𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

❤︎ Synopsis. He claims to hate her, but his obsession says otherwise. A deadly game of spite and desire unfolds as enemies collide, and lines between hate, love, and possession blur in the most dangerous ways.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Divorce Attorney x Reader

♡ Novella. Skin of the Saint – Part 8

♡ Word Count. 7,779

♡ TW. non-con, rape, blood play, knife play, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation, sadism, BDSM, bondage, fingering, choking / breath play, biting, degradation, slut shaming, slight public humiliation, physical assault and violence

The church’s once-sacred halls groaned in the wind, the decaying structure creaking like a beast stirring in its slumber. Shadows danced erratically along the cracked walls, the dim moonlight casting eerie shapes through the stained glass. The air smelled faintly of incense and dust, a faint relic of purity now twisted into a witness to your despair.

He dragged you by your arm, his grip unrelenting, bruising. The cold stone of the floor scraped against your shoes as you struggled to keep your footing, the world blurring with each panicked breath. You knew where he was taking you, though you didn’t want to believe it. His silence was worse than his words, the calm before a storm that would tear apart everything you had left.

The heavy wooden door groaned as he shoved it open, revealing an empty spare bedroom cloaked in darkness. It was barren except for the faint light spilling in from a single window high above—a pale, eerie glow that illuminated the dust swirling in the air. He didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. His hand on your arm tightened as he hauled you inside and threw you to the ground.

You landed hard, the impact jarring, a sharp ache blooming in your shoulder as you braced yourself against the cold stone floor. The room spun for a moment, and when your vision cleared, he was standing over you, his imposing figure blotting out the light like an eclipse.

“Well,” he said, his voice a low, mocking drawl that cut through the suffocating silence. “Look at you. Fuckin’ pathetic. Crawling on the floor like the little worm you are.”

You scrambled backward, your palms scraping against the rough stone as you tried to put distance between you. But there was nowhere to go. The walls closed in like a cage, and he was the predator that filled every corner of it.

“Don’t bother,” he sneered, taking a slow step toward you, his boots echoing against the floor. “There’s nowhere to run, little wife. Nowhere to hide.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a frantic drum as you pressed yourself against the wall. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, dark and ravenous, taking in every inch of your trembling form. His gaze lingered on your veil, his lips curving into a cruel smile.

“Still hiding,” he murmured, almost to himself. “How quaint.”

Before you could react, he reached down and grabbed the delicate fabric, tearing it from your head in a single, brutal motion. The veil fluttered to the ground, discarded, as his eyes locked onto your face.

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze. His breath caught, his pupils dilating as he stared at you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. You’d expected him to be cruel, to spit insults or jeers, but the silence was worse. His expression twisted into something almost reverent, a perverse kind of awe that sent a chill down your spine.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding,” he said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. His hand reached out, and you flinched as his fingers traced the curve of your jaw. “Perfect. Untouched. Untainted.”

His touch turned rough in an instant, his fingers tangling in your hair and yanking your head back with a force that made you gasp. His grip was like iron, unyielding, pulling you to your knees as he loomed over you.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. When you didn’t obey, his hand tightened in your hair, pain radiating through your scalp. “I said look at me.”

Reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his. The hunger in his gaze was suffocating, a black hole that threatened to swallow you whole. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, and then his lips curled into a smile that made your blood run cold.

“I could devour you,” he said softly, almost to himself. “And you’d let me, wouldn’t you? Because there’s no one coming to save you. Not your precious priest. Not your God.”

“Stop,” you choked out, your voice trembling. “Please, just stop.”

But he didn’t stop. He never stopped.

His free hand moved to your chin, gripping it with enough force to bruise as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips crashed against yours, a brutal, punishing kiss that left no room for escape. It wasn’t a kiss of passion—it was possession, a claim he was staking with every harsh press of his mouth.

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The air in the room grew thicker, suffocating, wrapping around you like an invisible chain as he slammed you on the bed, dragging you closer.

His grip in your hair tightened mercilessly, a constant, sharp ache radiating from your scalp. You struggled weakly against his hold, your trembling hands pushing at his chest, clawing, but it was like fighting against iron. He was too strong, too unrelenting, and the realization sent a shiver of cold terror down your spine.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even human. It was an assault—teeth crashing against yours, his lips bruising, his tongue forcing its way past your trembling defenses. He devoured you as though he were starving, as though your defiance only made him hungrier. His mouth moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, leaving no room for air, no space to think. The metallic tang of blood filled your mouth where his teeth had nicked your lip, and he swallowed the sound of your muffled gasp like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.

You tried to pull away, twisting your head to the side, but he yanked you back with a growl so deep it rumbled through your chest. His free hand clamped around your waist, jerking you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The hard press of his body against yours was suffocating, his presence consuming, as though the very act of standing in his shadow was enough to drown you.

“You can’t run,” he hissed against your lips, his breath hot and venomous. “You can’t hide. Not anymore.”

His hands roamed with a roughness that left your skin burning, as if he wanted to leave marks everywhere he touched, a physical reminder of his claim. His palm slid up your spine, pressing you tighter against him as his other hand gripped your hip with bruising force. The grinding motion of his body against yours made your stomach churn, and yet, beneath the revulsion, there was something else—something far worse. The heat of him, the overwhelming force of his dominance, pried apart the last fragile barriers of your composure, and he saw it.

“Oh,” he murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to drink in the sight of your face. “Would you look at that?”

Your breathing was ragged, your chest heaving with every shallow gasp. Your eyes, wide and wet, betrayed everything you’d fought so hard to hide. The faint shimmer of unshed tears clung to your lashes, and your lips, swollen and stained with blood, trembled as you tried to speak.

“P-please,” you whispered, your voice cracking, barely audible. It wasn’t anger anymore, wasn’t defiance. It was fear.

He laughed, a low, chilling sound that reverberated through the small room. “Oh, this is perfect,” he said, his tone dripping with sadistic glee. “So perfect. You can’t hide from me now, can you? Look at you, ready to cry. Go on, do it. Let me see you break.”

Your hands pushed weakly against his chest again, but he caught your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head with humiliating ease. His body pressed into yours, the heat of him unbearable, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his voice low and predatory. “For you to drop that cold little mask. For you to show me what’s really underneath.”

His teeth grazed the delicate skin of your jaw, and you flinched, a broken whimper escaping before you could swallow it down. He moved lower, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, each kiss and bite deliberate, calculated to make you squirm. His tongue darted out to soothe the sharp sting of his bites, the contrast of pain and heat enough to make your head spin.

“Don’t fight it,” he growled, his voice rough with hunger. “You’re mine, little Church Girl. Every tear, every breath, every inch of you belongs to me.”

You turned your head away, a choked sob catching in your throat, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. His dark eyes bore into yours, unrelenting, a black hole pulling you into his orbit.

“You hate this, don’t you?” he asked softly, mockingly. “Hate me. But that’s the thing—you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

His lips crashed against yours again, and this time, there was no pretense of restraint. His tongue invaded your mouth, his teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw fresh blood. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating through your body, as though your resistance was intoxicating to him. His free hand moved down, his fingers digging into your thigh as he pulled you closer, grinding against you with a force that made your stomach twist.

“Feel that?” he rasped against your lips, his voice raw and heated. “That’s what you do to me. That’s what you’ve always done.”

Tears spilled over, hot and humiliating, and he licked the salt from your cheeks with a low, satisfied hum. His grin widened as he watched you crumble, his hands roaming with possessive intent, leaving marks you’d never erase.

“Go ahead,” he whispered, his tone almost gentle but laced with malice. “Cry for me. Beg if you want. It won’t change anything. You’ll still be mine.”

The room spun, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of him, the weight of him, the darkness in his eyes that promised no escape. For the first time, you realized that this wasn’t a battle you could win. And for the first time, he saw you break.

And he loved it.

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The room felt too small, suffocating in its silence as he loomed over you, a shadow that swallowed the light. He watched with a cruel, deliberate focus as you lay beneath him, trembling and trying to summon the strength to push him away. But there was no escape. His body pinned you down, his weight a constant reminder of the futility of resistance.

His fingers trailed down the curve of your jaw, deceptively gentle, almost tender. “You look so helpless,” he murmured, his voice low and venomous, a purr that made your skin crawl. “I wonder how much longer you can keep up this little act of defiance.”

You glared at him, the fire in your eyes dimmed but not extinguished. The corner of his mouth curled upward, a smile both mocking and triumphant, as though your resistance was a sweet melody he couldn’t get enough of. Then, without warning, his hands moved to the delicate fabric of your clothing.

“Let’s see,” he said, his tone calm, calculated, “what it takes to shatter you completely.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his fingers slid beneath the edges of your clothing, tugging at the material with unnerving precision. The sound of fabric tearing filled the air, sharp and deafening in the oppressive quiet. You twisted beneath him, a feeble attempt to stop him, but he merely chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Stay still,” he ordered, his voice laced with authority, a command you couldn’t ignore. His hands moved over your skin, rough and possessive, exploring every inch as though he had every right to. His grip was firm, his touch demanding, leaving no room for modesty or denial. His fingers traced patterns along your collarbone, down the curve of your waist, his palms pressing against your hips with a bruising force.

Your breathing came in ragged gasps, every nerve in your body screaming under his touch. Heat flared across your skin, a dark blush creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks. You hated how your body betrayed you, how your limbs trembled not just with fear but with something far more damning.

And then his lips were on your neck, hot and unrelenting. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, and you arched involuntarily beneath him, a soft, breathy sound escaping before you could stop it.

“Oh?” he murmured, his lips curling into a wicked grin against your skin. “What was that?”

Your face burned hotter, your lips pressing together in an attempt to keep silent, but it was no use. His tongue darted out to soothe the fresh bite, and your body shivered under the sensation. His hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging in as he pressed himself closer, grinding against you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“You’re loud now,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “I love it. Don’t hold back, little Church Girl. Let me hear you.”

You bit your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction, but then his teeth found the delicate skin of your shoulder, and you gasped—sharp and loud, the sound echoing in the empty room. His chuckle was dark, almost predatory, as though your reaction was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Let it out. No one’s here to save you. No one but me.”

His hands roamed lower, sliding up your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh with an intensity that left no doubt about his strength. His touch was rough, possessive, leaving marks in his wake, and you hated the way your body responded, the way your breath hitched every time his fingers pressed into your skin.

He kissed you again, hard and demanding, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands continued their exploration. His lips moved down your neck, to your collarbone, then lower, leaving a trail of love bites that would take days to fade. Each one was deliberate, each one eliciting a sound from you that you couldn’t suppress—a soft moan, a ragged gasp, a trembling cry.

“You’ve never made these sounds before,” he remarked, his voice thick with satisfaction. “So loud, so responsive. Do you even realize how beautiful you look right now?”

You turned your face away, your mind screaming in defiance even as your body betrayed you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him, his eyes dark and blazing with triumph.

“Don’t look away,” he growled. “I want to see that pretty face when I break you.”

His hands moved to the last of your clothing, stripping you bare with a confidence that left you exposed, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy. His gaze raked over your body, and you hated the way his eyes lit up, the way his lips curled into that smug, predatory smile.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice low and reverent, as though he were admiring a masterpiece. “Mine.”

Your heart raced as his hands returned to your body, exploring every inch, leaving no part untouched. His lips followed, his teeth and tongue marking you with an unrelenting fervor. You squirmed beneath him, your moans growing louder, more desperate, despite your best efforts to hold them back.

And he reveled in it. Every sound, every shiver, every crack in your composure fed his hunger, his obsession.

“You can fight all you want,” he murmured against your skin, his voice soft but laced with menace. “You can glare at me, curse me, hate me. But your body? It doesn’t lie. And neither do those sounds.”

His words cut deep, but the weight of his body, the heat of his touch, drowned out your thoughts. You were trapped, overwhelmed, consumed. And he wouldn’t stop—not until you were completely his.

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You struggle to maintain eye contact, fear and disgust warring within you as his fingers trace a path down your neck, pausing at the top button of your dress. With a swift jerk, he pops it open, the fabric giving way to reveal the soft skin beneath. His eyes narrow with satisfaction at the sight of your panic, and you know that this man, this monster, intends to take everything from you, piece by agonizing piece.

Your hands fly up to protect yourself, but he catches your wrists with ease, pinning them above your head. His other hand continues to work on the remaining buttons, his eyes never leaving yours.

He seems to relish the fight you’re putting up, the way your body tenses and relaxes in futile attempts to escape. The fabric of your dress tears under his impatience, exposing the lacy cups of your bra.

His smile widens, a twisted mockery of pleasure, and he leans in to whisper, “Such a pretty little thing. I can’t wait to see all of you.” His breath is hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

With surprising strength, you manage to free one hand and slap him hard across the face. The sound echoes through the room, and for a brief moment, you see shock in his eyes.

But it’s quickly replaced by a rage that ignites like a wildfire. He snarls and tightens his grip on your throat, pushing you back onto the bed. You kick and struggle, trying to break free, but his weight is too much. His hand reaches for the lower parts of your dress, and with a vicious tear, he rips it off, leaving you in your underwear. The fabric clings to your thighs, and you kick harder, desperation fueling your fight.

“You think you can deny me?” he snarls, his grip on your throat loosening enough for you to gasp for air.

“You think you can fight me?” His hand moves from your throat to the front of your bra, and with a vicious tug, the clasp snaps.

He throws it aside, revealing your breasts to his greedy gaze. “You’re mine, and you will learn to love it.” His fingers dig into your flesh, his nails biting into your skin as he mauls you. You try to scream, but all that comes out is a choked gurgle.

The man straddles you, his knees pushing your legs apart, his weight pinning you to the bed. He rips away your underwear with one swift movement, and you feel exposed, violated. You struggle with renewed vigor, bucking and kicking, trying to throw him off.

He laughs, the sound cold and cruel, and slaps you hard across the face. The sting brings tears to your eyes, and you taste blood. “Fight me all you want, my sweet little slut,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “It only makes it better.”

His hand moves between your legs, and you flinch away, trying to clench them shut. But his fingers are relentless, pushing and prodding until they find the wetness you can’t deny.

He smirks at your involuntary reaction, and the realization that your body is betraying you sends a fresh wave of panic through you. “You want this,” he murmurs, his voice a vile whisper. “You’ve wanted this since the moment you saw me.” His thumb circles your clit, and despite your horror, you can’t help the way your body responds.

“No,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whimper. “Please, no.” But the words fall on deaf ears as he continues his assault, his hand moving faster, his touch growing more insistent. You feel a tear roll down your cheek, mixing with the sweat and the blood from your split lip.

His eyes are dark with desire as he watches your face, reading every emotion that crosses it. He seems to find your distress intoxicating, his erection pressing against your thigh as he leans in to kiss you. You turn your head away, trying to avoid his mouth, but he just chuckles and bites your earlobe, hard enough to make you cry out.

“Look at me,” he commands, his thumb pressing down on your clit, sending a jolt of painful pleasure through your body. You force your eyes open and meet his gaze, hoping to find some shred of humanity in those dark orbs, some hint of mercy. But all you see is hunger—pure, unbridled hunger.

“Beg for it,” he says, his voice a hiss. “Beg me to fuck you like the promiscuous whore I know you are.” You shake your head, refusing to give him the satisfaction, and he sighs dramatically. “Very well. If you won’t give it to me willingly…”

He stands, towering over you, and you catch a glimpse of his massive cock, fully erect and ready to claim you. He grabs your ankles, spreading your legs wide, and you realize with a sickening jolt that you’re about to lose your virginity to this monster.

“No,” you whisper, thrashing more, your voice barely audible. “Please, no.” But he’s already moving, positioning himself at your entrance, and before you can even brace yourself, he slams into you.

The pain is unbearable, tearing through you like a hot knife, and you scream, your nails digging into the bed sheets. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, just fucks you harder, deeper, as though trying to punish you for your defiance.

You feel your eyes water as he thrusts in and out, each movement sending shockwaves of agony through your body. Your cries of pain are music to his ears, only serving to spur him on. He leans down, his mouth at your ear, and whispers, “You’re going to take every inch of me, you little bitch.”

His hand moves to cover your mouth, muffling your screams, and you bite down hard on his palm. He laughs, the sound echoing through the room, and pulls his hand away, leaving a trail of blood. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

He reaches over to the bedside table and pulls out a small bag, the jingle of metal clinking together as he opens it. Your eyes widen in terror as you see the handcuffs and rope.

He’s going to tie you down, to leave you no chance of escape or resistance. “Let’s see how much of a fighter you really are,” he sneers, grabbing your wrists and securing the cold metal around them.

He pulls your arms over your head, locking the cuffs to the headboard, both wrists and ankles, ensuring that you’re spread eagle and utterly helpless beneath him. The cuffs bite into your skin, and you pull against them, but it’s no use.

With a sadistic smile, he sits back to admire his work. Your body is taut with fear and pain, your legs trembling as he runs a hand along your thigh. “Look at you,” he says, his voice thick with arousal.

“So pretty when you’re scared.” He leans down, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your tears. You jerk away, repulsed, but his grip is unyielding. “You’re going to scream for me, aren’t you?”

He asks, his breath hot against your neck. “You’re going to come for me, and you’re going to love it.”

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady as you spit in his face. “I’ll never love this,” you snarl. “I’ll never love you.“

The man’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and challenge. He wipes the spit away with the back of his hand and slaps you again, harder this time. “We’ll see about that,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

You bite down, tasting the coppery tang of blood as you clamp down on his tongue. He growls animalistically in response, his grip on your wrists tightening. “You fucking little cunt,” he snarls, slapping your face again. “You’re going to regret that.”

He pulls away from you, panting heavily, his erection bobbing with each furious beat of his heart. He reaches into the bag again and pulls out a knife, the blade glinting in the low light. “You want to play hard to get?” he asks, his voice dangerously calm.

“We can play that game.” He traces the knife along your collarbone, the cold metal sending shivers down your spine. “But remember, the harder you fight, the more it’ll hurt.”

He leans in and nips at your neck, his teeth grazing the skin, and you feel a warm trickle of blood slide down your throat. “Now, let’s see if we can make you come for me, shall we?”

With a wicked smile, he straddles you again, his cock standing at attention. His hand moves between your legs, and he uses the blood from your lips to lubricate his shaft. He lines himself up with your tight, abused hole, and you feel a new wave of panic wash over you.

You try to buck, to kick, to do anything to get away, but the cuffs hold you firmly in place. “Beg,” he whispers, his eyes boring into yours. “Beg me to stop, and I might consider it.”

But you refuse. You won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing you plead. Instead, you spit at him again, your eyes flashing with defiance.

The man’s face contorts with rage, and he slams the knife into the pillow beside your head, the blade sinking into the soft fabric with a muffled thump. “Fine,” he says, his voice low and deadly.

“If that’s how you want it.” He grabs your hips and pulls you to the edge of the bed, his cock pressing against your clenched entrance. With a vicious snarl, he thrusts forward, tearing through your resistance and filling you with a pain so intense you think you might die.

You scream, the sound raw and primal, as he starts to fuck you in earnest. The bedframe creaks under the force of his movements, and the pain is a living, pulsing thing, a beast inside you that won’t let you go.

You feel your eyes rolling back in your head, the edges of your vision going dark. But he won’t let you pass out. His hand is at your throat again, squeezing just enough to keep you conscious, to keep you present in this hellish moment.

“Look at me,” he growls, his hips pounding into you. “Look at the man who’s ruining you.”

Tears stream down your face, and you hate him with every fiber of your being. You hate his smug expression, the way his muscles flex with each thrust, the smell of his sweat and corrupted love.

You hate the way your body seems to betray you, clenching around his invading cock despite your mind’s protests. His free hand wraps around your neck, his thumb pressing into the soft skin under your chin.

He tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him as he fucks you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Say it,” he says, his voice a low, guttural rumble. “Say you’re mine.”

You refuse, your eyes flashing with anger and fear. “Never,” you spit, the word barely audible through your sobs.

The man’s smile turns cruel, and he tightens his grip on your throat, cutting off your air. Your eyes widen as panic sets in, your chest heaving for oxygen. He leans closer, his breath hot against your face. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a menacing whisper. “Say it, or I’ll make it so much worse.”

Your vision swims, stars dancing at the edges as your lungs burn. Your body begs for mercy, for air, for relief from the unbearable pressure building inside you. With the last of your strength, you force out the words, “I’m… I’m yours.”

The man’s eyes gleam with victory, and he loosens his grip just enough for you to drag in a desperate, gasping breath. He resumes his brutal rhythm, each thrust feeling like it’s ripping you apart, each breath a battle to draw in enough air.

His hand moves down to your clit, and he starts to rub it roughly, the pain mixing with the suffocation from his grip on your throat. You feel your body responding despite yourself, your walls tightening around his cock.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now, let’s see if you can scream for me.” With a twist of his wrist, he slices the knife through the air, and you feel the cold metal graze the tender skin of your inner thigh.

The pain is a fresh, searing agony, and you do scream, a high, keening sound that echoes in the room. He laughs, a deep, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine, and starts to play with the knife, tracing it along your skin, never quite cutting deep enough to draw more than a flesh wound, but always, always threatening to go deeper.

His thumb presses down harder on your clit, and you can’t help the way your hips rock up to meet his, the pain turning into something else, something dark and terrifying.

He seems to sense your internal struggle and leans down to whisper in your ear, “You’re so close, aren’t you? So close to giving in to me. Just let go. Give me what I want, and I’ll make it all go away.”

His words are like a sledgehammer to your last shreds of resistance, and you feel your body start to shake, the beginnings of an orgasm building despite your horror and despair. “That’s it,” he croons, his breath hot and moist against your skin. “Come for me, my sweet little whore. Show me how much you want it.”

You try to fight it, to clench down and stop the inevitable, but his hand is relentless, his thumb rubbing in tight circles as he fucks you with a ferocity that borders on madness. You feel your body start to betray you, the tension building, coiling tighter and tighter, until it snaps.

Your scream is one of agony and pleasure mixed, a sound that you never thought could come from your throat. He laughs in triumph, his grip on your neck tightening as he pumps into you, drawing out every last drop of your climax, making sure you know that he owns it, that he’s the one in control.

The knife plays along the soft skin of your inner thigh, the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Each time he brings it close to your skin, you flinch, but he never presses down hard enough to cut, just enough to keep you on edge, to keep you guessing.

His other hand is a vice around your throat, and you feel your pulse pounding against his palm, the pressure making your head swim. He leans in closer, his teeth grazing your neck, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress. “That’s what I want from you.”

Your eyes are wide with terror, but there’s something else there, something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s as if your body has been hijacked, forced to respond to his touch despite the agony and fear. Your hips buck up against him, seeking relief from the torment of his thumb, and he takes that as an invitation to press down harder.

You feel yourself getting wetter, your body’s betrayal a fresh wave of humiliation that crashes over you. “You’re going to come for me again,” he says, his voice a low, guttural growl. “And when you do, I want you to scream my name. Scream it until you can’t anymore.”

You shake your head, your eyes pleading with him to stop, but his smile just widens. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice a harsh whisper. “I’ll make you come so many times you’ll forget your own name.”

He leans down, his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin of your neck, and you feel his cock swell inside you. He starts to fuck you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

You can feel the knife hovering over your pussy, the threat of it a constant presence in your mind. The pain from your first orgasm is already fading, leaving behind a dull ache that’s quickly being overwhelmed by the new waves of sensation building within you.

He bites down hard, and you feel a warm trickle of blood run down your neck. You try to pull away, but his hand clamps down on your throat, holding you in place. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice a dark, possessive rumble. “MINE.”

The knife presses into your skin, a warning, and you feel yourself tighten around him again. He groans in pleasure, his hips moving faster, harder. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Take it, you filthy bitch. Take it all.”

Your body is a whirlwind of pain and pleasure, each sensation feeding the other. You can feel another orgasm building, and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t stop it. You’re so close, so close to screaming his name, to giving him what he wants.

His hand moves to cover your mouth, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh of your cheek, muffling your cries. “Do it,” he hisses, his eyes boring into yours. “Scream it out.” And then you do, your voice tearing from your throat as you come, the sound of his name mixing with your sobs.

He laughs, the sound low and triumphant, and you know that you’ve lost a piece of yourself to this monster.

He doesn’t stop, though. If anything, he fucks you harder, his movements becoming more erratic as his own climax builds. The knife is still in his hand, and you can feel it pressing into your skin, the promise of pain never far away.

You’re sobbing now, your body writhing beneath him, your mind a jumbled mess of fear and humiliation. “Again,” he commands, his voice harsh. “Come for me again.”

And somehow, despite the agony, despite the horror, your body responds, arching up to meet his thrusts as a third orgasm rips through you, stealing your breath away.

The man groans, his grip on your throat loosening slightly as he fucks you with renewed vigor. “You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, his eyes glazed with lust. “So fucking tight.”

His hand moves from your neck to your mouth, and he forces his thumb inside, the taste of your own blood mingling with his saliva. You try to bite down, to fight back, but he’s too strong. “Swallow,” he says, his voice a guttural growl, and you have no choice but to comply.

You can feel his cock swelling inside you, his orgasm building, and a fresh wave of terror washes over you. You know what’s coming next, and your body tenses in anticipation of the violation.

He leans down, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “You’re going to love this,” he whispers, his voice a dark promise.

“You’re going to love feeling me come inside you.” His hips jerk, and you feel the first pulse of his release. You try to scream, to beg him not to, but his thumb is still in your mouth, silencing you.

The man grunts with satisfaction, his cock spasming as he fills you with his cum. You can feel it leaking out around him, warm and sticky, and the humiliation of it only adds to your horror. He grinds against you more, prolonging the pain and pleasure more.

He pulls out slowly, the sensation making you whimper despite your best efforts to remain silent. He stands up, the knife still in his hand, and you can see the bloodlust in his eyes.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice a harsh growl. “And now everyone will know it.” He grabs your ankle and yanks you towards the edge of the bed, the cuffs biting into your skin.

With the knife still gripped firmly in his hand, he brings out a small key and unlocks the cuffs, while still holding your legs apart. You try to kick at him, but your legs are weak from the assault, and your movements are sluggish.

He chuckles darkly and steps back, admiring his handiwork. “You put up a good fight,” he says, “But now, it’s time to pay the price.” He grabs your arms and pulls you off the bed, your body hitting the floor with a thud.

The impact sends a fresh wave of pain through you, and you can’t hold back a cry. He doesn’t seem to care, just smirks and says, “You’re going to walk out of here like the slutty whore you are. Naked, bleeding, and with my cum dripping down your legs.”

“N-No!” You cry out, begging desperately, “P-Please no!”

Your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as the divorce attorney pulls you off the bed, your naked, bruised body sliding to the cold, hard floor. The rough treatment sends jolts of pain through your abused limbs, but his grip is unyielding, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee as he takes in your pathetic state.

“Oh, yes,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “You’re going to walk out of here just as I said.” He ties a strong rope around your wrists this time.

With the ropes holding you securely captive, he yanks you to your knees, the rough fibers biting into your skin. The knife still in his hand, he uses the tip to trace a line from the base of your throat to the hollow of your navel, leaving a faint trail of blood.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice a mix of mockery and dark love. “So beautiful in your despair.”

He takes a step back, the knife still pointing at you, the blade glistening in the dim light of the room. “Now, crawl,” he commands, his voice a harsh growl.

“Crawl to the door, and don’t bother looking for your clothes. They’re not yours anymore.” You hesitate, your body trembling with fear and pain.

But the look in his eyes tells you that defiance is not an option. With a resigned whimper, you start to crawl, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on your exposed flesh.

Each movement sends a new wave of agony through your violated body, but you keep going, driven by a primal need to survive. You’re aware of the sticky wetness between your legs, a grim reminder of his claim over you.

The floor is rough under your knees, and you feel every bump and scratch. The tears continue to flow freely, leaving a salty trail behind you as you inch closer to the door.

“Faster,” he snaps, his impatience growing. You try to pick up the pace, but your body feels like it’s made of lead, weighing you down with every move.

You can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move with a predatory gaze. It’s as if he’s savoring the sight of you, broken and humiliated.

As you reach the door, the man leans down and whispers, “Now, get up and walk out like the promiscuous slut you are.” The knife is still in his hand, the threat clear.

You struggle to your feet, your legs wobbly and unsteady, the rope burns around your wrists a constant reminder of your powerlessness. You stumble toward the door, each step an agonizing battle against the pain that courses through you. He opens the door, and the harsh light from the hallway makes you wince.

“Remember,” he says, his voice a low purr, “every step you take, every person you pass, will know what a good little whore you are.” He pushes you out into the hallway, and you stumble forward, the cool air of the corridor making your skin prickle with fear and humiliation.

You can’t believe this is happening, that you’re being forced to walk through this place, naked and in pain, with his seed leaking out of you. You want to die, to just fade away and escape this nightmare.

You start down the hall, each step a torturous reminder of your violation. The floor is cold and unforgiving under your bare feet, and you can feel the sticky mess between your legs with every movement. The walls seem to close in around you, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone will hear your silent screams. The man follows close behind, the knife never leaving his hand, a constant reminder of his power over you.

As you shuffle down the hallway, you catch sight of a door slightly ajar. The room beyond is dark, but you can make out a figure standing there, watching you with a mix of horror and pity.

It’s a housekeeper, her eyes wide with shock. You try to call out to her, to beg for help, but the man’s grip on your throat tightens, cutting off any sound. “Keep moving,” he murmurs, his voice a dark threat. “Or I’ll make sure she’s next.”

You swallow a whimper and force yourself to walk on, the housekeeper’s horrified stare burned into your memory.

The hallway seems to stretch on forever, each step a new form of torment. Your knees ache from the rough treatment, and your body feels like it’s been through a war. You’re dimly aware of the knife still in his hand, the threat of further pain ever-present. Your mind races, desperately seeking a way out, a way to escape this living hell. But each door you pass is firmly shut, each window too high or too small to offer any hope of salvation.

As you turn a corner, you spot a service elevator. The man notices your gaze and smirks, pushing you roughly towards it. “Good girl,” he says, his voice a taunt. “I knew you’d find a way out.”

He slams the call button, and the elevator doors open with a ding, revealing a small, cramped space. He shoves you inside and follows, the knife never far from your side.

The elevator descends with an eerie calm, the only sound your ragged breathing and the occasional clank of the knife against the metal wall. The man watches you closely, his eyes roaming over your bruised and bleeding body with a twisted sense of pride. You shrink away from him as much as you can, trying to put as much distance between you as possible in the confined space.

“Don’t bother,” he says, his voice cold. “There’s no escaping me.” His hand shoots out, and he grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you’re forced to look at him. “You’re mine now. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.” His thumb traces the line of blood on your throat, and you feel a fresh wave of fear wash over you.

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. He shoves you out into the dimly lit basement, the concrete floor cold and unforgiving beneath your bare feet.

You stumble, trying to regain your balance, and he laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. “Look at you,” he sneers. “So clumsy.” He pulls you along by your hair, the pain making your eyes water, until you come to a stop in front of a heavy steel door. He fumbles with a set of keys, and the lock clicks open.

“Welcome to your new home,” he says, his voice dripping with malice.

The room beyond is a dank, windowless cell, no bigger than a walk-in closet. The only light comes from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a harsh, flickering glow. In the corner, you see a mattress stained with what looks like years of use, and the faint smell of mold and despair fills your nose.

“Get in,” he orders, pushing you through the doorway. You stumble in, your legs giving out beneath you. The door slams shut with a finality that makes your heart drop.

He follows you into the room, the knife still in hand. You scuttle back against the wall, trying to put as much space between you as possible. But there’s nowhere to go. The room is too small, the walls closing in on you. He steps closer, his breath hot against your face.

“You’re going to be here a while,” he says, his voice a low, dark rumble. “And I’ll be back to visit. Often.”

His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “But for now, it’s time for a little rest.”

With a cruel twist of his wrist, he slaps you across the face with the flat of the knife. Pain explodes in your cheek, and you see stars. You collapse onto the mattress, dizzy and disoriented. He grabs your ankle and drags you to the center of the room, the ropes around your wrists biting into your flesh.

“I’ll be back,” he says, his voice a promise of more pain to come. He pulls a length of chain from the wall, securing one end to your ankle and the other to a metal loop in the floor. The cold steel clinks as he locks it in place, and you can feel the heavy weight of it, a constant reminder of your captivity.

He steps back, admiring his work, his chest heaving with exertion and arousal. “I’ve got other… business to attend to,” he says, his voice dripping with a sick excitement. “But don’t worry, I’ll be back to play with my new toy.”

With a final, vicious look, he turns and strides out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him, echoing through the damp basement.

Alone in the darkness, you curl into a fetal position, your body wracked with sobs. Your mind reels from the horror of what’s happened, your thoughts a tangled mess of pain, fear, and disgust.

You can’t believe you’re here, in this hellish cell, at the mercy of this monster.

But even amidst the despair, a spark of defiance flickers to life.

You won’t let him break you completely. You have to find a way out.