Justice
"Justice that love gives is a surrender..."
I could see something dangerous in his eyes. They were too focused—but somehow wild, when he looked at me. My mouth stopped mid-sentence and I stepped back instinctively. His crossed the room as my gaze dropped, his thick fingers digging deep into the soft waves of hair beside my face, closing on my ear and shoving me backward with the force of his momentum. I could feel his chest rumbling up through gritted teeth and grabbed his arm, holding on tightly while I whimpered.
I was being forced into his long, angry stride, corralled into the bedroom with a tenacious fury. I opened my mouth to apologize, to beg, to cry, anything, but his hand moved down to my jaw and then wrapped around my throat, trapping my breath before even a sound could escape.
"Whore," he wheezed, accusingly, unable to even make the sentence he wanted. He pushed me through the door frame to our room, my shoulder slamming into the trim. I groaned, but was thrust through, was tripped over the foot of the bed, the footboard smashing hard against my hip bones. And then his rough, thick hands on my skirt, ripping it down without unbuttoning, rage peeling it cruelly from my thighs and ass, tugging it down snug across my body, my panties with it. Just off, as quickly as he could.
He wanted words maybe, but there weren't any but, "Fucking whore. Slut."
And then a growling yell, his fingers anchoring into my thighs and squeezing hard, crushing my skin. My back arched deep and my lap pressed forward, away from him with a sharp gasp, my eyes opening wide into the dark room. I scratched for the covers beneath me, pulling at them as he bruised my twisting hips.
He yelled again and kicked the footboard next to me, then yanked open my thighs, wide, like a wish bone. I screamed, but his couldn't hear me. He pinned my belly to the slab of wood beneath and slapped me hard, his fingers splayed wide without control, my bruising thighs, my soft inner meat, my ass, my cunt, up onto my back. I was writhing against his brutality, groping back to cover myself when he kicked the footboard again.
"Move your hands," he roared, not stopping the barrage of punishment, catching my fingers and palms the same as my upturned ass. I squealed and yanked them back, begging him to please stop, please stop. I love you, please stop.
I could hear the frenzy in his throat, kicking up a thick, wet laugh. He grabbed a belt from the chair near him. He was so fast, I couldn't feel him leave my skin before he'd returned again, wielding the fat strap of leather down across my fiery hot flesh. I was screaming into the bedclothes, kicking my legs against the hard grain of the bed.
"Cunt," he spat, the dark leather lashing my spilt cunt, "Bitch. Whore. Useless. Filthy."
He hit me harder with each assertion, then, "Cunt. Fucking cunt. Dirty cunt bitch. Cunt. Disgusting cunt."
The welts on my thighs and ass were rising one on top of the other. Sharp, glaring stripes of pain marked my thighs and ass. The leather found my pussy now, indiscriminately, slapped my soft, wet flesh. I couldn't help being wet; it was involuntary. But he wasn't interested in my pussy just now.
He dropped the belt next to me, grabbing my hips back into his hands and devastating them with punishing nails. My thighs and spine were fighting him with each new infliction of pain. Tears were soaking my cheeks, my neck, and I was screaming hard into the blankets, soaking wet spots from my open mouth. My breath was gone and I caught gulps of air where I could. I was dizzy and in more pain than I could remember.
He dragged his nails over my welts, shoved his knees between my thighs and held them wide, wider until I bucked up and howled.