Page 31 of Capo

A sob escapes me and then I open my mouth to the monster. With a groan he thrusts his cock deep into my throat, and lodges it there. I gag and tears well up in my eyes as I push at his thigh with my free hand, increasingly desperate for air, my chest hitching. Finally he pulls back, and I get to inhale one deep breath, before he pushes back inside, this time thrusting.

“Suck me,” he growls. “Like you fucking mean it.”

He smells fresh, as if he’s just showered. There’s nothing revolting about his flesh. What disgusts me is the man himself. I close my eyes as I obey, hoping to get him off so he’ll leave me alone again, trying to imagine it’s someone else, anyone else.

His breathing gets heavier, and his breaths, and the slight squelching noises from my mouth are all that is heard in the room. There’s something disturbingly tantalizing about those throaty groans of pleasure he emits. Images of when he deep throated that girl in the office flicker through my mind, and the memory of how hot it made me makes me tingle.

“Touch yourself,” he breathes. “Push your fingers into your cunt.”

I don’t want to. My God, I don’t want to, but his hold on me, his threat to my brother – I can’t not obey. My hand shakes violently as I put it between my legs, repulsed to feel that I’m wet and swollen. His grip in my hair tightens and his thrusting gets ruthless, his breathing even heavier.

“You feel so fucking good. You’re so fucking beaten, broken, helpless. You’re mine to fuck, to hurt. You’re still fighting the thought, but the time will come when you’ll know with your whole being that it’s true. The time will come when you give up all hope of life. I’ll relish each step of the way. I’ll relish when give up and spread your legs for me, because your brain has become mindless mush, and all you have in this world is me.”

He pushes deep, stays. Fear rips through my chest again at not getting air.

“Fingers in your cunt. Thrust! Or I’ll do it, and you won’t like that one fucking bit.”

I jerk and immediately push inside my slick pussy, horrified that it tingles and burns, that I react to this. I’m not turned on, I’m sickened and disgusted, but my body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo.

Salvatore grabs around my head and shoves all the way inside again. Hot spurts of come hit the back of my throat and he roars out his release. Then he suddenly pushes me away, making me fall on my butt, my fingers remaining a moment longer before I pull them out. He puts his cock back in his pants, zips up and crouches before me, leaning his forearms on his powerful thighs. His eyes scorch me as they travel down my body.

“Show me your cunt, Christine.”

It’s Chloe, I want to scream. Christine is dead!

I scream when he grabs around my wrist with his large hand and pulls me to him. “Spread your legs and show me your fucking cunt.”

My lower lip trembles as I put my hand between my legs and spread myself open, showing him my humiliation. At first he doesn’t let go of my gaze, his black eyes unreadable, then he lowers his gaze and it’s an almost physical sensation as it falls on my pussy. He smirks and stands.

“I knew it. You can’t come. If you touch yourself, I’ll tie you up and spank you, broken bones or not.”

My eyes dart around the room. How would they know? Not that I planned to but… He turns his head and looks toward the far right corner. I follow his gaze, and sure enough, something glints where the wall meets the ceiling. A surveillance camera. Of course.

“Say hello.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper.

“Oh, I will. When you come begging.”

“That will never happen!”

I think he’ll rage at my attempts at resisting him, but he shocks me by laughing. “You’re fucking drenched after I threatened you and used you like you’re nothing but a blow-up doll. You’ll cry for my cock to impale you within a week.”

“Never!”

“Do you want a shirt?”

“Fuc—What?”

“Give us a show tonight. In front the camera. But you can’t come. If I’m happy with your performance, I’ll get you a shirt.”

I want to scream at him that this is inhumane, this is unfair, he has no right, but I clench my teeth, glaring daggers at his back as he disappears out of the room. Grabbing the blanket, I curl up in the far corner, as far away from the camera as I can, compulsively throwing dirty glances at it. Shirt. Yes, I want a shirt. I look at the plate with the crumbs, greedily pinching them between my thumb and forefinger, pushing them one by one into my mouth. A shirt, and food, and coffee, and my own apartment, and a new life. Again.

Fucking again!

“It’s Chloe,” I scream. “At least give me that!” My voice breaks on the last word. Then I cry. Again. How can there be so many tears?