Broken Bride

So I change the subject. All my excitement has turned to awkward embarrassment. I thought he’d be… I don’t know. Now I think about it, I hadn’t really thought about how he would feel.

“You said something about going shopping. Do you think we can do that? I really… I need some new clothes. Maybe there’s a servant who can…”

Mark is shaking his head. “Angelo doesn’t have servants anymore. They’re potential security risks. It’s just the three of us here.”

“You’re telling me the three of you dust and vacuum and keep up a place this big?”

“Well,” Mark admits. “There is one service, but they’re very discreet. And I’m sure you want to go shopping yourself.”

“Can I maybe order some clothes online? Is that an option?”

“Sure. I don't see why not. Delivery can be complicated, but we’ll work it out.”

“Want to shop with me when we’re done cleaning up?”

Am I feeling guilty? I don’t know what I’m feeling. I wish I’d kept quiet.

I don’t know why I’m asking him to online shop with me. Maybe I just need a friend. Maybe I like Mark. Maybe he seems nice, and strong, and handsome. The Prince Charming type.

“Sure,” Mark says. “Sounds good.”

We clean in silence for another minute or two before he speaks.

“Did he hurt you?” Mark asks the question gently.

I want to say no, he didn’t hurt me. He pleasured me in a way I’d never experienced before. He made me a woman. He shared himself with me in a way no man has ever shared himself with me before. I can still feel him inside me even now.

But Mark obviously doesn’t want to hear that. Mark wants me to be a victim. I’d ruin myself in his eyes if he knew I enjoyed every second of Angelo’s ravaging, that it felt like exactly what I was made for.

So I nod, biting my lower lip. I guess, technically, he did hurt me. He also made me feel very good. I’m not going to mention that part. Angelo’s boys think he is a monster. They’re right. If I am going to get Mark’s sympathy, and his help, I am going to have to keep the secret of my pleasure very, very secret.

“Poor baby,” Mark says, wrapping me in his arms. He’s such a gentleman, and so gullible. I almost feel sorry for him.

I lower my head and burrow into his chest, playing the role of helpless little captive. It’s not hard to do, because it is not far from the truth. Mark is a good man. I can feel it in his embrace. I can hear it in his voice. He’s stroking my back, avoiding the lower part, the top of my ass. His touch is chaste and caring. He deserves better than this life he has.

I bet that is why Angelo took him. Angelo loves to twist innocence, break sweetness, destroy all that which is good, and make his victims love him for it.

I can feel myself falling inexorably into that same trap. Mark is the one touching me, but it is Angelo’s hands I feel on my body, touching me in all the places which make me twitch and squirm. I can feel the callouses of his hands, the agile dominion of his fingers. I can feel Angelo’s cock inside me, surging, thrusting, making me a new woman.

“You’ve got goosebumps,” Mark murmurs. “You must be cold, poor thing.”

I’m not cold. I’m remembering a carnal episode which will remain written in my memory until age or death takes it.

“Come on,” Mark says. “Let’s go shopping.”

“What are you two doing?”

Bobby scowls, seeing the two of us sitting together. We are in one of the drawing rooms, sitting together on a chaise hunched over a laptop, arguing over pink versus coral. Is there a difference? I say yes. Mark says no.

Bobby really doesn’t like me. He’s been overtly hostile or absent by design since I arrived. I can’t blame him. I am an interloper in his home. I am the cute little kitten brought into a home of stray dogs. Mark’s a Labrador, but Bobby is a bloody Pit Bull.

“Shopping,” Mark says. “Tilly needs some new clothes.”

Bobby looks me up and down, and I just know that something snarky is about to come out of his mouth.

“You’d look good in something tight,” he says, surprising me. “Like a noose.”

There it is.

“If you can’t be nice, go and do something else, Bobby.” Mark doesn’t bother to look up from the computer screen as he replies.

“I can’t,” Bobby says. “Angelo wants to talk to all of us. He told me to go find you and Tilly. He knew you two would be together.”

Angelo stands in front of the three of us, like the patriarch of this twisted little family. I look over at Mark, and then Bobby, and I see that their expressions reflect my own feelings when I look at Angelo. You really can’t help but be awed when in this man’s presence. He has the charisma of a superstar, and focused in this intimate space, it’s almost too much.