Chained

by Celia Crown

  His perception of space scares me as his hand travels into the shirt that I stole from him; sleeping with him allows me to sleep peacefully without waking up once during the nights.

  The walk up my side brings out giggles as I squirm on the bed; another laugh stumbles out of my smiling lips when he licks my neck. He closes his lips on my skin and marks the softness there, I’ll have a hickey there in the morning, but I want that.

  I want to have a physical manifestation of his possessiveness.

  Damon doesn’t waste time when he lifts the shirt over my head, and my nipples kiss the cool air; the air condition in the room nips at my warm skin as he takes a nipple into his hot mouth, tongue flickering and teeth nibbling on the hard peak.

  Moaning with a finger hooking onto my teeth, I bite down on the finger while wishing he would let me suck his cock. I have been addicted to the taste of him the first time I had him down my throat, but he’s playing unfair whenever we’re intimate.

  He rolls my other nipple between fingers while my hips buck up to scrape my panties on his rigid abs. His body is a work of art, and it’s a shame that I can’t see it this time, but the morning will be my turn to bring us pleasure.

  “Damon,” I whine through a broken moan as he leaves my breasts and travel down to my quivering belly.

  Lifting my legs in the air, Damon pulls my underwear off, and it’s the stickiness that makes my cheeks burn. This is so humiliating, drenching my panties just by him playing with my nipples is an embarrassment.

  “Patience,” he warns with a soft bite to my inner thigh.

  He licks the sore spot; the roughness of his tongue against the softness sends tingling feelings through my pussy as I throb emptily. Damon teases with a feathery touch to my clit, he finds it with one move and my hips jerk at the sudden pleasure that spikes.

  Two big hands part my thighs, and my flexibility allows him to keep them on the bed; he squeezes the fleshiness and growls into the darkness of the night.

  “Keep them there,” he says, it’s not a warning or a plea.

  It’s a simple command; he knows that I can follow instructions, and this is a test to see how well I can listen to him. I’m going to prove to him that I can, and he’s going to be proud of me, but that determination shatters when his tongue swipes at my leaking pussy.

  I slap my hands down on my thighs, keeping them from jerking close around his head while he parts my folds with his fingers. His teeth come down on my clit and stars fly behind my eyes. The anticipation heightens as he soothes the ache with his lips around my clit.

  The obscene slurping and sucking reach my ears; hearing him over my moans is a new experience as he trails his thick tongue to my twitching hole. He dives in as his fingers keep me wide open, and he takes me by surprise when he inhales my scent.

  I turn my head into the pillow as a blush mixes with shame on my cheeks; this is beyond filthy as my juices slide out of my little hole.

  The familiar tightness in my tummy strengthens. and I bite my lip to bring attention to the pain. It helps me to stop thinking about the need to ride his face.

  “D-Damon—” I hiccup with shaky thighs, “I want to cum!”

  He answers with a hum around my clit and my back arches.

  “With you!” I add on quickly, tears rimming my eyes as I throw my head back. “Please— I want to cum with you!”

  A last kiss on my throbbing clit kind of makes me want to take back my request. It would be amazing to cum on his tongue, but the emptiness in my cunt demands his big cock.

  He leans forward to kiss me; I can taste myself on his tongue, and it arouses me more. Biting my lip out of excitement, I bring my legs around his hips as the width of his body gives him plenty of room to hold his cock steady when he toys with my clit.

  “No teasing.”

  He chuckles at the sound of a pout in my voice. Damon doesn’t need to worry about hurting me; I’m too wet and drenching the bed with my juices as he rubs his cock on my clit.

  “Damon!” I swat his chest with a squirm, the head catches at my hole, and he slips in.

  It’s not gentle when he forces my walls open to accommodate the girth that knocks my head back. Honestly, I shouldn’t have a problem with his thickness, but I squeal throatily for being too full.

  He breaks the limit that I thought I had, and it’s impossibly tight as he sits inside of me. The reason he doesn’t move right away is not that he thinks it’s going to hurt me, but because he wants to make me feel him dominating me with the sheer girth of his cock.

  “Hera,” he growls, hooking his arms under my thighs and the pace he sets is mind-blowing as the squelching noise takes over.

  He fucks me with vigor. The flex of his muscles swells under my touch as me answering him with a moan. Damon has too much stamina, and the thrusts are welcomed hungrily by my greedy pussy.

  “You told Amir about them, but not me,” the way he spits out the name is confusing.

  My mind barely picks up on his words through his hammering. His cock breaches me wider than I have ever felt, and it’s making me drunk on his affection when he curls a hand around my throat.

  Yes, I need this.

  I crave this roughness as he snaps his hips. My cunt is beginning to feel sore through his crude piston. He draws my lively nerves into a frenzy as his hard shaft tugs on my clit when he fills me so utterly.

  “What?” I slur drunkenly.

  “Your family, you told him about them,” he hisses, fingers constricting my air as I claw at his hands.

  “I-I didn’t!” I shake my head.

  He doesn’t slow down as I clamp down around him, molding the shape of him with my small pussy. Damon always tells me that it’s like taking my virginity every time we have sex; he loves the tightness and when I get obscenely soaked.

  He tells me that I’m a bad girl for dirtying his cock with my juices, but I only defile myself even more at his mockery.

  “That bastard,” Damon sneers, adjusting his position to take my waist and thrusting deeply. Keeping up with his wild pace is impossible; it’s best to take fistfuls of the pillows and let him use my body as a way of releasing tension.

  Damon’s calloused fingers thrum on my sensitive clit and bounce me with his fucking as he pinches my clit harshly. A cry jerks out of my hoarse voice. My pussy convulses around his cock, and the sodden folds flutter around the base as he holds me there to feel my shaking orgasm take a feral run at my body.

  “You’re mine,” he snaps; it’s the voice of a domineering man and a ferocious snarl of a massive beast when he relentlessly fucks me through my orgasm with merciless thrusts.

  “You’re mine,” I repeat, and I desperately want to see his face.

  I’m starting to shake again; the earlier feeling returns with retaliation as sensitivity comes with soreness and aching that goes deep into my boneless body.

  “O-oh! I—Damon!” I choke out a broken moan as I cum again, tightening and milking his cock with a groan ripping from his throat.

  It’s velvety and deep, too frighteningly inhuman that my vision blackens even more.

  Cum paints my walls with white. The creaminess spills out of my tight cunt as I tilt my hips up to prevent them from sliding out. The warmness does something to me and feeling him nuzzle my face with heavy kisses makes my eyelids drop. A sense of serenity washes over me through the silence of our breathing.

  His weight lays on top of me, and I don’t mind feeling it. Though he has something else in mind when he rolls over, taking the cover and throwing it above our naked bodies to make sure that the air conditioning doesn’t get me a cold.

  Damon presses a kiss to my forehead, sighing adoringly with another nuzzle to my hair. His affection is warm. My heart swells with an indescribable feeling that leaves me wondering what it is.

  I’m comfortable here. I neither feel the need to hurry away from physical contact nor do I feel emotionally closed off.

  “Tomorrow, I’m going to ask you another q
uestion,” he says.

  My heavy eyelids flutter, “Why?”

  I don’t ask him what he wants to know as I’m aware that he won’t push me if I really don’t want to answer. I will tell him someday, but only when I’m ready to do it at my own pace.

  I’m a bit slow when it comes to self-discovery.

  “To get to know you,” he answers quietly.

  I turn my head, nosing at his neck and sigh. Not knowing what to say, I decide to stay silent and let drossiness take over while a pleasant brush of his fingers through my hair lures me to sleep.

  His arm is too hard for a pillow, the muscles bulge unevenly under my head, and I bury my face to his skin.

  “Do I get to ask questions too?” I ask, tentative and a bit apprehensively. “About you?”

  “Ask me anything, and I will answer the best I can.”

  I smile, chasing the gentle pulse of his neck with a kiss.

  “If I ask something you’re not comfortable with, know that I’m not doing it to mock you.” Damon turns my body into his arms and sinks my curves into his bulky and muscular frame.

  “I want you to take the risk of stepping out of your comfort zone. I know it’s frightening, but it’s going to help you in the long run.”

  I trace a small patter on his strong back, “In the long run?”

  “Yes,” he insists, “I want you to stay with me.”

  The proper way is the other way around. He should be saying that he wants to say with me to ease the anxiety of being caged and chained against my will. However, I don’t feel that way, and the anticipated struggle doesn’t come.

  Staying with him sounds desirable.

  “Can you promise me that you’ll be patient with me? I know that I’m not exactly—”

  “Hush,” he hugs me, “There is nothing wrong with you. I never thought about leaving.”

  Moisture wets the rims of my eyes as I blink rapidly, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you want me.”

  It comes out with ease, “I want to stay with you.”

  Epilogue

  Damon

  Five Years Later.

  “Put the fucking knife down before you hurt yourself.”

  Hera’s wide heterochromia eyes widen like a deer in headlights. She has a white plastic knife in her hand and a fork in her other while the innocent layered cake sits in the container from the grocery store.

  “I have sliced people with a real knife before,” she narrows her eyes.

  “Not in my kitchen,” the possessive curl of my words sends her shaking in her spot.

  She is not allowed in the kitchen under any circumstances unless I permit her to or it’s time to eat. There is a rule in our household that we all eat at the dining table.

  I’m not cleaning up spilled seafood soup from the carpet. It’s going to need industrial-grade disinfectant to get rid of the smell that will seep into the ground.

  “Well?” I impatiently glare at her head.

  Those gorgeous locks are held in two loose braids. The roundness of her cheeks hasn’t differed from years ago. She doesn’t look like she’s aged at all. I, on the other hand, have changed.

  I have grown more facial hair, and I’m no longer a mere appearance of a man. I’m a husband and a father, and my little wife still gets looks that deems her too young for me.

  She is, but she doesn’t care what people think. Hera holds my hand in public with no fear of judgment during summer times where it is required to wear short sleeves. My tats are on display, and the scars that litter on my body scare many people, especially the damn housewives of this rich neighborhood.

  I never expected to live here with these preppy soccer moms and golfing dads, but security here is off the charts, and I want our kids to be here to avoid suffering the same childhood as Hera and I did.

  We want to start a new chapter of our lives away from the past that seeps with gore and carnage.

  “Hey, husband?”

  I look up from the refrigerator, “Yes, wife?”

  “I have to tell you something,” she says.

  I close the door giving her my undivided attention r, but she shakes her head and motions me to continue to do what I was thinking of.

  “Can you do your thing, like just move and go on about your activities while I talk?”

  I nod wordlessly and open the door again, but my ears are tuned to her voice. Hera has recently begun to slowly talk about her past, but it didn’t start that way; she talks about everything and anything on her mind, it’s a start of a habit to confide in me when she feels like it.

  I have requested for her to not hold anything back, if she wants to talk, then I’ll be her ears.

  “I had a family; dad, mom, and a little sister. Her name is… was Lucy. We were a regular family, you know.”

  Hera shrugs, tenderness curving under her eyes as I steal a glance through the corner of my eyes.

  “I was ten when I first saw Abel.”

  That name makes me freeze. Anger slowly simmers in me as my hatred for that man didn’t dim one bit with time.

  “It was nighttime when he broke into our home, and he took us to a remote area, but I didn’t know anything at the time. I was too young and too scared, and my dad protected us the best he could.”

  She stops talking for a long time, but I don’t look back as I let her gather her thoughts. Rushing her would be detrimental to the progress she has made by herself, and I feel a rush of pride for her.

  “It wasn’t just him that kidnapped us from our own home; there were other people too, and they all worked for him.”

  I hear a sharp breath, “W-we were told to face the woods with them behind us. Lucy and I were so cold. It was winter, and we were in our pajamas. I still remember the blisters on her feet and the burning in my body from hypothermia.”

  She laughs, uneasy and dull, “Abel said we were going to play a game, and my dad begged him to let us go. He didn’t, and he made us run into the woods.”

  The pan clanks on the stove with a pot of water under high flames; making her favorite dish is my goal.

  “We were being hunted like animals with his associates,” she spits out with fury, “It didn’t take long for dad and mom to figure out that they were playing with us, but then they got tired of letting us wander so they took my dad first.”

  “He was the biggest threat,” she tries to make her voice steady, “T-they cut his ankle, and I still remember his scream, and I was too weak to help him.”

  “They held us at gunpoint and made us watch him get tortured. He-he was in so much pain, and I couldn’t help!”

  I spin around to see tears rolling down her face, the trembling of her lips leaves her vulnerable as she clenches the plastic knife in her tiny hand.

  She needs me, and I don’t wait for another second to turn off the stove and speed up to her. Hera throws her arms around me and wets my shirt with her tears. I pat her back and keep quiet, holding back the comforting words that I want to tell her.

  When she cut Abel’s Achille’s heels, she did it for her father and not for her own pleasure.

  “Then mom was next. They made her run and run until they caught up to her. I don’t know what they did to her, but Lucy and I could hear her scream in the woods. Abel separated us to do maximum damage; we didn’t have protection from his evil acts, and mom didn’t know what is happening to us.”

  I have never wished a more painful death on Abel than him being burned alive, but he should have suffered more for his crimes.

  “Then it came down to us. Lucy and I were forced to choose who gets to live. Only one of us gets to see tomorrow, and I choose Lucy. She was the youngest, and I wanted to protect her, but Abel took Lucy and buried her alive.”

  Hera cries so brokenly. The raw pain in her voice has my eyes shut to help myself from imagining the horrors of that night with her.

  “I watched her in a six-feet grave. She was so small and so scared!” Hera fists into the back of my s
hirt.

  “They made me watch her suffocate under the dirt, I was—I don’t…”

  There are no words to describe how she’s feeling, but I’m here for her. I let her cry and sob noisily into my shirt.

  This is another bad day for her. She has been getting less of those over time since she’s been more open about her feelings. That doesn’t mean those bad days don’t creep up on her, and those memories will never be not fresh in her head.

  “I—” she chokes, trembling violently in my strong arms. “I’m scared…”

  Abel is dead, she has gotten her revenge, and those people who had killed by skinning were not random housewives or regular businessmen. All of them had played a part in that night and went on with their lives as if nothing had happened, as if they had not just modified a little girl’s life into a thirteen-year nightmare.

  “I’m here,” it’s a phrase that always calms her. “I love you, Hera. You’re such a brave girl.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I comfort with a smile into her soft hair, “Thank you for telling me.”

  “I’m sorry for taking so long. It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just— I don’t like thinking about that night.”

  I understand. I have never pressured her to talk about her past in a light that she doesn’t want to. She tells me little things about herself, nothing too revealing that pulls her into a direction that she wants to avoid.

  “Never apologize for being ready,” I tell her, genuine concern whispering through her name.

  “I have said before; you come before me, and I will put you above all else.”

  She sniffs and chokes a laugh, “Not above our kids.”

  “Not them, they will raise hell,” I chuckle with her.

  “Whose fault is that?” she rubs her eyes on my shirt and looks up at me with red-rimmed golden amber and icy cerulean.

  “I’m not the one that spoils them so much as if they are a pair of royalty,” Hera smiles.

  “They look like you,” I huff, a bit unfair that they have the features of their mother’s face.

  A boy and a girl, they are devious little brats that will use their mother’s infamous puppy-dog eyes to get what they want from me.