Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight Saga.
Author's Note: (December 20, 2012) Done writing Chapter Two, the continuation to the first chapter. This chapter is a must-read before you choose one of the two different endings.
~Chapter Two~
Emotions in Overdrive
Silence. The sound of our home in the middle of the day. I was thankful for the brief respite of one whole week from our usual routine of nightly sessions, but I knew this was just because of my monthly visit. Seemingly, my husband knew of my monthly schedule. That probably explained why he videotaped our last session.
My body hasn't fully recovered from the soreness our last session gave me. It's been a week but I couldn't forget the unusual discomfort of my husband forcing himself inside my tight unused hole. To be honest, I was afraid of tonight's session, for I knew for certain, he'd use it again. The feeling of pain it brought forth was humiliating, for it also made me feel like defecating all over and the thought alone was too shameful to bear.
Shaking out my thoughts of my worries for tonight, I decided I'd enjoy the few hours before I'd be tied up once again down in the basement. Streaks of sunlight streaming in through the pale peach draperies tempted me to go out to the garden at the back of our house, urging my feet forward to the door leading out onto the veranda.
As I stepped out into the comforting shade of the apple tree right beside our house, my eyes tried following the different colors that flashed by my sight in gentle swishes. Amazed, I watched the different flowers sway in time with the mild breeze, and admired the way the blossoms reached high to get as much sunlight as they could on this lovely first day of March.
On the other side of our backyard was our vegetable patch. Just as I thought of tending to it, I heard his car pull into the driveway and stop in front of the garage. Alarmed, I turned around and hurried to the front door, then hesitated as I remembered I shouldn't welcome him home.
Panicking, I paced before the main door and decided to just go back out into the garden and start collecting those ripe tomatoes that caught my eye a few minutes ago, but before I took one step back, I heard the kitchen door open and shut close. My whole body froze. I won't deny it; I was scared out of my wits whenever he was home. But why was he home so early? He was barely gone for five hours. I knew asking wouldn't exactly earn me an answer. Conversations just made him angrier.
My heart pounding against my chest in irregular beats, my feet glued to the floor, I waited, fear striking my body, a silent prayer crossing my mind that he wouldn't start right away with his torment today.
The surprise in his blue-gray eyes immediately met my fear-filled green ones, and for an eerie, still minute, we stood in silence, staring at each other, stuck in the marriage that was long dead and had become into nothing more but an act of pleasure for him.
"Well what do we have here?" My husband moved a step forward and I backed away with each other step he took forth. "Were you planning on greeting me?"
The hard surface meeting my back felt irrefutably alarming, my heart racing in wild erratic beats forced my body into the unyielding wall even further, my breath speeding up with the quick heaves of my chest, my voice already hitching to a pitch that had certain fear evidently manifested in it.
"Well?"
I knew he was waiting for an answer, but I didn't seem to even have the strength to shake my head in desperation. He sighed in exasperation and the wide smirk on his face made me lose all hope to have our session postponed until tonight.
"Get ready. You're coming with me to the hospital."
With that, he left for his room, and as I tried to steady my frantic heart, my feet moved of their own volition, my mind clearly steering them, knowing making my husband wait would just result in more torturous deeds. Though after all he's done, I wondered what could be more humiliating, painful and shameful that I haven't had the misfortune to experience under his meticulous doctor's hands.
Awaiting me in the kitchen, there he was, standing by the island counter in the middle of the room, sipping on what I could ascertain from by the strong smell of it, brandy. He didn't look up when I entered the kitchen, nor did he do so when he spoke in a quiet, polite voice, asking me to do something I felt too ashamed to do, under these circumstances.
"Bend over the counter, will you?"
With a quick swallow of my dry throat, I moved forward, braced my hands on the edge of the counter before stretching my arms out flat on it. I kept my face down in shame, and from the dread welling up within me at what he'd possibly need me in this position for.
I felt my skirt lift up and gather around at my waist, then my underwear pulled down in a swift tug down to my knees. My whole body shook as a hard smack on my ass crossed it. His hands roughly grabbed my legs to force them apart, surprising me with the harshness of this forceful action as I tried to keep my balance on these very high heels that he distinctly laid in front of my room to wear.
His fingers dug into the skin of my asscheeks, and I felt him spread them apart. Even after two weeks of doing these things that he never did before, like looking a little too closely for my liking at my privates, I couldn't stand the embarrassment rising up in my cheeks.
A short while passed, until finally, the moment I dreaded arrived.
Strange pain.
Yes, that was what I thought and all I felt. I despised the feeling of something inside that hole. Those beads were back inside me, but I could feel something coating it, like some sort of lubrication which made it slick and easier to slide.
The soft fabric of my skirt fell back down over my below-the-waist nakedness and I realized with mortification that he planned on bringing me to the hospital with those beads still within the tight hold of my sphincter.
Before I could take in all the scenarios of degradation today would bring, I felt myself being lifted onto the counter top, my thong carelessly brushed away from my legs and tossed across the room, my legs parted by his hands, my feet resting on the edge of the counter.
Surprise snapped me back to reality as – to what little knowledge I had about those sorts of materials – something called a dildo penetrated me. To my horror, my husband even added a small kind of ball against my clit, taped against the sensitive bundle of nerves, and I could feel my whole body trying to breathe and break free from all three.
"Get in the car."
Something that was as unpleasant as it was uncomfortable to do. Even the small steps that I took were a mighty struggle to accomplish. I had to make sure nothing fell out from under my skirt, my legs awkwardly pressed tightly together, the grating friction of my thighs irritating me in an undeniably unusual way.
Sitting was an entirely different sensation. It pushed in both the dildo and the beads deeper inside me and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from complaining about the discomfort I was feeling.
I kept my eyes on the road as my husband drove us to the hospital swiftly and smoothly. I've always loved the way he drove. With a certain penchant for speed, but also the extreme caution to ensure everyone's safety, my husband drove with speedy precision, never breaking any laws, and with the skillful hands to keep the car steady in a smooth, straight line, almost making anyone inside the car feel like they were merely floating on a still wave above deep waters.
The drive to the hospital wasn't that far, but it gave me enough time to take a peek at my husband's perfection. I had to take as many precious little minutes as I could to study and rememorize every single flawless detail on this man I married nine years ago.
His hands that could bring me into the helpless state of delirious passion, his deft fingers that could work on me like he would during surgery were so precise with their strokes, their caress, unfolding every secret within me until I'd completely surrender to him, offering up my total undoing to those nimble fingers…
'Ah!'
The vibrating sensation sent my whole body jumping, but I forced my legs closed to keep anything from falling out. My hands instinctively reached for the dashboard and I glanced over at my husband. Around his hand that wasn't on the wheel, was some sort of remote control, I was sure of it, for who else could've turned on the vibration of both the dildo and the ball on my clit?
I couldn't stop the wetness that formed within me when the dildo penetrated me minutes ago to stop from coating it fully. This frightened me. For one, I was worried I'd end up staining my skirt, and that wouldn't do since my husband's office was on the fourth floor of the hospital and we'd meet plenty of people all the way there. No one could possibly find out what was going on underneath my clothing!
"Ca-Carlisle… Please stop this… I-I'll…"
Utterly ignored, all I received was a more intense level of the vibration. Pursing my lips together and clutching onto the dashboard to keep my sanity as I was losing the tight hold of my legs together, I observed my husband from the corner of my tear-glazed eyes filled with dread, pleading him to stop the whirring between my legs.
My thighs were unnaturally grazing each other in desperate attempts to free myself of the unforgiving, pulsating vibration, spurring forth my impending release, which I desperately tried to keep in, not wanting to succumb to his torture, not ready for people to see the stain of my skirt.
Just as a tiny yelp slipped past my lips, all the vibrations ceased. I looked up and noticed that we were parked and my husband was readily stepping out of the car.
With shaky legs, straining with difficulty to stand and keep those inside me, I forced myself up and out of my seat. Subtly checking for any stain on the reflection of my husband's shiny black Mercedes, I followed him inside the hospital he worked at.
It seemed that I didn't have to worry at all about being noticed by anyone. The hospital was eerily empty. All the way to the fourth floor, we were greeted only once, and that was by the head nurse stationed behind the counter on the ground floor.
My husband's office brought back so many memories. It's been years since I've been here, but every single detail I worked on it was still in their original place. Yes, I designed his office. And those times when he'd steal a kiss while I would be painting his office wall, those times when he'd take me against the door leading to the hallway, those times he'd lay me on top of his desk to quickly undress me just to have himself buried deep in me – those times, all those times, came flashing through my eyes the moment I stepped inside.
The scent of lavender reached my nostrils, and I was baffled he was still using the scented candles we'd light on each of our anniversaries. The lavender flower held an intimate, cherished memory for both of us. That flower was present in the two important times we met, and the flower, to me, made sense of my feelings for him.
~o~
"Esme, darling! Come over here, will you? Help your father tend to the garden!"
The young girl frowned and sighed from the branch up high in the tree she was perched on. She marked the page and closed the book she was reading and let it fall from the ten-foot drop from where she was sitting.
"I'm coming, mom!"
The color of caramel from the little girl's locks meshed with the gentle breeze of Spring's lovely early evening, with bright green leaves swaying in the background from the vast branches of the trees in the front yard, and with the relaxing orange streaks of the sunset as their backdrop, young Esme found her way down from the branch, taking careful steps on the tree trunk until her feet found solid, steady ground.
Picking up the book from before, she ran into the house, hurriedly placed the book on the first countertop she set eyes on, and continued on until she was at their backyard, where a man about fifty-five years old had his knees dug into the soil, his clothing and hands all dirty, his brow and forehead shining with a sheen of sweat.
Esme's father had always loved tending to their garden, be it full of flowers or full of vegetables, or even fruits. Her mother, on the other hand, was never much of a green-thumb, but always loved cooking the ingredients that her husband brought in and Esme knew her mother loved and enjoyed watching her father tend to the garden. Esme's love for flowers, gardening, and pretty much all of nature, was greatly due to her father's influence and his love for them.
"Daddy?" Esme stepped forward, readily crouching on the fertile earth beside her father.
"I'm planting a new flower, Esme, my child," Esme's father explained, digging more of the fertile soil to fully plant the seed in properly.
"What's it called, daddy?" the little girl asked with excitement.
"Lavender," her father told her with a smile.
"That's a beautiful name for what I'm guessing is a beautiful flower. Do you have a picture of it for me to see?" Esme asked eagerly.
"I'm afraid not, my darling. You'll have to wait until it blooms to the utmost beautiful it can be."
The aging man noticed the little frown on his daughter's face, and therefore said, "We'll plant it together, care for it together, water it together, and I'll be waiting alongside you until it fully grows, how about that?"
The cheeks of young Esme flared up like balloons, her smile widening while she nodded in joyous agreement to her father's suggestion. Esme's arms swung around her father's neck instantly, knocking the man onto his backside, his daughter receiving a kiss on her forehead.
By the door leading out onto the veranda, Esme's mother took in the scene of her husband and their beautiful daughter who was growing so quickly, while they were aging along with her. They knew they didn't have much time left with Esme. They had her at such a late time in their marriage, at such a late age in life, so they cherished every single moment like these for eternity.
That Lavender flower grew to its fullest about two years later and just as the then thirteen-year-old Esme called for her father to look and see, her father's heart weakened to a state of paralysis, which prompted his wife and daughter to rush him to the nearest emergency room…
As Esme's young wearied body struggled to stay awake beside her father's motionless form, the doctor entered the room followed by two female nurses. He spoke briefly to Esme's mother whose exhaustion was visible in the dark shadows underneath her eyes, and sent off both Esme and her mother home with a male nurse driving them. The doctor promised he'd send word once Esme's father would wake from his coma.
Esme forced herself to stay awake a little longer to take care of her mother and put her into bed until she collapsed onto her own to finally fill her need of sleep after several nights of staying up with her mother, changing turns to watch over the head of the family, faithfully awaiting his awakening. But after five days, the good doctor made them go home and rest, something they both weren't too keen about, but the doctor did say he'd personally check up on the patriarch every hour.
Weeks, it felt like weeks until Esme awoke from her slumber. But it's only been a little over twenty-four hours when she arose from her bed. Her mother was still in her room, but if she was sleeping, Esme did not know.
The young girl dragged her tired feet out to the garden, and her weak knees dropped down right in front of the lavender flower her father planted a little over two years back…
"Daddy, please wake up soon…"
With a few droplets of her tears that she couldn't contain, Esme composed herself and started digging out the fully grown flower to transfer it into a pot to bring to her father's bedside in the hospital.
Just as soon as the flower was snugly fitted inside the pot with abundant soil around it, the doorbell rang. With the pot in her hands, Esme walked to the door and opened it and a young blonde man no older than twenty came into view.
"You must be Esme. Is your mother awake?" the young man spoke.
"I'm afraid not. May I know who you are?" Esme responded.
"Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself first. I'm Carlisle Cullen, the son of the doctor who's in charge of your father. My father called your house several times this morning and when no one picked up, he got a little worried and sent me over. I have news about your father."
"What is it? What's wrong?" The desperate anxiety of the young girl seemed to surprise the young man, who just relaxed and smiled at the young teenager in front of him.
"Nothing's wrong, there's no need to worry. Your father woke up a few hours ago."
The crash of the breakable pot seemed to reverberate throughout the house as Esme's body flung forward with her arms outstretched to the young man, her hands finding his back as she clutched onto his shirt, her tears soaking the soft blue cotton in front, her chest heaving with heavy sobs with the relief she hasn't felt for what seemed like ages to her.
The shock in the young man's face was clearly visible, and his hands were lifted up in reflex, but also to make sure nothing would look inappropriate in someone else's eyes if there was a neighbor who was to witness this innocent act of a happy young lady, flooded with relief at the news of her father's bettering condition.
For a few minutes, the young man stood still and tried soothing the young girl with small pats on her head before his hand started stroking her caramel locks on its own.
"Esme… Are you all right now?" he then asked and the young lady looked up, embarrassment flooding her cheeks, tainting them in a deep pink shade.
"I-I'm so sorry! That was inappropriate of me!"
The girl instantly removed herself from the warmth of the young man's body, but as she took a step backward, Esme flinched in pain. They both looked down and saw a few drops of blood dripping from the sole of her right foot.
"Hmm, let's get that cleaned up, shall we?"
Ready to limp to the sofa in the living room, Esme was surprised as she was swept off the floor and lifted into the young blonde's arms. He closed the front door shut and settled her down onto the couch. Esme watched as he took out a first aid kit he seemingly had hooked onto his belt at the back of his pants, watched how he took out a small piece of shattered pot from the sole of her foot, observed the seriousness on his face as he disinfected her wound, mesmerized by his gentle touch and entranced by his kind voice when he said, "I'm afraid I ran out of band aids, so I'll wrap this part of your foot with bandages for now. I'll give you a band aid back at the hospital."
Esme knew they had band aids in the cabinet in their bathroom, but to feel the young man's touch on her skin again was more powerful than the desire to have an itchy band aid that'll fall off way too soon anyway.
"Do you plan on becoming a doctor too, like your father?" Esme asked shyly as he wrapped her foot and pinned it in place with a little safety pin.
"I do. How am I doing so far?" he then asked with the brightest smile Esme had seen her entire life.
"You're doing amazingly well…"
"Well, my medical training is going better than I thought then," Carlisle mused with laughter in his voice and in the happy gleam in his eyes.
"Shall we rouse your mother to tell her the news? I bet she would want to come to the hospital as soon as your father is awake, and I'm here to drive you both there and drive you back home with your father when he'll be released, which most probably will be tonight, after his six-hour observation is done."
"I'll go call my mother. You can wait for us out by your car. Thank you so much for tending to my wound. We'll be right out."
As the young lady left to wake her mother, the young student of medicine walked back to the front door, then halted in his tracks as he noted the broken flower pot.
'Lavender? She must've wanted to give this to her father… I better clean it up for her,' he thought to himself.
He found the empty flower pots out by the veranda and carefully transferred the flower with the soil in a new one and gave it a little water before heading out the front door, placing the flower pot on the passenger seat, as he waited for the two Platt women to emerge from the house.
In less than half an hour, the three of them were parked in front of the hospital, Esme's mother already rushing inside as Carlisle held out the pot to Esme. "I figured you wanted to bring this to your father, so I changed the pot for you."
"Oh, thank you very much. And yes, I did plan on giving this to him…" Esme spoke slowly, thinking back on how she had dropped the pot in such suddenness to embrace a stranger who stood by their front door, giving her the pleasant news of her father's wakening.
"Well, that flower is very appropriate under these circumstances," Carlisle told her, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"How so?" Esme asked.
"It's one of the flowers that have healing properties."
That made the astonished Esme smile. 'Yes, it's quite appropriate indeed…' she agreed inwardly. 'You healed me today with your words and your touch. My father's healed under your father's care. Yes, very much appropriate indeed… For everything about you seems so healing…'
That very moment, Esme could feel a certain pull drawing her closer to this young man seven years her senior, but she knew it wasn't a possible match, not unless he waited for her until she turned eighteen for them to be together, which she knew he would never do, for someone with such good looks as he had and the gentle personality he possessed, he'd have a lady by his side very soon, if he didn't have one already.
Esme swallowed in despair. "Thank you again, Carlisle."
"You're most welcome, Esme. Shall we?"
He then offered his hand, which Esme happily took, though she knew this touch was nothing more but an offering of friendliness, not knowing that to the young man, the touch of her hand meant something much, much more. "Yes, we shall…"
Esme never saw Carlisle again after that night when he brought them back home. His medical studies brought him to different countries far away, but she never forgot that day she met Carlisle Cullen, "the healer of wounds," as she liked to call him in her daydreams. To her, he was the healer of all her wounds.
The second time her father had a stroke was when she finally got to see him again. This time, it was no longer his father who treated her father. It was him. And the day they met again, lavender played a specific role…
It's been seven years, and Esme had grown into a fine young woman at the age of twenty, while the twenty-seven year old Carlisle now became the next Dr. Cullen.
Esme wasn't around when her father was delivered to the hospital, but her mother had been there. And when Esme found out the doctor wasn't by her father's side when she arrived in his room, she was furious. She demanded to know the office of the doctor responsible for treating her father, who was very much well already by the time she arrived, and as she stalked inside the doctor's office, she was immediately greeted with the scent of lavender. Three lit candles rested atop the mahogany desk, emitting the soft scent of the flower, and somehow, Esme knew, she was in the office of that same young man she fell in love with at the age of thirteen. And as she turned around to the footsteps nearing the room, there he was, standing in the middle of the open door, and in an instant, her mind conjured up the vision of him in front of the thirteen-year-old version of herself.
Esme's heart leapt in joy and it was all she could do to rein herself in from flinging her whole self onto him again, like she did seven years before.
"Carlisle…"
"It's Doctor Cullen now, I'm afraid," he laughingly pointed out, which immediately brought out a smile from her. "Esme, how glad I am to see you again, though I'm sorry it had to be under such circumstances."
Esme realized he meant meeting again because her father had a stroke for a second time. "But he's all better now, isn't he?" Esme asked.
"Yes, he is. So I'm wondering, why is the daughter of the patient in my office? I heard she was furious when she found out the doctor responsible for treating her already-treated father wasn't in the room." He was using such a playful tone in his voice that Esme couldn't stop feeling like a child being lightly chided by an understanding parent.
"I'm sorry; I was just out of sorts. I came rushing from my college, and I – I just felt enraged when no one was looking after my father, not even a single nurse in sight, when this is the second time he had a stroke," Esme tried explaining, but then drifted off as she noticed the young doctor had moved closer to her, his face inches from hers.
"Esme…" His finger tipped her chin up lightly and she was immediately and helplessly caught in his enchanting gaze. "I can't believe you're right here, right in front of me again."
Esme's heartbeat sped up and her thoughts ran wildly before her eyes shut in anticipation for the kiss she knew would come. All the romance novels she read led her to believe this was about to happen. Real life though, it seemed, was very different from the fantasies her books showed her.
"For a minute there I was worried you'd throw yourself at me again like you did seven years ago."
It seemed like her reality turned from romance to a humor novel. With the teasing remark, Esme's eyes fluttered open and she turned around sharply, but her wrist was caught back by the gentle smoothness of his hand.
"I'm sorry; I just couldn't stand not saying it. To tell you the truth, I was hoping you would do it again…"
There was a certain longing in his voice that made Esme turn around, and the small smile he gave her immediately weakened all her senses to be mad at him as she finally, to his and her delight, threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against the depth of the base of the column of his throat, while she felt his face buried in her hair, his hands pulling her tightly in an embrace.
As their bodies broke away slightly, Carlisle's hand rested on Esme's cheek, caressing the warmth of her skin, before sliding in her hair, his fingers brushing the soft tendrils until his palm cupped the back of her head, tilted up her gaze for him to see her full, luscious, painted red lips.
"Kiss me, Carlisle…"
The tempting invitation was all Carlisle could stand. Claiming each other's lips in both a gentle force and a forceful gentleness was something they both realized they needed.
"My God, I waited seven years for this," Carlisle breathed out against Esme's lips.
"Then don't stop now, Dr. Cullen…"
Esme's use of his title urged the doctor to keep on showering her lips with open-mouthed kisses, but never penetrating or invading the juicy cavern with his tongue. Only when she fully opened her mouth, an obvious invitation for more, did Carlisle slip his tongue past her lips to fully explore and taste her.
When they both needed to catch their breaths, Carlisle leaned his forehead against hers, breathing in what she breathed out. The satisfied smiles on their faces both brightened the room, and Carlisle reached for something behind his desk, while Esme was still trapped in his embrace.
"When I realized I was treating the man whose daughter I had admired and adored, I went out to buy this," he said quietly, handing Esme a bouquet of lavender, the scent strongly adding to the lavender-scented candles.
"What for?" Esme asked as she brought up the bouquet to take a closer whiff of the soothing aroma.
"For you to remember me," Carlisle explained.
Esme looked up at him in surprise. "There is no way I could have forgotten about you, Carlisle."
"How so?" the doctor asked, clearly pleased with her confession.
"You are the healer of all my wounds."
And once more, Esme was swept off her feet and kissed repeatedly until a knock on the doctor's door made them jump and laugh at their obvious obsession with each other.
Two years later, when Esme graduated from her architectural degree, to celebrate the end of her studies, Carlisle had brought her to a lavender farm, where they strolled under the warm heat of the sun, with the pleasant summer breeze moving past their faces, and the smell of lavender engulfing them exclusively in the beautiful violet-blue hue of its blossoms.
Under a willow tree, its shade a lovely welcome to escape the sun's rays, overlooking the field of pure lavender, was where Carlisle got down on one knee and proposed to the young woman with an engagement ring the same color as the field. Esme's birthstone, the amethyst, shone brightly under the sun's sparkle, its iridescent violet hue belonging to the field of purple color. Even Esme herself was a mesmeric addition in her white flowing dress with its lavender flowery design that Carlisle gifted her to wear that very same day.
It was an unforgettable moment when she said yes and when he slid the ring onto her finger, planting a kiss atop it as it snuggled fit into place.
~o~
I was snapped back to reality as the door of my husband's office shut close. How ironic was it that now he was the harbinger of all my wounds…? My heart broke at the realization that he planned on desecrating every room we held dear to our hearts by mistreating me in all of them.
My feet planted on the floor, I watched my husband cross the room and take his seat down on the soft leather chair behind his desk. The intense scrutiny of his gaze sent a slight shudder down my spine and my eyes immediately turned from his, focusing on someplace else other than those intimidating blue-gray orbs.
"Now, now, won't you look at me?" His voice was so alarmingly gentle; I couldn't stop feeling an ominous threat chilling the air of the lavender-scented room.
With the flick of his finger against the switch on the remote control, the vibrations resumed their torture. Aghast, I stared at him pleadingly, my knees bending, my hands desperately tugging on the fabric across my thighs.
"Please don't make me shame myself here…" But of course, he'd never listen to my plea. "Ca-Carlisle, please…" I felt myself stagger forward, my hands gripping the edge of his desk. "Stop it, please…"
The vibrations only increased in speed, the rubbing sensation inside me sending my senses into overdrive, my walls tightening its hold around the slick, wet dildo, the ball unbearably vibrating in such dizzying haste across my swollen clit. My legs were giving out under me and I cursed inwardly, the tears of my shame starting to form in my eyes, my nails digging into the glorious, sleek wood of his desk.
With a loud cry escaping my lips and the silent thud of the dildo hitting the floor, my trembling knees finally sank and collapsed right alongside it.
I heard my husband move about, but I didn't look up to gauge his reaction. I couldn't. I was preoccupied, appalled at the fact that I reached the height of my pleasure from just a mere toy inserted into me. The shaming added factor was that this was a public place, our home being the only place I ever considered private. Add to that the fact that I was still shamelessly dripping all over my husband's office floor.
"Feeling a little relieved now?" My husband's voice tinged with a hint of pleasure seeing me shame myself out here angered me. When I didn't answer him, I was pulled back forcefully, my hair helplessly caught in his tight grasp.
The only comfort to cushion my fall was the plump cheeks of my butt while my hands hit the floor behind me. Unremittingly tugging on my hair until my wobbly legs stood their ground, I was forced up on my feet and bent over his desk.
"Do you remember the times I fucked you on this desk?" my husband whispered into my ear. A pang of sadness hit me as those memories came back to me not as something as undignified as he called it, but something much more intimate, much more loving, something called making love instead of… of fucking.
The fabric of my skirt once again gathered around my waist and his nimble fingers worked on the buttons of my blouse, tearing my top off my torso in one swift yank then pushing my brassiere up over my breasts, finding my nipples pushed back against the smooth mahogany wood.
The sudden push of the beads inside my ass jolted my body in shock and as the thrashing of my legs began and the protests on my lips started, his hand came around to close over my mouth. Instinctively, I bit down hard, only to have myself rewarded with a slap across my face and a smack across my ass. I pursed my lips behind the hand clasping my mouth shut, helpless. I knew it was hopeless to fight him.
In and out. I was being fucked in the ass, the anal beads violating me. With one swift pull, the beads left me with a feeling of emptiness, a hole that was visibly penetrated, stretched wide open. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing it myself and I was glad I couldn't, not in this position, but the degrading feeling reverberating through my skin was from the intent gaze of my husband. How could he just stand to look at it?
Two of his fingers entered me without warning, and I was mortified that both could easily slide in. I heard him spit and I could feel the slick, wet, warm liquid being pushed inside me with his fingers. And just as he withdrew it, I felt another strange sensation, a warm, slithering feeling entering, forcing itself between the tightness of my hole. Disgusted, revolted, sickened, I tried turning my head to ascertain this was really happening. His tongue! My husband's tongue, penetrating, licking the one place where all I felt was shame of!
'Stop it! This is disgraceful!'
To add to my shock, I could hear the pleasure moans he was emitting. I couldn't take the humiliation that someone was enjoying the taste of that – that horrendously repulsive place!
I felt his forefinger replace his tongue, while his middle finger broke past my dripping entrance, finding its way inside my pussy, and I knew he was rebuilding another swell of orgasm within me.
All at once, I felt nothing. Not his hands, not the burning touch of his skin, not his body close to mine. I straightened my upper body a little and scanned the room for his presence. Right in front of me was where he stood, about to take his place back on the leather cushioned seat. In his hands, he had the dildo and the anal beads which he firmly planted atop the desk and to my curious astonishment; they stayed stuck against the wood. But then the way they were positioned in such a precise angle made me realize what he was about to make me do.
'No! He wouldn't! Would he really make me…?'
I assumed the expression on my face informed him that I was aware of what he intended me to do. A slight smirk tugged on the corner of his lips and I knew I couldn't disobey his following order, nor could I play dumb.
"Get on with it, my dear," he whispered in a quiet, urging, domineering voice.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed atop his desk, shutting my eyes in shame as I lined both my pussy and my ass to the toys, before sliding down on them. A silent hiss made its way past my clenched teeth and my whole body stilled with both of the materials inside me.
On my knees, my arms limp on my sides, both the dildo and the beads penetrated me with each back and forth motion I rubbed myself with against them. My husband just sat there, pleased, watching me pleasure myself in this demeaning manner. I kept my eyes shut, not believing this insulting demand from him for him to enjoy. Only the sound of his belt buckle made me snap my eyes back into awareness.
He was absolutely gorgeous, his thick, hard cock so erect in front of me, springing out from the tight confines of his slacks, emerging up from between the zipper. I watched him grab himself, rubbing himself in measured up and down strokes, the tip of his cock already lubricated with his delicious precum. The sight of him jacking off to my shameful actions embarrassed me even further.
"Faster," he commanded and I forced myself to keep up with his expectations.
There I was, my skirt on my waist, my brassiere resting atop my breasts, my pussy and ass filled with toys, my clit still covered with the vibrating ball taped upon it. And there he was, watching me, enjoying the show, stroking his hard self shamelessly with such vigor.
Knock, knock.
"Dr. Cullen?"
My body immediately froze in place and panic set in. My husband, though, was calm and his voice showed no panic nor did any of his following actions seem agitated.
He held out his hand to me and I stepped down from his desk with his help. The materials on his desk were casually set aside in one of his drawers as he pushed me down below his desk, his answer to the knock on the door clear and authoritative, "Come in."
Frightened that I left any evidence in front of his desk that would give away our session to the person walking into the room, I waited and listened, the beating of my heart so loud in my ears. I was glad that at least the scent of lavender from the candles masked the strong odor of sexual activities that I could easily smell from where I was kneeling.
"Doctor Cullen, these are the updated reports on…"
I could make out from the depth of the voice that it was another male doctor who was inside the room, though someone much younger than my husband. The man, to my dismay, sat on one of the plush seats in front of my husband's desk and I was a little anxious their conversation would take some time.
I tried to keep my mouth shut, calming my own heart, slowing down my breathing, to stay very still and wait for the other doctor to leave, but all was made impossible as my husband suddenly grabbed the back of my head and forced his cock between my lips until it hit the back of my throat. I couldn't stop from gagging silently as he released his hold on my head, and I withdrew myself from his engorged cock. Was he expecting me to do this while another person was in the room?
The answer was obvious as his hands found my breasts, fondling them in his palms, before the hardened peaks of my nipples screamed for mercy at the unexpected pinch of nipple clamps. Biting down on my lip hard, unintentionally drawing out blood, I held in the piercing shriek of pain wanting to burst out from within me.
These nipple clamps were different. They had a chain attached to them, which my husband tugged on lightly, pulling my body forward, my lips close to his cock, eager to be taken in by my mouth.
Reluctantly, my lips parted and drew the tip of his cock into the wetness of my mouth. Bobbing my head up and down my husband's delectable shaft, I prayed to God that the other doctor wouldn't be aware of what was going on beneath this mahogany desk.
My head was doing every movement on its own, my whole body already feeling slightly shaky and exhausted, and my eyes were threatening to close. I couldn't take more of this. But then, the last remark of the doctor who was now by the door, caught my attention and reawakened my senses.
"By the way, Dr. Cullen, I'm sorry if I interrupted a seemingly fun session. Have a nice day."
I looked up at my husband in alarm but saw nothing but a winning little smirk of playful delight. "Not at all, Dr. Carter, and thank you; have a nice day as well."
Did I make any noises at all? Was he able to guess what was going on from the smell that maybe wasn't entirely masked by the lavender scent?
I was pulled up and out from under the desk by my husband's strong hold on my arms and I noticed the one thing that was a crystal clear hint to what was going on in this room. My blouse that was strewn across the floor and another thing… The clear liquid of my ecstasy that my husband coaxed out of me with the stirring vibrations in my pussy and on my clit was still there, though dried up on the floor, still visible and the stench of my shame undeniably wafted from it.
Before I could express my mortification, my husband pulled me into the bathroom on the left side of his office. There, in the middle of the shiny, white tiles, was an upholstered, comfortable-looking seat on which he plumped down on, his harsh grab on me pulling my body to him, both his hands resting on my waist as he positioned himself, lining himself up to…
Without warning, I felt him deep in my ass and I clamped my mouth shut with my own hand from screaming at the abrupt penetration. He angrily removed my hand and pinned it down with his own on the armchair, doing the same to my other hand. His thrusts up my ass were quick and pushing so deep inside, I tried with difficulty to keep my moans and screams by biting down on my lip, which didn't work as I kept drawing out blood from the sore skin.
"Let them hear it. Scream. Tell everyone in this building you're being fucked in the ass right now," my husband encouraged.
To make things worse, inside the bathroom, all the noises I made were echoing resonantly and I feared everyone in the hospital would find out I had no decency in manners. I felt like a horny slut wanting to fuck in public for everyone to take note of. I hated how my husband made me feel this way. It was degrading. I hated how he made me debase myself for his egotistical pleasures.
"Tell them you even like seeing yourself being fucked in the ass," he added and my head jerked up at my incomprehension.
My eyes widened at the reflection staring back at me. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Such a humiliating position I was in! For him to violate me there in all the ways he did was bad enough, but to actually see myself getting my ass filled with his thick meat was too much! Too much!
I couldn't stand the sight and I prayed for it to be over. But I knew he wouldn't let me get off without watching until the end. His hands left mine but I couldn't let go of my hold from the armchair, something I clutched onto for dear life, for forgiveness from the utter shame I've been through in one single day.
The light tug on the chains of my nipple clamps forced my eyes open and once again, I saw in the mirror: a woman, whose breasts were bouncing up and down, her nipples pinched in pain and pleasure, her ass filled with a hard cock, her red lips parted in pleasure, sounds of both discomfort and lust escaping her lips, her pussy parted by a man's fingers, the redness of the slick cavern shining with inevitable juices, her clit being slapped by his other hand.
It was like watching someone else in my place, my mind far away from reality. I watched how the woman spilled her shame all over the man's fingers as her ass was being pumped into by the man's huge cock, the seeds of his climax filling the tight hole, her body shuddering with satisfaction, her face contorted in pleasurable pain. Who was this woman? Who was she…?
It was me. It was me. I tried to deny myself of this truth as I pulled my clothes back over my sore body. It was time for my husband to leave the hospital and he told me to go ahead and await him downstairs. I was waiting in the lobby, where the head nurse was the only person in sight to talk to. Not really up for a conversation, for fear that she might've heard what was going on three floors above, though I knew it was not in any way possible, I sat by the waiting area, wanting nothing more but to go home and hide myself from the world.
"Ah, you must be Dr. Cullen's wife, aren't you?"
Looking up, I was met with a bright smile on a young pale-faced man, and the sound of his voice sounded disconcertingly familiar. Trying to keep my blush from creeping up my cheeks as I realized he was the doctor who came in my husband's office earlier, I smiled politely and nodded my head in silence.
"So, had a little fun today, didn't you?" he asked me, and I was aghast that this young doctor planned on discussing something as private as that so openly out here in the lobby, though no one was actually around to hear it. It was rude and I wasn't exactly sure how he managed to become a doctor with such an improper, frank openness to him.
His finger traced my cheek before sliding down to my chin, tipping it up lightly for me to meet the eerie brown depth to his eyes.
"Well, if you were my wife, I'd have brought you to my office as well and would've fuc–"
"Dr. Carter."
The biting coldness to my husband's voice sent me straight to my feet and I was agitatedly looking outside the hospital to avoid his angry gaze.
"Ah, Dr. Cullen, I don't think it's appropriate for a husband to keep his wife waiting, now, do you?" the young man, this Doctor Carter, said amusingly.
Before my husband could answer, the young man strolled down the hallway, whistling away. Finally meeting my husband's eyes, I regretted it the moment his glare chilled my insides. Hurriedly, I rushed to the car and felt something terrible was going to happen. I knew my intuition was right as my husband uncharacteristically drove home recklessly, passing the speed limit, the anger in his eyes ablaze, his jaw twitching with apparent fury, his hands tight around the wheel, his knuckles turning into a pale white color.
I entered the kitchen in haste, and began preparing dinner, but I was pulled back from my chores and was dragged down to the basement, where I was immediately tied to the chair, the rope around my belly, my hands enslaved in cuffs, the gap of my handcuffs resting on the hook at the end of the chain hanging above me, my arms outstretched, my mouth gagged with a plain white cloth.
I was stripped bare of all my clothing and the next thing my mind registered was the sharp blade of the knife penetrating my skin, the stinging sensation evoking a jarring, high-pitched screech blocked by my gag.
I could taste the blood, smell it, see it, as twelve strokes of the blade marked me. It was quick, but the stinging ache during the aftermath all came forth at once in blinding, agonizing waves of extreme, intense pain.
There, across my bare thighs, blood trickling down to the floor, I was marked as his. Twelve strokes of the blade, twelve bleeding lines making up the word 'MINE'.
I couldn't get over the realization that my husband thought I was flirting with the other doctor in the lobby.
Kneeling in front of me, my husband licked away on the blood, coated his fingers with it, admired it in the dim light of the basement, removed my gag, smeared the blood across my lips then stood up, his fingers pulling down my jaw, his spit mixing with the blood inside my mouth together with the salty taste of my tears that were all forced down my throat in a reluctant swallow as his tongue forced itself past my lips.
"You are mine. Don't forget that, you filthy slut."
~o~
Author's Note: That was the continuation to Chapter One. For the ending, you may choose either Chapter Three, the good ending, or Chapter Four, the bad/angsty ending.
Please do leave me a review… I'd appreciate it.
~Aoi.