Page 28 of Deliria

My sweet little whore.

She’s so beautiful. So perfect. She’s so tight. So fucking incredible. It feels too good.

She moans softly, her hips lifting to meet mine, her body welcoming me in as if she’s actually consenting to this.

“Little slut.” I chuckle as I pinch her nipples. They harden instantly and I do it again, pinching harder, knowing that that’s what gets the conscious Scarlett off. That she enjoys being used. She enjoys being hurt.

Maybe that’s why I do it.

The thought hits me out of nowhere, and I shove it back down. I don’t need to justify myself. I don’t need to explain myself. I’m her husband. And she’s put me through enough bullshit to be able to use her as I see fit. However I see fit.

I start to move faster, deeper. Seeking more from her body, more from her cunt.

My hands grab at her waist, gripping her tight enough that I can truly fuck her the way I need to. And Christ, do I need to. I need it to hurt, not just for her, but for me. I need it to be a punishment for the both of us.

I’ve let this get out of hand, I’ve let this situation become almost untenable.

It’s my fucking fault that I couldn’t control my wife better, couldn’t manage her illness better.

If the world were to realise what was going on. If the world were to realise what was happening to Scarlett… no, that won’t happen. I’ve made sure of that. No one will know. My beautiful wife will be protected at all costs.

I snarl, feeling the way her insides clench, the way they grip me. She’s had a good seeing to already, so I guess it isn’t surprising she’s responding like this, but this shouldn’t be about her. Not in this moment. This was about me. About my needs.

“Fucking whore.” I gasp. “Fucking whore.”

I could pretend. I could close my eyes and convince myself that we’re back in the early days, when everything was perfect. That she’s still just a struggling artist and I’m still trying to charm her, to win her over. It was fun then. It was easy.

Neither of us would have imagined we’d end up here. Neither of us would have imagined we’d both be trapped in this nightmare.

I shake my head, shut my eyes, pretending that this isn’t my broken little wife beneath me but the sparkling, vivacious woman I fell in love with. And we’re not here, not in thismansion, but we’re in that fancy hotel, having spent an evening laughing and flirting, and she’s drunk off her head, begging for it, begging me, desperate for my cock, desperate for my touch.

My poor sweet little Scarlett. I can see it, her slipping her slutty little dress off, revealing that she had nothing on underneath. And then she’s climbing onto those white silk sheets, spreading herself, touching herself, teasing herself while I’m devouring every inch of her with my eyes.

Oh, I knew that by constantly keeping her glass topped up that night she’d finally give in. But had I not done enough? Had I not charmed her enough? We’d been dating for three fucking months by then, I deserved to see the goods. I’d more than earned that right.

Besides, she wasn’t upset the next day. Embarrassed sure, confused, absolutely, but I soon fucked that out of her.

I groan, hearing the way she’d screamed my name, the way she pronounced those syllables. She made me feel like a god, made me feel like I was worth more than even my father, my family, more than anything.

“Alex, Alex…”

It’s too much, too good. I can’t hold back any longer. With a final thrust, I come undone, my body shuddering with my release as I pour into her.

But as that haze of pleasure fades, reality sets in again. Where we are. What’s really going on here.

She isn’t that carefree woman, and I’m not that kind, contented man.

Carefully, I slip out of the bed, pulling the covers down enough to leer at her as the evidence of what I’ve just done begins to leak between her thighs.

If I were a better man, I’d clean her up. I’d go to the bathroom, grab a cloth, wipe all the evidence away and pretend that this moment never happened.

But I’m not.

And I don’t want to.

I want her to wake sore, I want her to wake and feel between her thighs and know that it was me. That I fucked her, that I used her, that I took what I wanted because she ismywife. And because ultimately, I have total control over her.

I can still feel her, still taste her, still smell her on my skin. I can still hear her soft moans, her ragged breaths, her cries of pleasure even if all of that was just in my head.

---