Five more days
CHARLOTTE
‘Oh yeah, Brady,’ that screeching excitement reached the roof. ‘Right there, baby! Right there!’
Blankly, I stared at my husband’s flat ass as he sloopily slammed into his latest mistress– a woman who clearly wasn’t impressed by his sex skills, but very much enamoured by his money.
Interestingly, this is not the life I imagined for myself.
After four years, eleven months and twenty-five days of marriage, you’d think I would be on a happy vacation, sipping sex on a beach right next to the beach.
No.
I am firmly strapped to a chair, so I wouldn’t miss this fantastic show of my husband, Brady, slipping into the pussy of his fake-moaning mistress.
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’
Rolling my eyes hard led to closing them.
And with whispers, I assured myself, “Five more days.”
The sex noise grew louder to taunt me.
“It’ll be over in five days,” I repeated, my irritated heart wishing I could tear out of the leather ropes holding me down.
But all I could do was curl my fingers and press my feet deep into the rug while making sure my face wasn’t revealing my true emotions.
“You fucking cunt!” Brady’s yell was clearly meant for me.
With a quick change of positions, he faced me, his mistress’s legs slung over his shoulders, his wicked eyes glazing as he insulted, “Is that stupid head of yours blocked? I said not to close your eyes!”
The mistress giggled, and that fueled his ego.
With a huge smirk, he resumed sliding into the woman’s hole, which I could have sworn made a squeak at some point.
At the same time, he jested, “I bet you’re fucking wet right now. Watch all you want, Char. And, be fucking grateful you get to watch this.”
As his laughter rang through the room, his lower body angled and with his eyes fixed on me, he thrusted harder.
I, on the other hand, even though I was truly feeling some annoying arousal, fought back tears of self-hatred, and easily transported my mind to the day I realised I made the biggest mistake of my life.
It was ten days after our very fancy wedding in the Maldives.
I was briefing him about my search for a job when he turned into a monster, raging over the plate of food I served him.
And from that day, my days grew worse and worse. Endlessly.
Every heart-warming smile he showed when we were dating turned into scowls. The love that made me confident in university turned to hatred, and that hatred came in many forms.
Some were horrible, demeaning words constantly yelled to turn my heart and soul into a field of fear and tremor.
His hatred also came in the form of punches and kicks. These weren’t so frequent, but whenever they occurred, Brady always made sure to provide a reason for his secretive doctor friend to stay with us for a few days. I now have scars that I’ll die with.
His biggest form of showing me his disregard for me was his open promiscuity.
In all seven days of the week, he was very capable of being with at least twenty women.
And like the king’s fool, Brady had so much pride in this conquest of his. So much so that when I once voiced out my displeasure for his whoring around, he beat me blue and black and mocked me for being jealous that other women were getting him while he was yet to even kiss me since we got married.
After that day, I didn’t question his foolish fun anymore.
I even reasoned that it was a good thing that a run-through man like him wasn’t having sex with me. That the most he was doing was forcing me to watch him have sex with other women.
So… Yes.
For almost five years, I’ve been stuck in this hell, unable to leave, only able to feel my soul break apart with every passing second.
However, in five days, I’ll finally be transferring my unhappiness to him.
With a fake cough, I acted like I was interested in their fuck session and hid my smile, my grand plan replaying in my mind.
See, for every awful word, slap, punch, emotional abuse, financial abuse, mental abuse… I have ensured that Brady pays me back.
But my idiot husband doesn’t know a thing.
Oh no.
How can he?
While he belittled me daily, spitting in my face that I would never amount to anything, I was putting my genius software engineering skills to use.
With it and the help of a good friend of mine, I’ve been punching Brady back in the most important spot.
Again… He doesn’t know or suspect a thing!
“Don’t worry, Char,” Brady resumed his mockery as he flipped his mistress into doggy position, his hands pulling her hair back. “Very soon, I’ll gift your pussy with the pleasure of having my cock. You’ve been itching to have a taste, right?”
The disgust I felt in the back of my throat nearly ruined the fake smile I gave in response.
With reckless laughter, Brady feasted on my reaction. He was probably high in his mind, imagining that I would open my mouth to beg him.
What an idiot.
The last time I begged him for anything was years ago.
And that same period was the time I began plotting my grand plan.
