Autobiography

It was Bill who eventually broke the silence, murmuring into her hair:

“I’ll admit that didn’t go exactly as planned.”

Margaux was silent, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

He squeezed her thigh possessively. “You’re still in trouble. Make no mistake about that.”

Margaux moved to kneel up and climb off Bill’s lap, but he put an arm around her waist and held her in place, his erection still turgid enough to rub painfully against her cervix. Now that the moment had passed, she was beginning to realise that this position made his size especially uncomfortable.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I—”

“I’m not done with you, Margaux. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

“…Alright.”

She couldn’t imagine what more he could expect to do to her if he was already spent, although she thought better of vocalising that particular question. In fact now that she thought about it she was certain she didn’t want to know. The reality would surely be unpleasant enough without anticipation beforehand.

Margaux felt an acid surge of self-loathing. What would have happened, if only this treacherous wreck of a body hadn’t decided to join the figurative party without her? Whatever he chose to do with her would have been humiliating — she was certain of that — but she honestly didn’t believe that he had been planning on having her. Not tonight. Her throat tightened at the thought, and she could feel the prickly heat of tears threatening to blur her vision.

No. She shouldn’t cry. If only to rob him of the satisfaction of being the cause.

Margaux laid her head back on his hard shoulder and did her best to feign indifference.

She was starting to shiver. Without the benefit of arousal or movement to keep her distracted, every bare inch that wasn’t pressed against Bill was feeling the cold. She fought the reflexive urge to pull herself against him, knowing that any further display that could be interpreted as affection or physical attraction would only work against her.

Oh god, she wanted to scream.

What had she been thinking? It was as if she’d temporarily lost all faculties of reason. A normal person wouldn’t have behaved like that. A normal person would have fought for their decency, for their dignity. What had she done? She might as well have thrown herself at him from the beginning, if she was just going to turn around and start enjoying it. Who knew what he must think of her now? Or, more importantly, what he might expect of her.

She was startled out of her reverie as Bill began to move. His grip around her tightened, and he turned and threw her unceremoniously onto the bed, giving her barely a moment to look up at him in surprise before he crawled on top of her. She glanced down to avoid his eye and instantly regretted it, although she supposed there was some small comfort in seeing his erection fading.

“Don’t move.”

She resisted the compulsion to ask him where exactly he thought she was going to go.

His hand cracked across her cheek, and she looked up at him with a bemused expression.

“What did I—”

“‘Yes, sir.’ Say it.”

“I…” The hand hovered threateningly. “Yes… sir…?”

“Mean it.”

She swallowed nervously.

“Yes, sir.”

“…Good girl.” He caressed her newly aching cheek. “From now on, that’s how you address me. Understand?”

She nodded, and he clenched his jaw.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“You need to learn some discipline, Margaux. That’s what we can take from this little phone debacle.” He reached down to the floor beside the bed and grabbed his belt by the buckle, tugging it from the loops on his jeans. Bill folded the strip of leather in a motion that was all too familiar, then brought it up and stroked it along her jaw. Her eyes widened. Her flesh ached from the memory of her last encounter with that awful thing. “Now, darling… I’m sure you don’t want me to use this, do you?”

Margaux shook her head.

“What was that?”

“No, sir,” she responded hurriedly.

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” He squeezed her thigh directly over one yellowing bruise, and she winced.

“Yes, sir.”

“You know I’d be more than justified. You’ve been…” he began to trail the belt down between her breasts, “a very…” over the soft plane of her belly, “bad…” coming to a stop between her thighs, “…girl.” She flinched away from the alien sensation of the cool, stiff leather, and he tapped it sharply against her labia. Margaux yelped. “Haven’t you, Margaux?” His free hand moved up to stroke her face, one fingertip following the curve of her lower lip.

“Please—”

“Haven’t you?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“So you agree that I should punish you?”

“…Yes, sir.”

He laid his forehead against hers. “What do you think I should do to you, Margaux?”

She was silent, her eyes shining with tears. His thumb brushed along her cheekbone.

“You must have some idea, darling. What do you think you deserve?”

“I… don’t know.”

“Sir.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“If you were me, Margaux. What would you do?”

“I don’t know!”

“Shh…” He kissed away a tear as it spilled across her cheek. “Don’t cry now, darling. I’ve barely touched you.”

The belt rubbed against her, and for the first time she felt how sore she was. It was as if something had torn. Perhaps it had.

Bill’s eyes were fixed on hers. Unable to bear the intensity of his scrutiny, she looked away, and he frowned. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that there was any hint of compassion in that look. He was silent for a long time, just looking at her. Finally he said:

“Margaux, in my entire life I’ve never seen someone so upset about enjoying something.”

“I didn’t enjoy it.”

“We both know that isn’t true. Why do you persist in telling me such outrageous lies, darling?… Oh, maybe you didn’t at first, but it wasn’t pain you were screaming with ten minutes ago, now was it?”

She didn’t respond.

“Oh, Margaux… I know exactly how to punish you.” He grabbed her wrist and guided her hand down until—

Hard.

He was hard again.

She felt a sinking in her belly. That just wasn’t fair.

“You’re going to do everything you’re told. Without question. Without hesitation. If you don’t, I promise you that the thrashing I’ll give you will make the last time pale in comparison. Is that clear?”

She swallowed hard around the apprehensive lump that was growing in her throat. “Yes, sir.”

“From now on, you’re my little toy. I don’t care what time it is or what you’re doing — if I call you, you come running. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered in a quivering whisper.

“Shh, shh…” He brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her trembling mouth. “You’re mine now, Margaux. All mine.” He brought his mouth down close to her ear and whispered: “I hope it was worth it.”

*

She couldn’t bear to look at herself in the bathroom mirror as she turned the faucet to splash cold water on her face.

Robert was laughing at something on the TV in the other room.

She’d seen him as she walked to the bathroom on shaking legs, and he had given her a knowing look that made everything that much worse.

Clean. She so badly wanted to feel clean.

The door swung open behind her as she leaned across the bath tub to turn on the tap.

“What are you doing, Margaux?”

“I was just—”

“No. You weren’t. I didn’t say you could clean yourself up.”

“But I need to wash. Please. It feels…” She trailed off, his expression telling her his mind was very much made up. She took her hand off the faucet and looked down at the tiled floor.

“You can use the loo, Margaux. But if I think you’ve taken any longer in here than is strictly necessary, I’ll come back into that room and I will fuck you again. Do you understand?”

She didn’t know how he expected to have the energy to do that, but she was certain he’d manage it just to spite her. Margaux nodded meekly. After a brief silence, Bill turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

She balled up a handful of toilet tissue and mopped desperately at the slick of his semen between her thighs. The smell of musk and sweat was almost overwhelming, and the realisation that she would have to sleep with it on her skin triggered a wave of nausea that built until suddenly she was leaning over the toilet, holding back her own hair as she gagged and coughed.

Margaux didn’t know why it surprised her that Bill had been the one to do it. He had just seemed so…

No. What had she been expecting? Some kind of unlikely friendship? Sympathy? This wasn’t a fucking movie. There was no hero, only perhaps a lesser villain… The only question now was which of them that was.