Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“You did well, brother,” Emilio commented. “The lines are perfect.”
“I wouldn’t allow anything less on her body,” Alexander replied casually, his tone filled with pride.
Bishop let out a soft chuckle. “We’ll be seeing her again soon, right?”
“Very soon,” Alexander replied.
“We look forward to it.”
My breath hitched as they moved closer, their presence lingering for a moment longer before one of them gently brushed their fingers over my shoulder, as if to test the fresh mark. “Until next time,” Emilio stated, his tone laced with amusement.
“Until next time,” Bishop echoed, his voice cheerful.
They bid their final farewells to Alexander and left me there, bound, and exposed, as the door creaked shut behind them. I was alone with Alexander once again. His fingers brushed lightly over my spine, tracing a path up to just above the mark he had re-branded onto me. His other hand trailed down my body, causing my breath to hitch in anticipation. I swallowed hard, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over as he reached beneath my dress.
There was no escape from his touch, not with the blindfold covering my eyes and chains binding me in place. His fingertips grazed along the hem of my underwear, teasing and torturing me with their feather-light touch.
"Please, don't," I begged, my voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Alexander, don't..."
My pleas were ignored. He tugged down my underwear and let them fall to the ground around my ankles. The room felt smaller, suffocating even, as he traced the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. It was like he was etching a map onto my skin, each touch a secret message meant only for him to decipher.
"I will never hurt you more than what is necessary," he promised softly, his tone both comforting and threatening at the same time. "This is just a part of it all. We must establish our bond," he reasoned, his voice steady but with an underlying dark certainty. "You remember what I told you about the mark? It's a symbol of our union and my claim over you. It’s the only comfort I have until our last Rite."
A sob caught in my throat as the reality of it all sunk in. The forced marriage. The complete surrender to him. The unbreakable future he had planned for me. He spread my legs apart and placed one hand between my shoulder blades, bringing his fingers back to my center and teasing my opening. With deliberate slowness, he pushed a finger inside me, then another, filling me up in ways that felt both foreign and familiar. The sensation of having something inside me while I bled both inside and out was a cruel paradox. He showed no mercy as he continued to slide his fingers in and out, finding a rhythm that sent shockwaves through my body.
I tried to resist, to fight back against the sensations, but my own body betrayed me. The more he moved, the more pleasure surged through me, overwhelming any sense of fear or disgust I had.
My heart pounded in unison with his movements, my arousal building despite my attempts to suppress it. As his fingers delved even deeper into me, I could feel my period mixing with my arousal, creating a messy mixture between my legs. He took notice and pushed himself even further inside, eliciting a soft moan from deep within me. I clenched my fists, trying to control the conflicting emotions raging within me.
"You see?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Even in your pain, your body responds to me."
His fingers suddenly vanished, leaving a trail of blood and wetness in their wake. I shuddered, feeling the warm liquid seeping down my legs. He positioned himself at my entrance, his cock poised to enter me, already hard again. His breath fanned against my neck as he whispered. "You’re going to take me deep and hard.”
He hesitated for a moment, relishing the power of the moment, before slowly thrusting forward. I let out a muffled cry, my body tensing and trembling as he filled me. I clenched my fists, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but knowing that it was slipping away. I was forced onto my tiptoes as he began to thrust.
His movements were calculated and precise, a well-choreographed dance that left me breathless. His hands guided my body up and down, leading me to the peak of pleasure. The rough stone altar pressed into my stomach as I arched up on my toes. The sound of my moans echoed through the dimly lit chapel, mixing with the scent of blood, and sweat. Every thrust brought a new wave of both pain and pleasure, fueling my reluctant arousal. I could feel myself losing touch with reality, consumed by whatever this was between us. Despite the intense pain and violation, there was also a sense of exhilaration, of being pushed to the brink of my limits. I fought against it, clawing at the unforgiving stone beneath me, but it was no use. His touch, his control over me, was absolute. As he gripped my shoulders and increased his pace, I could feel his dominance over me in every bruise he left behind. The pain only served to remind me that I was at his mercy.