasure starts to build and build. “Fuck yes, just like that, Alex, fuck, that’s it…”

Another laugh is the reply I get. And then another taunt.

It’s incredible that he can give me exactly what I need, what gets me off. Because I like the degradation, I like being treated like a whore, and that’s half the problem. Being in this house, being cooped up here, it makes me feel like I’m some precious jewel, too valuable to touch. Too fragile to move unless I break.

I can feel my orgasm coming. I can feel my heart racing faster and faster and I arch my back, so deliriously ready for this one moment of solace that I get.

But it’s gone. Stolen. Taken away from me before I can reach it.

Alex’s hands grab my waist and I’m slammed over, my face hitting the mattress with a hard thump before my hips are yanked up and he pushes himself into me.

Only, he’s not in my pussy anymore. More pain, a different pain, reverberates through my body at the violent intrusion. A cry escapes my lips before I can even think.

“You really think I’d reward you?” He says as he pulls out before slapping the side of my arse hard enough that I shriek with shock. “You really think I’d let you come after you disobeyed me?”

“I just…”

“Just what?” He growls before plunging into me with such force that I can’t even think straight.

My words don’t form. My entire being is focused on how he’s abusing me, how I’m not even a person right now, but a thing for him to use.

I’m not his fragile, broken spouse. I’m not his poor, delicate, sickly wife.

And finally, I feel alive. I feel seen.

Though he has all the control, I still believe that if I needed him to stop he would. That I’d just have to say the word, my word, the safe word, and he’d become the kind, considerate, loving Alex I fell for.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He says before burying my head into the mattress, forcing my body into an angle that better suits his needs. “You walked out that door, you deliberately disobeyed me. What were you hoping to achieve, huh? Did you want to scare me, did you want to simply get a little bit of attention? Or was your needy cunt so desperate to be filled that you had to ram it full of sticks to get yourself off?”

“It wasn’t like that…” I stammer. “Vincent, he…”

“I know,” He growls back. “I know he found you. That he walked right in on you, naked, sprawled out…”

Is that what he said? Is that the lie Vincent fed him? Why then did he leave me in the art studio?

He grabs my face, pushing it into the mattress, burying it like he wants me to suffocate.

I don’t fight. I don’t do anything but grip the sheets, grit my teeth and take all of it while he grunts and groans, fucking me as hard as he possibly can.

Alex has the endurance of an athlete. I swear he must be on something, because no normal man his age should be able to fuck the way he does for as long as he does. By the time he comes, I’m a complete mess.

He slides out, wiping his dick on my thigh, and then pushes me so that I fall onto my side in a trembling heap.

“Clean yourself up.” He says before taking the discarded sheets and laying on the only clean part of the bed.

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