Prisoner To The Mafia King

Chapter Four

Lucia's POV

His hand swept across my bare flesh with deliberate slowness, caressing each curve as if I were his. I froze, a strangled gasp ripping from my throat.

“I'll be good… please,” I choked out, “I'll behave, I'll do anything, but this.”

A deep rumble echoed in his chest, the sound tickling the shell of my war. “Ahh, Lucia,” he purred, “remember how I taught you the only true and purest testament of love is…”

“... pain,” I finished, the word torn from me in a fragile whisper, perfectly in rhythm with his tutelage.

“Good girl.”

He withdrew his hand; the faint swish of cloth preceded the soft thump of clothing on the concrete as he disrobed.

I flicked at the clicking of my chain with every tremor that ran through me.

“The whip, the knife, I'll accept any of it; I can bear the pain.”

A sharp, brutal slap snapped my head back and to the side, stars erupting behind my eyes. His eyes flared with a burning, primal fury, a warning of far worse to come if I dared say a single syllable.

“You will not tell me what to do.” His voice was ice, deadly calm. “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The words came out as a tight rasp.

He clambered onto the narrow cot, his naked, heavy form settling upon my prone one, his knee forcing my chained limbs apart. In one devastating thrust, he impaled my p***y, a savage force that buried himself to the hilt.

A piercing scream tore from my lips, my body stretched to the breaking point.

He gave me no grace. Hips snaking with unwavering efficiency, he began to batter into me, the wet sound of his flesh upon mine echoing the frantic beat of my own terrified heart.

“Please,” I sobbed between gasping breaths, “I'll be good! I'll be good!”

He simply leaned in closer, the heat of his exhale hot against my ear as he continued to pummel my cunt with unrelenting force.

“This is love,” he snarled, each word underscored by the savage impacts that made me cry out.

“This is love. This is love.”

Agony bloomed with each violent plunge. His hand gripped my throat, squeezing until the world began to swim, yet still he pounded into me faster now, using my mouth as a vessel, my body as a slave to his own twisted pleasure.

My screams filled the sterile confines of the room. Still, he neither faltered nor relented, repeating his refrain of love, over and over, the insistent stroking of his c**k a constant reminder of his absolute control, a proof of his perverse devotion.

With a violent yank, he pulled out, flipping me over. My chains rattled as he forced my hips up, and without hesitation, drove into my p***y from behind, pinning me with the weight of his body.

Each brutal thrust drove my face into the flimsy mattress, his balls slapping against my c**t with every movement. He spat on my asshole and then rammed two fingers in without warning, stretching the already torn ring as he continued to punish my cunt.

“Scream for me,” he grunted, “let me hear just how much you love it.”

I whispered and begged, but the assault intensified, his fingers writhing in my backside as he pounded relentlessly against my cervix.

He withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick wetness on my back before gripping my hair, jerking my head back to force my jaw open and spitting into my mouth.

“Swallow it,” he hissed, his tongue brushing against mine before he rammed his c**k deeper, grinding into my cervix, sending searing jolts of pain radiating throughout my belly.

His hand slid underneath to pinch and roll my c**t between his rough fingertips, never pausing the rhythmic ravishment of my p***y.

Drops of sweat cascaded from his chest to my back, mingling with the slick discharge of my exploited flesh. He bit my shoulder, the pain a sharp sting, followed by a slow, teasing lick and then another, more savage bite.

His hips continued their relentless pounding, his c**k slicked to sliding in and out, the thudding rhythm merging with my fractured pleas.

Releasing my hair, he repeatedly smacked my ass, the impact leaving red handprints on my burning skin.

He then reached for the knife on the bedside table. As he f****d me with sustained, hard thrusts, the cool steel blade pressed firmly against the bare expanse of my back, lightly dragged across my flesh without cutting, yet sending shivers down my spine.

You said you could take the knife,” he whispered. “Perhaps on another occasion.” He tossed the weapon aside and seized my hips, his thrust now short and sharp, jolting my body, unable to do more than register the raw violence of it.

Cum began to seek out between my thighs, tracing paths down my legs, yet he thrust and plunged.

He leaned over my back, chest pressed against my spine, and mumbled into my ear.

“This is love, Lucia. This is how I love you. Every inch of my c**k inside you, every scream you give, every bruise I leave, that's love.”

His movement grew nice and frenzied, his balls tightening as he slammed in one final time and held deep, flooding my p***y with hot c*m while I sobbed beneath him.

Somebody was shaking me, pulling me from my horrific memory. I gasped, my body arching sharply, violently against its restraint. My skin was swimming in sweat.

My breaths became ragged little gaps as my eyes went up to the person hovering above me.

Damien.

He was standing right over me. For a fraction of a second, I thought I caught a hint of something in his eyes.

Something… human

But it was so quick that I had to question whether I had seen it at all. He instantly released my hand from the rough grip he'd held me in, returning it to the position that seemed most comfortable at his side.

The emotion in his face hardened to the same impassive mask it had held since the wedding day.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs, thudding out a rapid rhythm of doom. I’d imagined it.

There had to be a reason he would suddenly have had a flash of humanity.

Without so much as a word, Damien turned away from me.

He walked towards the metal table positioned in the corner of the room, stopping just before reaching out, and turned back to me.

A long metal object was clutched in his hand. A poker-or whatever it was called.

Its tip glowed an intense orange, pulsing with heat.

He approached slowly.

The word stamped into the iron gleamed bright and sharp in the gloom. My blood ran cold as his face broke into the smallest, coldest smile I had ever seen.

No. Please, no.

“Damien, please don't do this…” I pleaded, yanking frantically at the chains, straining even to move an inch.

The steel chains and their restraining iron restraint dug into my skin as I desperately attempted to shift position.

There was no moving. Nowhere to go, no place to run.

“Please.”

He didn't pause, didn't falter. Damien brought the hot iron down and pressed it hard against the left side of my lower abdomen.

Agony surged through my body.

I screamed, a horrible, torn, scratchy sound. Every nerve ending within me seemed to ignite, and I arched back as much as I could, every inch of my skin burning as the intense heat spread.

Fire beneath flesh — it felt as if my body had been set aflame.

“Ahhh!”

My voice had cracked from the intensity of my wailing. Tears fell freely from my eyes, and the stinging smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

And then, the pressure lessened, and Damien lifted the metal.

My heart skipped a beat as an immense wave of relief swept through me before it died out a moment later, leaving behind a sharp, aching ache beneath the surface of my skin.

My body shuddered violently. I lowered my head, trying to bring my blurry, waterlogged eyes into focus.

There, burned into my skin, was an angry red welt.

It was so swollen that I wasn't even sure there were letters there at first glance.

But as my gaze sharpened slightly through my tears, I could read them clearly.

“Damien's Property.”