Chapter 15: Punishments aren't all bad
He's going to punish me. It's better than death, the alternative, I suppose. I guess that's why I continued to talk back to him, continued to defy him, to fight him. There was no other way out of that meeting, and if I went to it, I could be dead. Now, I'm getting punishment. All it's been is spanking but I feel like he'll go further this time. He looked particularly enraged with me. I couldn't even bring myself to feel embarrassed, naked in front of him, when he said I wouldn't be going to that meeting.
I got dressed again and waited for him. There wasn't anything else to do. He had locked me in his bedroom, he locked the connecting door to my own. He trapped me in here with one book to read. It's weird book, written in Italian. I lay on the bed, skimming the pages.
That's when he bursts through the door, glowering at me with dark piercing eyes. He closes to door carefully behind him and locks it. Stalking to the bed, he crawls over to me, snatching the book from my hands and raising an eyebrow.
"It's a good book," I mutter, drawing his attention back to me. He throws it to the floor, it sliding across and hitting the wall. His eyes bore into mine, never blinking, never wavering, just glaring at me. "How was the meeting?" He grabs my jaw and straddles me, hovering over me as I try to sink into the sheets.
"You're funny," he hisses in a cunning way. He smirks devilishly at me, grounding his hips into me to press me further into the bed. Then he gets off me, moving to his locked cabinet, unlocking it, and taking out something, a few things.
Before I know it, I'm cuffed to the bed, at his mercy to do whatever he wants. I guess he could have done that before. But now he's mad, more than mad. Fuming. I struggle against the restraints but he pins me down. He fills me over, onto my stomach and rips my clothes off me, my lingerie too.
His hand smooths over my ass, caressing and stroking. I look back to him, to see what he's doing, and then I see it, the paddle. And just as I glimpse at it, he brings it down on my ass, causing me to cry out.
"Bad little girls get spanked," he whispers in my ear. He spanks me with the paddle again, and I cry out louder, gripping the bed sheets. This or death, right? I've come too far to die. Way too far. I survived my father, I survived every bit of suffering he gave me. I need to keep fighting, fighting to survive.
A few more whacks of the paddle and I feel his hand once again, on my sensitive skin.
"Are you sorry?"
"Yes. I'm sorry," I whimper.
"Sorry for what?"
"For talking back. For disrespecting you," I list, hoping I can calm his rage with my apologies. I feel a cold cream being rubbed into my skin, soothing my raw ass a little. He flips me back around to face him and lies between my legs. His boner presses into my soaked pussy and wets his own slacks.
"So fucking wet for me," he murmurs, his hand moving down to my folds and feeling me. "You're drenched, gattina. Does me punishing you turn you on?" It's because there's something wrong with me. The pain is normal. I've been abused my entire life. Some things never changed. I've turned into this person, the person who is aroused by the pain and suffering. But, with Enzo, it feels different. It feels... passionate.
His fingers stroke my clit, making me whimper at his touch. He circles, dipping down into my hole before bringing my juices back up. He sucks his fingers clean and groans, staring right at me. He wets his fingers with my juices again, rubbing me and building me up further. This time, he brings his fingers to my mouth, getting me to taste myself on him.
"You promise to be a good girl?" he asks, his fingers plunging back into my hole, making me gasp and moan at the same time. "Do you?" he demands, stopping his thrusts and raising his eyebrows at me.
"Yes," I breathe out. He continues once again and I don't want him to stop. His other hand comes to my breast, squeezing with every pump of his fingers. I want to bring my hands out of these restraints, to hold onto something.
"You'll obey me?" he asks, squeezing my breast tightly in anticipation.
"Yes," I answer, throwing my head back in pleasure. No one has ever made me feel this way. No one has ever pleasured me. No one has even cared to. They just fucked me. They just took and took and took. And they never gave a shit about me, using me as their own personal sex toy.
"You are mine," he growls.
"I'm yours," I say a little deliriously in amidst the pleasure.
"Have you ever orgasmed before?" I shake my head, unable to form words anymore. "Cum for me, gattina." And I do just that. I fall apart on his fingers, letting my juices completely drench his hand and run down my legs. He smirks at me before dipping his head down and lapping up my juices with his skilled tongue. Once he cleans me up, his body travels back up to me, untying my restraints and pulling my waist to his body. He undoes his shirt buttons and strips down to his boxers. He gets us under the sheets and I just stare at his face, his smug handsome features. How can I be attracted to this man? He buys me, takes me, traps me, controls me, touches me, and yet he knows that I want him. That's why he continues. Everything sexual move he makes, it's consensual. I want him.
His hands trail up and down my back, running over my scars, his eyes softening at what he feels.
"How did you get these scars?" he questions, his lips hovering over mine.
"My dad," I reply. His eyebrows furrow and he strokes my cheek.
"Why?" I question, narrowing my eyes. "There isn't a reason. People can be cruel with no provocation." Why? Does he think I just brought it upon myself. I did nothing. And my dad just did it anyway.
"I know," he says softly. "I didn't mean it like that." He gently presses his lips against mine. I like this Enzo. The one who doesn't try to intimidate me. The one who's just here with me, no bravado or walls. “Your dad did this to you?”
“Yes,” I reply, not really wanting to get into all of that fucked up past. I had just got punished to keep it hidden. But he’s gonna know one day, right? I can’t keep it hidden forever. It’s not possible. I’m avoiding the father of the man whose house I cannot leave. It’s bound to happen.
“He beat you?”
“Mhm,” I respond, hoping to drop it.
“Is that what you have nightmares about too? Your dad? You told me he was dead.”
“He is dead. And I do have nightmares about him. A few years ago, he died, left me with nothing. I found a job at the diner and an apartment. I was free of him,” I explain, although I don’t know why. I’m telling this man my life story. It feels like a know him when he barely tells me anything. But Luca’s told me a few things, about their mother, how she died when Rafael was born and Enzo was ten. That Enzo was close with her and when she was gone, his dad hardened him up, brought him up to be the next mafia don. And it left him cold.
“Then I trapped you again,” he mumbles, caressing my sore ass.
“I never really found a way out though," I reply, frowning a little.
"Go to sleep, gattina," he orders, kissing the top of my head. Even though it's a command, I don't mind following his orders. I don't think he can separate it anymore, asking someone to do something and telling them.
But I go to sleep anyway, in his arms. As he strokes my skin, I drift away to the rhythm of his heartbeat, his deep hot breaths against my skin.
Before I'm completely gone, I hear him whisper, "I'm sorry."