Bound by Deception: A Passion of Love and Lies.
After being away for hours, Max stumbled into the hotel room reeking of marijuana and booze. His steps were unsteady, his eyes bloodshot, and his speech slurred. He could barely stand.
Despite my injured ankle, I limped toward him and helped guide him to the bed. As I tried to pull away, he grabbed me by the hair, yanking so hard I let out a sharp cry.
"Stop! Let go of my hair, please—you're hurting me!" I begged, tears streaming down my face as I wrestled against his iron grip.
His eyes narrowed, and a sinister smirk spread across his face. "Why should I? You belong to me. I can do whatever I want to you."
His rancid breath made my stomach churn. "Nobody's coming to save you, my darling wife."
"Please, Max, stop! Let go!" I pleaded again, my voice breaking.
But my cries only seemed to fuel his cruelty. He tightened his grip, ignoring my tears and gasps of pain, until he finally released me, laughing as I fell to the floor.
Before I could gather my strength to escape, Max unzipped his trousers. His erection was already visible as he pointed to it. "Suck it," he commanded, his voice cold and void of affection.
"No," I said firmly, shaking my head in defiance.
His face darkened. "You don't have a choice," he said, shoving his phallus into my mouth with such force that I gagged.
I tried to pull away, but his hands held my head in place, his strength overpowering my resistance. I retched, my body trembling with revulsion, but he didn't stop until he released himself down my throat. His guttural groan of satisfaction filled the air as I coughed and spat out remnants of his seed.
He collapsed onto the bed, snoring almost instantly, oblivious to my sobs. I stumbled to the bathroom, my knees weak and my throat raw. I scrubbed my mouth and face with trembling hands, desperate to wash away the humiliation.
As I emerged from the bathroom, the sight of him sleeping peacefully filled me with a dangerous mix of anger and despair. The urge to end his life crossed my mind, the thought of freedom tantalizingly close. But I wasn't brave—or foolish—enough to follow through.
Instead, I began searching his clothes, hoping to find my phone or passport. Each pocket I checked turned up empty. My belongings were still missing, leaving me trapped.
I spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch, wide awake and consumed by my thoughts. The man lying in bed was no longer the Max I had fallen in love with at university. The kind, principled man I had admired was gone, replaced by this cruel, domineering stranger.
But the most painful realization of all was that I had chosen this life. I had ignored the warnings of my friends, blinded by what I thought was love but now saw as lust dressed up in romance.
"How did I get here? How do I escape this torment?" I whispered into the silence, my voice breaking under the weight of my despair.
By 5 a.m., exhaustion began to set in. I lay down on the couch, too afraid to share the bed with Max. But just as I began to drift off, I felt a hand slide across my body, caressing me in a way that made my skin crawl.
"Stop it, Max," I said, swatting his hand away.
He ignored me, grabbing me roughly and flipping me onto my stomach. My face pressed into the couch, my nightgown bunched up around my waist. Before I could fight back, he yanked my hips toward him, ensuring my back arched as he forced himself into me.
I screamed, my cries of pain and protest echoing in the small room. "Stop! Please, stop!"
But Max was deaf to my pleas, his thrusts unrelenting. The pain was excruciating, searing through my body and leaving me sobbing beneath him. He didn't stop until he finished, groaning with satisfaction before pulling away.
Without a word or a glance, he walked to the bathroom. The sound of the shower running filled the silence as I lay motionless on the couch, tears streaming down my face.
When he returned, dressed and composed, he left the room without a word.
I crawled to the bathroom, every step a reminder of the pain he had inflicted. Freshening up offered little comfort as the ache in my body persisted. I managed to crawl onto the bed, lying on my stomach to ease the pressure on my aching flesh.
Hours later, Max returned with food, his demeanor disturbingly casual. He set the food down and ordered me to eat.
"I'm in pain," I whispered, barely able to look at him. "I need medical attention."
"You'll be fine," he said dismissively. "It's just a normal reaction to anal sex."
His callousness was unbearable. "Why don't you love me anymore? Why do you enjoy hurting me? What did I do to deserve this?" I demanded, my voice trembling with anger and heartbreak.
Max waited until he finished eating, casually wiping his mouth before responding. "I never said I don't love you, so stop making a drama out of everything."
"Drama?!" I snapped, my voice rising. "You've taken my phone, my passport, and my freedom. How dare you call this drama?"
Max's face hardened. "Get used to this, because you're not leaving anytime soon," he said coldly. "Now that you know about my business, letting you go would be a risk I'm not willing to take."
His words sank like lead in my stomach. The more he spoke, the more I realized how enmeshed I was in his toxic world, trapped with no clear way out.
That night, I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as tears slipped silently down my cheeks. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the despair consuming my soul. Freedom seemed like a distant dream, and the man I had once loved was now my worst nightmare.