Angel

Nikolai always calls me "Angel". Not Sweetheart or Baby or Sugar like all of the others. He calls me "Angel" and I like it. I shouldn't, but I do.

There are no preliminaries. My dress is forcibly ripped from my body. I've forgone the bra and underwear because there would be no point. With his trousers and boxers pushed only slightly down his hips, he guides me until my back hits the hard wood of the door.

He lifts both my legs and wraps them around his waist before plunging into me. I want to moan, shout, and scream but I know better. I know our agreement. No words. No sounds. Just his pleasure. Only his.

I fight it, but I know better than to close my eyes. That's another understanding between us. Our eyes must remain locked every second we are together like this. He needs me to see him take his pleasure from me.

He is relentless, pounding into me with a newfound ferocity that scares me. The lines of pain and pleasure have become blurred. I feel his hands drift from my hips and slip around my throat. This isn't our usual game. My hands grasp at his wrists to loosen his grip. A feeble attempt to fight him off but he's just too strong.

I let my hands fall to my sides, loosening my thighs from his waist. I essentially become dead weight but this only seems to spur him on. Thankfully he doesn't last too much longer. He rams into me a few more times before finishing himself off.

When he's done, he backs away from my body and I fall into a heap on the floor. He doesn't check on me or ask if I'm okay. He simply disappears into the bathroom. Seconds later I hear the shower turn on.

I pick myself from the floor, my tattered dress clutched in my trembling hand.

"Is that how he always takes you?" My gaze reluctantly falls to the beautiful doe-eyed brunette perched in a wingback chair next to the bed. She stands when I don't respond and walks over to me. Her eyes lazily appraise my naked form. "Is he usually so rough? So forceful?"

I lift my hand to her cheek and she leans into it, nuzzling against my palm. "Carmela, this is merely a taste of what he has become."

She pulls back and my hand falls to my side. "There can't possibly be more." This woman truly has no idea of what she is married to. I can't say I know what she's thinking. I can't imagine what's been going through her mind. From the moment I met this couple, I haven't been able to figure them out.

The shower turns off and Carmela stumbles back to the voyeuristic seat in the wingback chair. She unscrews a mini-bottle of Jack Daniels and the entire bottle disappears down her throat. She lines up the empty container next to the six other dead soldiers lined on the side table next to her.

A cloud of steam surrounds Nikolai as he makes his way back into the room. True to form, he ignores his intoxicated wife in the corner. His eyes are on me, soft and appreciative. He extends a hand toward me and says, "Come." His command is gentle, almost loving and I'm instantly wary. Where has my forceful, dominant lover gone?

Again he commands that I take his outstretched hand and this time I obey. He wraps himself around me, surrounding me with his soap and cool water scent. Part of me wants this, wants to enjoy this but it is damn near impossible with his wife sitting less than twenty feet away. For weeks I've been telling her what a monster he is and he chooses now to show me kindness and tenderness and affection.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice Carmela fumbling with the zipper on the side of her dress. Nikolai doesn't seem to notice. He's pulled back from me slightly, his hand disappearing between my legs, rubbing the remnants of his orgasm over my skin. He smiles at me, withdrawing his hand and placing it to my lips.

Carmela stands, her dress falling to the floor. A black lace slip is all that covers her slight frame now. Though barefoot, she sways unsteadily on her feet.

Without looking her way, Nikolai barks, "Sit your narrow ass down, Carm."

Her breath catches and for a moment I think she's going to comply with his demands. Instead, Carmela unsteadily walks over and inserts herself in between me and her husband. Her eyes narrow defiantly as she hisses, "Or you'll do what?"

His violence doesn't surprise me as much as it does his wife. Without a word Nikolai laces his fingers around Carmela's throat and he shoves her hard across the room. She crashes into a floor length mirror, shattering pieces of glass all over the carpet.

Instinctively I want to run to her, but Nikolai holds me firmly by his side. As he watches Carmela attempting to pick herself from the floor I can literally feel the anger in him rising. Releasing me, he stomps over to her, dragging her body through glass-littered carpet. Red rivets of blood cascade down her legs, arms and face.

He pulls her up to her full height, his eyes burning holes into hers. "You said you want to watch? You fucking watch!" Nikolai grabs her arm and shoves her back in the corner towards her chair.

I'm frozen in place. I'm half tempted to run out of the room bare ass naked just to escape this shit, but Nikolai would never let me get too far. He'd never let me leave on my own. I can only leave when I am officially dismissed.

He turns back to me, traces of Carmela's blood now marring his body. He licks his lips and says, "Get on the bed." When I don't move immediately he shouts, "Get on the fucking bed!"

Nervously I crawl onto of the king-size mattress. My fingers instinctively curl around the open slats on the headboard. Nikolai is my dominant lover again. He painfully slaps handcuffs on my wrists, tightening so much I can immediately feel the circulation cut off. I open my mouth to protest but he places a finger on my lips. "Quiet."

I roll my head over to look at Carmela. To see how she's handling this. To see if she truly understands this monster she seems to love so much. She won't meet my eyes. Pink tears, streaked with blood, silently fall down her cheeks. There's one more bottle of Jack left unopened. If she won't drink it, I wish she'd offer it to me.

The drawer opening from the bedside table brings my attention back to Nikolai. He pulls out a black leather cat-o-nine tales and traces them lightly up and down my body. Without warning, he flips me over on my stomach, causing me to scream in pain due to my harshly cuffed hands.

"No words, Angel," he growls and thrashes my back with the whip. It feels as if a thousand tiny nails have been thrust upon my back. My mouth opens to scream but nothing comes out. He's never done this. I've never experienced anything like this.

I don't like it.

Before I can recover from the first lashing, Nikolai strikes me again. It's overwhelming and I can't think properly. I want to beg, plead, scream for him to stop but Nikolai is relentless. He thrashes me repeatedly, until he's exhausted.

I'm unsure how much time passes before Nikolai releases me from the cuffs. He absently gestures to the bathroom and says, "Shower."

I feel as though I've been beaten within an inch of my life. I carefully maneuver through the broken glass on the carpet and lock myself in the confines of the bathroom. After observing the damage done to my back I know there's no way in hell I can tolerate the hot spray of a shower. I turn it on but do my best to wash myself in the sink. I leave several bloody hand towels and face cloths on the shower floor before turning it off.

Padding into the suite naked, I am not at all surprised to find Nikolai and Carmela wrapped up in each other in the midst of passion. They ignore me as I make my way over to the wingback chair and slide Carmela's dress up my body. It's a little too big, but not overtly so. I can feel glass in my feet, so I don't bother putting my heels back on.

There's a thick padded envelope with "Angel" scrawled across the front. I know what's inside but I open it anyway. Aside from the stack of Benjamin Franklins, there's a short note written in flowery feminine script.

"Thank you, Angel. Same time next week."

It's not a request, but an order.