Control me
As I stood before the mirror, the chill of the Saturday evening air danced across my skin like a whispered secret, but it was the vibrant red of my dress that truly ignited a fire within me. The color, once a stranger to my dark skin tone, now seemed to unfurl like a rose in bloom, its petals unfolding to reveal the beauty that had been hidden beneath. The simple yet elegant design hugged every curve of my body, accentuating the contours that seemed to whisper secrets to anyone who dared glance my way. My breasts sat perfectly, a subtle invitation to the world outside, like ripe fruit on a tree, tempting and forbidden.
With deliberate slowness, I applied body oil to my exposed skin, my gaze locked onto the mirror as I relived every kiss, every bruise, every mark he had left on me. His touch was a brand, a claim of ownership that lingered long after he was gone. The memory of his lips tracing my skin sent shivers down my spine, a mix of pleasure and pain that I couldn't quite untangle.. I slipped into my black heels, not too high, not too low—just enough to remind me that I could run if I needed to. The thought flickered in my mind before I silenced it, a habit I'd grown accustomed to. My hair, braided in a stylish updo, required only a touch of moisture and a gentle smoothing of the edges. The gold earrings I wore seemed to gleam in the fading light.
As the clock struck 20:00, I descended the stairs, the silence of the house enveloping me like a shroud, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I took my place on the L-shaped sofa, a living, breathing piece of art among the expensive decor, like a masterpiece in a gallery, admired but unloved. The minutes ticked by, each one a reminder of my solitude, like grains of sand falling through an hourglass, marking the passage of time. I resisted the urge to bite my nails, a habit he despised, and instead waited. Waited for love, for acceptance, for the courage to leave.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the city lights to reflect off the glass wall, a canvas of twinkling stars in the night sky. My eyes remained wide, my mind drifting into the darkness that seemed to mirror the turmoil within me, like a ship lost at sea, adrift in a storm. I was present yet absent, a prisoner of my own fears, like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.
As midnight approached, my heart finally surrendered, allowing my feet to carry me to bed. I removed my heels, placing them back in the closet as if the evening had never happened. The room was dark, lit only by the distant glow of the city. I slowly undressed, the red dress falling away from my curves like a shedding of skin. In that moment, I understood the color red—it was the reflection of my inner turmoil, the suppressed emotions that simmered just below the surface.
As the dress was about to fall off my curves, a figure emerged from the shadows, his reflection on the glass wall making him seem like a specter, a presence that commanded the space around him, like a king claiming his throne. The bergamot and black pepper of his cologne wafted through the air, a familiar scent that signaled a shift from charm to control, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. His voice was cold, laced with sarcasm and a chilling calmness, each word a whispered secret spoken directly into my soul, like a snake slithering through the grass.
"Do you know that red was the third color invented after black and white?" His words hung in the air like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. "Red is a color of passion... it represents lust." As he spoke, his fingers slid the dress off my curves, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, like a flower stripped of its petals. His hands remained on my waist, a possessive touch that seemed to claim me all over again. I held my breath, not out of desire, but out of fear—fear of the unknown, fear of what was to come, like a traveler standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into the abyss. As his long index finger hooked the strap of my thong, I felt my world narrow to a single point—his touch, his control, his dominance. The darkness closed in around me, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of my heart.
His hot breath enveloped my neck, a suffocating warmth that seemed to choke the air from my lungs before his hands even touched me. His lips danced across the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A moan escaped my lips, a sound that seemed to fuel his amusement, as I could feel him smirking against my heating skin. My brain, clouded by the anger boiling within, failed to grasp the sinister game unfolding before me. It was just another psychological chess match, and I was the pawn he had carefully positioned.
My body, a puppet on strings, responded instinctively to his touch, my senses tangled in the web of his smooth lips and skilled hands. My mind, a ship without anchor, drifted aimlessly, unable to chart a course through the stormy waters of my emotions. In that moment, without conscious thought, I made a decision that would forever alter the trajectory of my life, setting me on a rollercoaster of trauma that would haunt me for eternity.
As he leaned in for another kiss, I suddenly shifted away from his possessive grasp, turning to face him. I felt small, insignificant, like an ant scurrying across the floor. His chuckle was a low rumble, a sound that seemed to shake the foundations of my resolve. He wiped the corner of his lip with his thumb, his eyes never leaving mine, as he folded his arms across his chest. The smirk had vanished, replaced by a calmness that belied the building anger beneath, like a volcano simmering just below the surface.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and walked past him, careful not to fall within his grasp. The air seemed to thicken around me, heavy with unspoken threats, as I navigated the minefield of his emotions.
“Manje uyakuphi?” His voice, laced with the rich tones of Zulu, was a command that rooted me to the spot. It was as if he had two personas, his Zulu side emerging like a warrior from the shadows, demanding respect and obedience. He was the embodiment of the Kwazulu Natal stereotype, a modern-day Shaka Zulu, fierce and unyielding. His words were a whip, cracking through the air, leaving me trembling like a leaf in the wind. He didn't need to touch me to freeze me in place; his voice alone was enough to paralyze me, a spell that bound me to his will.
His words dripped like venom, each syllable a warning that the storm was about to unleash its full fury. "You know red also represents danger, rage, violence?" he said, his voice a low growl, a predator circling its prey. He took a few deliberate steps towards me, his movements a slow dance of dominance, enough to trap me in his grasp if needed. The air thickened, heavy with tension, as he recited the lines I had once penned with such passion:
"A color bold, a color fierce,
It stirs the senses, a sensual release..."
But before I could even process the irony, a rough, merciless hand landed on my cheek, its force sending me tumbling to the floor like a leaf blown away by a hurricane. The impact left my cheek burning, a fire that seemed to sear my very soul. I should have screamed, should have cried, but instead, I lay there, frozen unable to muster a sound. I wasn't in complete fear but shock. I knew the hit was coming but I didn't know when it was coming.
He bent down beside me, his grip on my chin harsh and unforgiving, forcing me to meet his gaze. His jaw was clenched, his nostrils flared, and the tips of his ears were tinged with a faint red, like embers glowing in the dark. His eyes bored into mine, a piercing intensity that made me feel like I was drowning in their depths.
"Angazi yini ekwenze wacabanga ukuthi ungangidelela kanje," he growled, his words a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. His eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, a flame that threatened to consume me whole. I tried to apologize, my mouth opening to form the words, but they caught in my throat, leaving me mute and helpless. My mouth went dry, a desert devoid of life, and this only seemed to irritate him further, his grip on my chin tightening like a vice.
Perhaps you need a reminder of the rules," he whispered, his voice a serpent slithering through the grass, striking fear into my heart. My response was immediate, a desperate plea that escaped my lips in a high-pitched whisper: "Cha…no p—please." But my words were lost in the void, as his grip on my chin released, only to be replaced by his arms scooping me up like a stormy sea claiming its own.
Without a moment's hesitation, my hands instinctively hooked themselves around his neck, a lifeline to a shipwrecked soul. He led me to the bathroom, a journey into the heart of darkness, where the only light was the flickering flame of his desire. The water cascaded down, a warm caress that contrasted sharply with the brutality of his touch. He stripped me of my thong, his movements swift and urgent, like a thief stealing away the night.
As he shed his clothes, his body stood ready, a monument to his unyielding passion. His arousal was a beast awakened by my fear, my pain, and my submission. The shower door closed behind us, a trap that sealed our fate, leaving us alone with the shadows that danced on the walls.
His arms braced against the marble, a cage that imprisoned me, as he towered over me, a giant among mortals. His eyes burned with a hunger that was both primal and sinister, a darkness that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to consume me whole. He drew closer, his breath a whispered promise of possession, until my back was pressed against the wall, a leaf crushed by the weight of a storm.
In one swift motion, he lifted me, my legs locking around his hips like a vice, a desperate attempt to anchor myself in a sea of chaos. His hand closed around my throat, a chokehold that left me gasping for air, as his lips claimed mine in a kiss that was neither gentle nor sweet. It was a battle, a clash of wills, a dance to the rhythm of his desire. The kiss was dark, sinful, a forbidden fruit that tasted of both pleasure and pain.
A sudden bite on my lower lip was a jolt of electricity, a shockwave that ran through my entire being. His teeth marked me, a branding iron that seared his ownership into my skin. His hazel eyes locked onto mine, a spell that bound me to his will, as if he was weaving a magic that would forever ensnare me. His fingers found my clit, and I cried out in a mixture of pleasure and despair.
"Ungokabani?" he growled, his voice a primal claim of ownership, as he slid his imposing form into me. The world around us dissolved into chaos, a maelstrom of sensations that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. It was a dance of contradictions, a symphony of conflicting emotions that somehow harmonized into a twisted melody of love
His hunger for me was a palpable thing, a living, breathing entity that wrapped itself around my soul, making me feel seen, needed, and human. It was a cruel irony, this feeling of being alive only in the depths of his desire, yet it was a sensation I craved, a drug I couldn't resist. Every thrust was a reminder of his dominance, every moan a testament to my submission.
His body moved against mine, a rhythmic assault that left me breathless and wanting. His hands were everywhere, claiming me, marking me, branding me as his own. His fingers danced across my skin, tracing paths of fire that seemed to ignite every nerve ending. His lips were a whisper against my ear, a promise of pleasure and pain intertwined.
"You…daddy…you," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart, as he delved deeper into me. I reveled in being used by him, in being a tool for his pleasure, a puppet on strings he expertly manipulated. It was a perverse freedom, this surrender to his whims, like a kite soaring high in the sky, its strings firmly in his grasp.
"Fuck," he whispered, his breath a hot caress against my skin, as his body touched the deepest part of mine. It was a moment of raw intimacy, a connection that transcended words, a bond forged in the fire of our twisted desires. His body tensed, his muscles flexing as he reached the peak of his pleasure, and I felt myself being pulled along, a wave crashing against the shore.
In that moment, I was lost, consumed by the inferno of his passion, a flame that burned bright and true, yet left scars that would never fully heal. It was a love that was not love, a possession that was not ownership, a dance of dominance and submission that blurred the lines between pleasure and pain.
His touch was a brand, a mark that claimed me as his own, a reminder that I belonged to him, body and soul. And in that knowledge, I found a twisted sense of peace, a sense of belonging to something greater than myself, even if that something was a darkness that would forever haunt me.
🦋❤️Thank you for taking your time to read this book. I'm thinking of making short books now. As some times I can drag a story. I'm planning on making a series next. So stay tuned for that. It will also content isiZulu and isiXhosa I will make sure to include the translations within the story instead at the end . As I'm trying to tell my stories in my South African language. 🦋❤️
Translate words:
" Manje uyakuphi" —Where are you going?
Angazi yini ekwenze wacabanga ukuthi ungangidelela kanje,"—I don’t know what made you think you could disrespect me like this.
"Ungokabani" — Who do you belong to?
"Cha." – No
