Page 36 of Creep
His words after he made me dance for him pissed me off. The things he says and does are giving me fucking whiplash. He fucking demands me to strip and dance on a pole for him and it’s honestly not terrible compared to other things he’s done so far. But then I start to haveanotherpanic attack because of those three fucking words he muttered. I don’t give a shit who he is, I don’t need anyone seeing me go through shit. But then he touched me and his touch was like fire burning through the icy fog in my mind, instantly snapping me out of it.
I danced on for him, getting lost in the same song playing on repeat. “Porn Star Dancing” by My Darkest Days. I’ve listened to it a lot, so when Vincent played it, I instantly recognized it. Though I know I’m not the best dancer, losing myself in the music and simply letting loose felt cathartic. But then his ass had to go and say “It wasall right”and every ounce of freedom and happiness I was feeling abruptly dissipated.
Now here I lie, naked and tied to his fucking bedagainwhile he leers at me with murder in his eyes. And I wouldn’t put it past him either. I know for a fact he is more than capable of murder. I mean,come on, he has a house in the middle of fucking nowhere, surrounded by miles of trees and with his job description? Yeah, no doubt in my mind.
The morning after my first night here, when I was staring out my window into the woods, a particular tree caught my eye. At first, I didn’t have the slightest clue why, so I continued to stare at it for a while. But then it hit me like a punch in the fucking gut. The tree was stained red. A deep, blood red. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an animal’s blood that caused a stain like that in themiddleof the tree.
Knowing what he’s capable of isn’t what scares me though. It’s not knowing what he’s thinking at any given moment. One minute he’s a malicious monster and the next he completely shuts down and brings this mask of indifference over his face. He is hot and cold and back and forth so many times it’s dizzying.
I close my eyes, fear taking hold of my body. My nails dig into my palms, only adding to the bite of the zip tie in my wrist, but right now I need all of the pain I can give myself. I know this is going to be bad.
14
Essa
“Open your fuckingeyes and watch me as I fucking hurt you. You don’t get the reprieve of not fucking watching,” he barks out the moment he notices my eyes were shut. I open them instantly and pin my stare at him. If he’s going to make me watch, then at least I can enjoy the view beforehand, because damn is it a view.
He has no shirt on and his abs are glistening with sweat. His anger is so intense, it’s radiating through his body. White Calvin Klein boxer briefs peek out of the waistband of his low hanging jeans. Jeans which cling to his iron clad thighs, the muscles flexing as he leans from one foot to the other. In the midst of being lost in my thoughts, he must’ve taken his clothes off and I’m not sure how to feel about it.
Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love the view, but why do I have to love it? I’m supposed to hate him, but in moments like these, he makes it really fucking hard. Especially when I can gawk at his tattoo covered body, but when he’s in this kind of mood, he takes what he wants with no hesitation.
I lay stretched to the max, completely fucking naked and right now, as I watch him run his eyes over every single fucking inch of my body, I regret not grabbing my clothes in my haste earlier. At least with clothes on right now, I would feel slightly better. And slightly is better than nothing at all. But it’s too late now. Though, now that I really think about it, I don’t think me having clothes on would stop him from doing what he’s about to do. They would be a mere inconvenience he could rid himself of in a split second.
The heat of his gaze burns my skin and I squirm, my own heating despite my best efforts to remain unaffected. I can hate this man as much as I want, but he does things my body fucking loves.No, not only loves, but fuckingcraves.The self-hatred I feel because of him is insurmountable but I have a feeling it’s about to hit an all-time high.
His index finger drags from the tip of my big toe, down my foot to my ankle and continues to move up. Once he reaches the apex of my thighs which are spread wide for him to see my glistening pussy,the traitorous bitch,he brushes his knuckle along my clit and then quickly moves back down my other leg. When he reaches my foot, he replaces his finger with his knife and then repeats the same actions. Except this time when he reaches the apex of my thighs, he presses the blade against my folds. The tip digs painfully into my clit and I cry out, but the pain is also eliciting something more.Pleasure.
I’m so fucking confused with myself and my reactions to him. The only person to have ever touched me in a sexual way was my own fucking “father”, so clearly it’s never been a pleasurable experience. But with Vincent, the way he touches me and the things he makes me feel, disconcerts me. Because I hate him. ButI don’t.I don’t know what I feel and the only way I know to make it all go away hasn’t been working like it always has.
The feeling of pain only makes me want him more now that I know what he’s capable of. Because I know, and my body knows he can bring me the pain I want, the pain I fuckingneed,better than I ever could. He knows how to deliver it in such a way that while, yes, obviously it fucking hurts, it feels so damn good. I’m becoming addicted to the things he makes me feel. I am a junkie at heart, after all. Literally, it runs in my DNA.
He pushes the tip in further and I feel as it breaks the skin open, blood dripping through my folds. Tears fall as I struggle against my binds, though I know it's fruitless. I’m not escaping this. I fucked up and he’s getting his revenge on me and on my body in the worst fucking way imaginable.
I keep my eyes locked on his every move as he roams his eyes over my body, his knife following the path they take. He pushes down harder against random spots, nicking me in places while others are cut open deeply. Blood covers my body as the wounds multiply by the minute, his movements becoming more frantic as he continues. His chest rises and falls rapidly and sweat coats his skin.
My screams eventually turn into silent sobs. After what feels like the hundredth cut he makes against my skin, he moves away from me. He brings the blade of the knife to his mouth and with his eyes locked on mine, he runs his tongue from the base all the way to the top, sucking the tip into his mouth. I watch, transfixed, as he cleans my blood off of his knife.
Pain is radiating all over my body making it hard for me to focus. I can no longer feel any of my limbs, my binds cutting off circulation. I glace up to make sure they’re still attached because I really wouldn’t be surprised if Vincent ended up sawing my limbs off—that’s just how fucking twisted he is—especially right now. My skin is already bruising and my fingers are a blue-ish white color from the lack of blood flow.
My vision begins to blur as I try to hold his gaze, but I lose my battle and my eyes flutter closed.
* * *
My eyelids feellike they weigh a hundred pounds as I try to peel them open. My body is weightless, though I still feel the mattress beneath me. I manage to pry my eyes open but it’s not for more than two seconds before Vincent is shoving himself inside of me. I scream out at his intrusion, but more from surprise than pain because it doesn’t hurt. I was expecting to feel the usual ripping fire throughout my body, but it didn’t happen. No, my body was ready for him even though I was un—fucking—concious.
And fuck does it feel good.
My eyes impulsively shut again at the sensations tormenting my body. Vincent must have cut the zip ties on my ankles because I can feel the pins and needles sensation of blood trying to flow back into them as he grabs my upper thighs and pushes them apart, opening myself up to him more.
A moan escapes my mouth in a hushed breath as he pushes inside of me again. His palm lands across my face and my eyes snap open at the brutal sting across my cheek.
“Keep your fucking eyes open, baby,” he spits out as he grabs my hips and lifts them into the air. I watch as he slowly pulls out, his thick girth hitting every nerve ending inside of me, eliciting the most incredible feeling.
When he pulls all of the way out with the head of his cock hovering at my opening, he yanks my hips toward him and impales me on his cock. I scream at not only his ruthlessness, but the brutal force at which my arms pull against my bindings. Every cut across my skin stings with every movement, eliciting massive amounts of pain which intermixes with the pleasure I’m feeling, creating the most explicit ecstasy.
My screams spur him on as he pounds into me, the tip of his dick hitting my cervix with every thrust. The blood from all of my wounds runs freely, coating us both and causing our bodies to slip against each other. He wraps one hand around my throat and the other finds a particularly deep wound he placed over my ribs. He digs his fingers into the wound as he tilts his hips up, dragging along my walls as he pulls back out. Sweat drips from his forehead and onto my face. I dart my tongue out to lick it off of my upper lip. His eyes follow my movement and darken with desire. The monster that came over him, the one that cut my body in a hundred different places in every which way is slowly dissipating. His anger is turning into what I can only assume to be lust.
While he’s still aggressive with me, his hand squeezing my throat until I can’t do more than wheeze and his fingers digging into my wound, he stopped solely bringing me pain and now he’s giving me immense pleasure too. He moves his hand from the gash to in between our bodies and begins to rub my clit is slow, leisurely circles, a substantial contrast to the way he’s fucking my pussy with raw abandon.
