His Prisoner 21+

24

Low whimpers escaped Emaan as intense pain coursed through her entire body. It felt as if a truck had run over her, leaving her muscles screaming in agony. The whole night he kept on fucking her non-stop! She opened her eyes, only to be met with her worst and only nightmare, who was sleeping peacefully after shattering her tranquility.

With great difficulty, she managed to slip out of his cage-like arms and moved to the furthest corner of the bed, wincing in pain. If only her family knew his true identity, they would have never married her off to him. This thought made her cry even harder.

Emaan gasped as she was suddenly pulled back into his chest. "Why are you crying?" Arzal asked, wrapping his arms around her.

She just continued to cry and sniffle, unable to respond.

"Tell me, baby." He asked her again, burying his head in her neck and tracing his nose along it.

"Y-you lied to me."

"What lie?" he asked, his tone lacking interest as he placed open-mouthed kisses on her neck.

Emaan attempted to evade his kisses, yet his grasp held her in place. "You promised to be gentle, but you weren't gentle at all. Bohat dard horaha hai," she replied to him, tears flowing down her face. (It's paining a lot.)

Arzal smiled, thoroughly amused by her complaint. "Okay, let me take away your pain."

Mature content ahead. (Ink.)

In the next moment, he hovered over her, placing his hands on either side of her.

Emaan looked at him innocently, unaware of his true intentions.

"Are you sore, princess?"

"Y-yes." She answered him with quivering lips and a wobbling chin.

"Let's make you sorer." He pushed open her legs and without any warning, he plunged his cock inside her, making her scream.

Mature content has been trimmed. (Ink.)

"Let's get you cleaned up."

...

Even during the bath, Arzal wouldn't stop touching Emaan. She had to cry and beg him to spare her. Although, the bath did help soothe her aching body, she still felt a bit of pain with each step she took.

She emerged from the washroom dressed in an elegant shalwar kameez adorned with delicate embroidered stonework.

Her eyes fell on Arzal, who was standing in front of the mirror, fixing his cuff links. Ignoring him, she began to look around the room as if searching for something.

"Kuch dhoond rahi hain, mohtarama?" he asked, glancing at her through the mirror. (Are you looking for something, madam?)

Once again, she paid no heed to him and continued what she was doing. His demeanor suddenly changed, and he took menacing strides toward her.

"Ahh!" A painful scream escaped her lips as he suddenly jerked her hair.

"I don't like to repeat myself. Jab me kuch puchu, toh ussi waqt jawab diya kar. Get this thing through your good-for -nothing brain." he said, tapping his finger on her temple to emphasize his point. (When I ask you something, answer me immediately.)

She looked at him through her moist, blurry eyes. "I'm looking for my stuff."

"Leave my hair, please." She clenched her lower lip to stop her cries.

He released her hair after giving it a slight jerk as a warning.

"What "stuff""? He raised an eyebrow at her.

"My luggage, it has all my clothes in it. I brought it from my home."

"Don't worry about that. You don't need any of that. Did you not see the closet? All the clothes and jewelry you need have been arranged for you," he responded dismissively.

A frown settled on her face as she listened to him, feeling anger simmering within her. "You can't just do that!" Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, there are things you wouldn't want to know I can and cannot do," he replied with a cold tone.

"But my family gave me those! Ap ka koi haq nahi banta," she protested. (You have no right to take them away.)

"Abhi bataun konsa aur kitna haq hai mera tujhpe aur teri har cheez pe?" Emaan cowered when he raised his hand, but he only caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. (Should I tell you now, what rights I have over you and everything of yours?)

His large, muscular frame towering over her tiny, timid body intimidated her. And just like that, her anger vanished into thin air.

"Should I?" he asked.

She could only shake her head, her body frozen with fear.

"Nahi?" (No.)

Again, she shook her head timidly, whispering, "N-nahi." (No.)

He gripped her jaw tightly, which would most likely leave his fingerprints behind. "Tera shohar hun me. Tere sar ke sira se le ke peron ke mur tak tu meri hai. Tujhse har woh juri cheez par mera haq hai pehle," he asserted firmly. (I'm your husband. You're mine from the tip of your head to the curve of your ankle. I have the first right on everything that is connected to you.)

"I have a standard, and as my wife, you will have to have a standard too. From now on, you will only wear the clothes that I pick for you. Your entire lifestyle will be according to me. Jo bhi pehnogi, khaogi, piyogi, kis se baat karogi, kis se baat nahi karogi, aur kaise baat karogi, sab meri marzi se hoga," he dictated firmly. (What you wear, what you eat, what you drink, who you talk to, who you don't talk to, and how you talk to them, everything will be as I say.)

He released her when he felt her body trembling and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. "Relax." He let out a chuckle.

"Tumhare gharwale ane wale hain, let's go." Wrapping his arm around her waist, he led them outside the room. (Your family must be arriving soon, let's go.)