Despised By My Billionaire Husband

Even when I'm not in the mood, he wants to fuck. That's like the only fucking thing I’m good for in his eyes. I've been married to Aldwin for three years now, yet I've never truly been happy. And every time I ask, maybe for the six hundredth time, why he married me, his answer never changes:

“You are here for my pleasure. Nothing more.”

I can now say that I ruined my own life. I walked away from the one man everyone knew was deeply in love with me. He never hid it; it was obvious in the way he looked at me. Instead, I chose an arrogant punk who only married me out of a bet. Call me crazy, hell yeah. I am, because why would I say yes to someone whose name I only know? Maybe that was what tempted me: the thrill. I said yes for the adventure of it, but marriage isn't an adventure you can simply walk away from; it's a one-way door. You don't get to leave when you are constantly disappointed, when conversations feel empty, or when he doesn't know how to hit it right.

Yes, from the outside, it does look like I hit the jackpot, because I married Aldwin Ellison, the CEO of Imperial Holdings, and every woman's dream man. But he has never shown the slightest interest in me ever since he made me his wife. I could trade places right now. I was never the type to live behind invisible bars, never the type to be owned or contained. Yet, Aldwin turned me into a caged bird, kept to pleasure his nasty desires.

I'll admit, though, the sex was always good. Hard, but damn good. It always started like a fight, one I wouldn't want anyone to interfere with. And then I ask myself,

"Why would something so wrong feel so good?"

That was part of my problem: not being able to separate the good from the bad. It's probably why I'm in this messy marriage, except for the sex, that is.

***

I lay on the king-sized bed, lost in my thoughts. I've lost count of how many times I planned an escape in my head, only to end up with my back pressed against his rock-hard groin. I might never be able to escape this.

"And how many times do I have to tell you not to leave my message unread for more than two minutes?"

The voice that always sends my adrenaline through the roof. Yeah, you guessed right, Aldwin was back.

He had come home quite earlier than usual today.

"You’re back early," I said, ignoring his question.

"Is there a fixed time for when I should come home?" He asked. His stare fixed on me as he took off his shirt.

Oh no. Please, not this. Not now. I still feel bruised from last night. And no matter how good it feels, I need a fucking break.

"Don't you think you should have some rest? You've been working all day. Take a shower and come eat, I made your favourite," I said, trying to steer things away.

"I have a chef. A very good one, I don't need you cooking. I've said that enough times for even your dull brain to get it," he sneered, already undoing his pants.

His big cock pointed at me in attention. Sorry, Kora, it's too late. The snake's out of its hole.

I knew there was no getting out of this, not with his cock already hard and glaring at me.

"Come here," he said, crawling onto the bed

"Please.” I whimpered

"You mean ‘please me’?" And in one motion, he tore my dress apart.

As much as I wanted a break from this, my body betrayed me; I was already wet.

Silly girl.

With Aldwin, there was no foreplay; he didn't care for it; it was straight to fucking.

He flipped me over as if I weighed nothing, then smacked my ass. The pain echoed the bruise from last night's rough grinding.

He slid a finger into me,

"Good girl. You’re already wet and ready for me," he said, tilting my hips into position. My face pressed into the pillow, and before I could think, he slammed into me with a force I never saw coming.

A gasp escaped my mouth; he always liked that.

It felt different today; he was harder than I ever remembered. His pace was faster, rougher. He groaned in pleasure with each thrust, his hand locking my waist in place so I couldn't move.

Today, all I felt was pain. Unlike last night, it was a mix of pain and pleasure. Sweet pain, I guess I'd call it. But right now, I've never dreaded sex more. With every thrust, I felt my being drain from me. For the tenth time, I looked at the clock, begging in my head for him to just stop.

It had been over forty-six minutes, but his hardness hadn't softened, and his pace hadn't slowed either. We only shifted between positions, repeating the same rough cycle.

I was numb now. I'd been begging him to stop for a while, but my pleas only aroused him more. He was knee-deep in his own pleasure. It felt like today I might finally give up. What would my obituary even say?

"She died from deep, hard thrusts.” Or: “She was fucked to death"

I know a handful of people who’d really love that caption. Benny obviously topped the list. She’d kill to be in my position right now, and I'd gladly give it to her in a heartbeat.

And just when I thought I might actually die, he came. He was deeply, undoubtedly satisfied. He collapsed onto the bed and was soon snoring in exhausted sleep.

I lay weak beside him, just watching him snore. My head swarmed with dark, scattered thoughts. And when I looked down at his cock, which was finally at rest, it shimmered from my pussy's lotion:

Lucky guy, he had his fill.

I drifted into a painful sleep, the burning between my legs and the ache in my hips following me into the dark.