Deadbeat Mother

Loving Husband II

TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE, SA, VIOLENCE -PLEASE READ CAREFULLY (THIS AND THE NEXT CHAPTER)

My stomach twists and churns when the car pulls up to the gates. I can barely breathe with how tight my chest is. If I weren't used to this, I would upchuck all over the backseat. That’s what used to happen in the beginning, which resulted in more punishment.

I swallow the bile down as we drive through the gates. I feel like I’m suffocating, my airways feel closed up, and I can’t find a way to inhale more air. The car comes to a stop, and moments later, my door opens with a hand extended toward me. I take the hand and get out of the car, quickly letting the hand go. I’ve gotten punished for holding on too long.

I quickly walk into the house and start walking up the stairs. This home has three floors, and the room waiting for me is at the top. The first time I had to visit that room, I took the elevator, and I paid dearly for that. I know the expectations, and I make sure I never forget what happens when I don’t meet those expectations.

This is a massive, three-story mansion with more rooms than I can count. Truth be told, I probably haven’t been in every room, and I’ve been here for years. I can’t say that my husband is with me for my money because he has plenty of money all on his own. Most days, I have no idea why he’s with me.

I’m a model, a supermodel in some conversations. I’ve been told I was beautiful all my life. My 5’7 height always made me appealing, and there was a time when I fed into the hype. I used to dream of having this type of job. Now, I feel suffocated. I didn’t anticipate all that would come with this job, and now I’m stuck. I’ve given up too much, and there’s no way the fame is enough to make up for it.

As soon as I reach the top floor, I step through the only door. It’s a double-wide wooden door with big metal studs running across the seams. There’s no real design to it, but this is a door that is the main theme in all of my nightmares.

I step to the side as soon as I enter the room. I step out of my heels and strip out of my clothes. I grab the headband from the hook on the wall and place it on my head, making sure my hair is held back. I walk over to the middle of the room and sink to my knees, sitting on my heels. I keep my arms to my side, and I wait.

I remember the first time I ever came into this room. It wasn’t like a ‘come see this room’ type of thing. I was shown this room as I was being punished in it. I was made to go through the real motions, so I understood what was expected, and it took me a few visits to get it. It’s hard to learn things through terror.

The walls in this room are painted a bright yellow. It’s the type of yellow that burns the eyes when you look at it. I swear, no matter what happens in this room, the color never dims or becomes dingy. The room has no windows, so no outside light comes in. Usually, it wouldn’t matter, but it becomes a real nuisance when you are locked in here for days. There are so many things hung on three of the walls. There are swords and daggers. Some walls have maces and axes; others hold different types of whips and riding crops. The wall directly across from the door is mirrored, and that may be the worst thing. I hate looking in it, but many times I’m forced to.

Some ropes and pulleys are suspended from the ceiling. I can’t recall how many times I’ve been strung up and left there for days. Sometimes I’m strung up and beaten. This room has two other doors; one leads to a bathroom with a sink and a small shower. The other door leads to a closet, and I don’t know what’s in there. I know it has some protective wear and other tools that have been used on me, but I’ve never been inside.

I hear the knob turn and rise up, so I’m on my knees. I place my hands behind my back, and I wait. I hear his footsteps, and I can feel my heartbeat increase. I keep my eyes down and try to regulate my body’s reaction. I know it’s a losing battle, but I need something to focus on.

You know how you hear stories about traumatic, recurring events happening to someone, and they leave their body and mind to cope? You hear about how they create a new person or new world to stay in while these horrible things are done to their bodies. I’ve never done that; well, I did try to once. The problem occurred when I missed instructions because I was having an out-of-body experience. See, I can’t escape in my mind because I must always be ready to do as I’m told.

I can feel his fingers trailing along my upper back as he walks in front of me. Steven places a finger under my chin and lifts my head. “You must like being in here because you continue to do things that you know you shouldn’t, isn’t that right?” At this point, some may say I should plead my case, but I tried that initially and was left hanging for a few days.

“Yyyy…..yes, sir.” Steven caresses my face and removes his hand. I don’t move my head; I can’t until I’m told to do so. I hear his footsteps move away and then come back. I hear the snap in the air before it lands on my body. There’s a sting on my breasts, and something feels wet. He must be using the whip with glass pieces embedded in the leather.

My breast, my ass, my special place…..these areas are free game for him and his sadistic ways. These areas are never shown to the camera, and since I can dress myself, I don’t have to worry about anyone seeing the damage. My legs, arms, back, and face are always left untouched. There’s no way my precious husband would damage his company’s brand. I guess that’s something to be thankful for.

There’s another snap in the air, and I feel the sting again. I want to scream out, but I know better. Another snap precedes another wave of pain. I hate this, and I never know how to keep this from happening. This isn’t always a punishment because I did something wrong. Sometimes this happens because he wants it to. He gets off on hurting me, and I don’t understand why that is.

My eyes are clenched as I wait for another snap, but it doesn’t come. I feel my head being yanked backward, and I yelp. “You did too much tonight, but you know that, right?” I open my mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. I can feel my lip quiver and tears threaten to spill out. “Answer me!” Steven’s voice is so low that fear grips me tightly. Steven scares me; he’s always scared me.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper. My head is released, and I slowly bring it back to eye level. I want to drop my head, but I know doing that would result in more problems. Steven walks away from me and heads to the closet. I quickly look down and notice some blood on my breasts. It isn’t a lot, but it’s enough to be visible. I will probably have new scars, but what else is new?

I hear rustling and quickly level my eyesight again, waiting for what comes next. Steven walks out of the closet, naked, with only a transparent apron on. He has a small knife in his hand, and I know what this will be. He likes to cut me, and my behind is littered with scars that show how much he loves it. Steven walks over to me and bends down so his mouth is at my ear. “I’m not sure why you do this to yourself, but I hope, one day, you learn better.” As he says this, I feel the blade go across my left cheek, and I bite my tongue to keep from making a sound. Steven’s free hand travels down my torso to my middle. He pushes my thighs apart some so I can give him some space. His fingers dance against my inner thigh until they find my nub. My mouth drops open, but the scream is silent. While Steven has a vice grip on my nub, he runs the blade across my right cheek. The pain is too much to bear, and I let the darkness take over.