He was my drug; my addiction. I wanted to inhale his essence and feel the buzz it gave me. A dangerous drug that laughed as he fucked me, his slim hips pistoning wildly. His makeup covered my body from his lecherous kisses; red and white. I'd lay back, my body throbbing and trembling, his mad giggles shaking me to the core with fear and desire as we both came down from the high in our own ways; I'd kiss and lay my head on his toned chest, whispering that I loved him. The punch to my face was expected now, but it still hurt all the same. He'd push me on my back and wrap his hands around my neck, starting to squeeze.
When I'd regain consciousness, he'd be gone; of on some heist or murdering someone important. I'd let the tears flow then, my small body shaking as I soaked the pillow that smelled like him. Bruises laced my throat and marred my smooth cheek. But I didn't care; I had my Mister J, and that's all that mattered.
When he comes home at night, his coat is dragging on the ground and his head is bowed. I peer around the bedroom door as I watch him. Suddenly, he picks up a (stolen) vase and throws it against the wall, laughing as it shatters. He makes short work of the room, destroying everything in sight, chortling madly all the while. My tentative whisper snaps him out of his rage.
He pounces on me, beating me with a closed fist. The blood spurted everywhere when his fist made contact with my face. I stayed silent the whole time as he beat me up, just staring at him, my big blue eyes pierced into what was left of his soul. His eyes faltered as they met mine. He lowered his bloody fist with a sigh.
"Oh punkin, why do you do this to me? You know I can't hurt ya when ya look me like that."
I sighed and looked up at him, wiping the blood from my nose.
"Mistah J… why did you stop hittin me?"
"There's somethin about you, punkin. You are… special."
"Special?"
"Yea. You are daddy's special girl."
I smile hopefully and pucker up my lips, hoping for a kiss. His lips meet mine. He is forceful and demanding, throwing me over his shoulder and running to the bathroom. But he set me on the cold tile floor and turned on the bath. His fingers, surprisingly gentle, unlaced my tattered negligee and bared my nakedness to him. He lifted me up and lay me in the scalding water. He pulled off his shirt and picked up a washcloth, washing the gore from my body with unsuspecting care, his painted brow furrowed in concentration.
His hand strayed to my breast and squeezed it. I looked up at him and smiled suggestively, spreading my legs wide. My Mister J stood up quietly and removed his clothes, watching me hungrily. The water rose as he stepped in and settled between my thighs, stroking my toned stomach as he drifted the other hand lower and lower... oh my.
He made love to me for the first time that night. His strokes were gentle and pleasurable, his body pressed against mine; thrusting, writhing, moaning. I gasped his name when I came, my body arching, nails digging into his back.
"Oh Mistah J!"
"You like that, punkin?"
I moaned in response and kissed him passionately.
I knew not to expect it again; this side of my Mister J. The next day he beat me again, adding fresh bruises to my collections.
But I loved my Mister J. More than he'd ever know