The guards don't ask who I am or why I am here. They'd seen me enough times to know who I was. They probably knew why I was here too, or they were smart enough not to ask. They didn't bother alerting her to my presence. She knew I was here. I glance at one of the many mirrors lining the corridor that I was walking down. Yes, she knew. I come to a stop at the large wooden doors at the end of the corridor. I don't knock, nor do I enter. I wait. This was how it always happened. Sometimes I waited for only a short while. Other times I would have to wait for hours. I never complained. In fact, I never spoke. Those were her rules.
I jump slightly as the doors open, glad she wasn't going to make me wait this time. I silently enter, eyes cast down as the doors magically closed behind me. I stand still, keeping my eyes down on the stone floor. The edge of a rug is in my line of sight, and I study the pattern as I wait. Even with my heightened senses, I don't hear her approach. Suddenly a firm hand grabs my face, forcing me to look up and into her eyes. She looks at me with her unforgiving eyes, fear and adrenaline surging through me.
We both know how this will end.
Suddenly her lips are pressed against mine, hard and demanding, claiming me as hers and only hers. I stand still, allowing her to posses my mouth. I'm not allowed to touch her; the first time I did that she slapped me so hard it left my cheek bruised for over a week. I have learned my lessons through trial and error; and being wrong results in painful punishment. Before I realize what's happening, I'm in the air and slammed against the wall, gasping as the wind is knocked out of me. Her nails rip at my clothes, resulting in red gashes on my skin. I whimper softly in pain, resulting in a deliberate scratch across my torso. I bite my bottom lip to keep from making another noise, quickly tasting blood on my tongue. Her mouth is on my body now, biting, licking, and sucking on my flesh. I know I will be covered in marks from this; I always am. I know I shouldn't like it. But for some perverse reason, I do.
I'm in the air again, this time landing on the bed. Her nails scrape my thighs as she enters me roughly, causing me to yelp. She responds by biting my shoulder, hard, and I have to remember to be quiet. I can feel her hot breath against my neck, my hips writhing against her hand. I pant, trying not to make any noise as I feel the warmth starting to spread in my abdomen. "Please," I beg without thinking, hissing as she squeezes my breast painfully. It's less than a minute later when I feel the pleasure tearing through me, my back arching off the bed, forgetting myself again as I cry out softly. This time I'm sure her nails pierce the skin of my breast. And then she's off of me.
I lay on the bed, panting from a mix of pain and pleasure. I watch her go to where she ripped my clothes up, pick up my shirt and wipe her hands on it, before leaving the room, not giving me a second glance. After a moment, I slowly get up, wincing as my entire body cries out in protest. This is the part where I pull myself together. Gather what's left of my dignity, put my clothes on, and leave. Every time I leave I say it's the last time. But I do it again. And again. And again. No matter how hard I try to stay away, I always find myself coming back.
