Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

“Come for me,” he growled.

I might not have a choice in the matter, yet through my delirium, I found some self-control and whispered, “No.”

He pulled my head back by the hair and snarled, “Come for me.”

“Even if you manage to make me orgasm, I will never come for you,” I spat. The Beast reeled. He blinked. I took advantage of his stupor and yanked my head back. Strands of hair ripped from my head, but I crawled away. I didn’t want to look at him, afraid I would go back.

I cowered by the bedpost, holding on to my shreds of freedom, unable to stop the onslaught of shame. God, I couldn’t believe I’d given in like that. I made it so easy for him. All he had to do was kiss me and I unraveled like a sweater with a loose thread. I let him undress me. I let him touch me.

No, I did more than that.

I wanted it. I craved it. I demanded it, even. Each time he comes at me I try a new defense, and each time, his offense obliterates me. This time, in the beginning, I’d hardened myself like stone, told myself he would not break through my rocks. The problem with rock, though, is that it’s nothing against the force of water. He was fluid, dynamic, he adapted to anything.

I hate him.

I want him like nothing I’ve ever wanted before.

I gripped the bedpost for dear life, afraid he would come for me and I would jump for him as well. Instead I heard him stand up and put on his pants. I sighed a little bit internally.

Big mistake. Next thing I knew I was being hoisted up by my arms. He tied each of my arms to hooks in the ceiling. I could hardly react to the fact that he had freaking hooks in the ceiling because my feet were tied to the bedposts next. Like a starfish, I hung. A naked starfish. I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Was he serious? Of course he was serious. He was a psychopath.

He stared at me for a minute, admiring his work, then left. That’s right, he left, and I was once again reminded why I couldn’t give in. One minute I was feeling like it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let my guard down and feel safe with this Beast, and the next I was hanging naked from the ceiling.

I screamed and screamed. He couldn’t just leave me like this. What if I needed to go the bathroom?

I screamed until I felt my throat would bleed.

A moment later the Beast returned.

He eyed me and said, “Quiet.” He spoke with cool ease that enraged me, as though I was being ridiculous and blowing this out of proportion. I glared in response. As the Beast turned to leave, I opened my mouth and shrieked. When he turned around, he was calm and cold. My skin broke out in shivers. The calm, cool way he approached had me trying to pull myself inward. He slowly walked up to me, bluegreen eyes penetrating. I put my chin to my chest but he grabbed it, jerking it with one movement so I was forced to look at him.

“Hush.” His grip was strong and painful. Anger rippled through me. Pure, hot loathing. Hush? He was telling me to hush? Fuck you, this is the natural response to being hung naked from the ceiling. In an act that could only be described as brief insanity, I spat in his face. His cheek quirked upward, but only slightly, then he dropped my chin. He wiped the spit away, uncaring. He was weird like that. I couldn’t figure out what set him off. I spat at him, tried to murder him, clawed his face up, and he didn’t care. Crawl away from him in bed, however, and spend the night chained up like a circus freak.

“I like you all tied up.” I glared at him. “It suits you,” Beast continued. “You’ve got a little too much fight.” He thumbed my lower lip. God, how I wanted to take that thumb and bite it off. Instead I held still, letting him thumb my lip. He moved his caress up my jaw and around my neck. My entire body froze.

“Shh…” he whispered against my ear, as though I was some kind of frightened doe. He took me by the mouth and kissed me. I wanted to tear away, but of course the restraints prevented that. I tried to keep my lips shut but he was too powerful. His soft lips overcame me, forcing them open.

His tongue entered me, simultaneously rough and knowing. I was fighting, but he was winning.

And then he stopped.

Stepped back.

And walked away.

I was panting, fear and lust twisting inside my chest and coming out in furious breaths. My head swiveled to the left and right as if I would suddenly find the key to my freedom. Each step he took, the feeling of doom magnified. How long was I going to stay up here? All night? Longer?

“Wait! Wait!” I attempted to stop his retreating figure. “What if I have to pee?” I asked him just as he was disappearing through the door.

He paused and said, “Then it will be better for you.” My face contorted in confusion at his response. Wait what? What would be better for me? His hand touched the doorknob and primal terror seized me.

“No!” I jerked on the restraints. “I will never stop screaming. If you leave me here, I will scream until my throat bleeds, asshole.” I immediately regretted saying it. It fell out of my mouth because he was an asshole—but I didn’t want to anger him even more, I just wanted to be released. Beast paused with his hand on the knob and my breath hitched. He turned around.

“Never?” he queried. I shook my head vehemently. “Well, what are we to do about that?” I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked to the dresser. He was going to get the key, thank God. In the same instant, my relief twisted and transmogrified into horror.

“No!” I screeched, words getting lost in the fear and hate and indignation. The Beast held up a gag, but it wasn’t a normal gag. I’d seen the type before, briefly in porn. It had a hole where the ball gag should be. I didn’t want to imagine what would go inside the empty hole.

“I’ll be good,” I pleaded. My voice sounded soft, so unlike me.