The Unholy Bride: In God's Name, I Kill

Chapter 4: Breath Through Your Nose

"Proverbs 1:24-26 : But since you refuse to listen when I call and no one pays attention when I stretch out my hand, since you disregard all my advice and do no accept my rebuke, I in turn will laugh when disaster strikes you; I will mock when calamity overtakes you," I recited while Roman was tying my hands over my head, on the post of our bed.

The nun costume he made me wear was hanging loosely on my shoulders, giving the cold breeze a direct access to my bare skin, spilled with liquid silver from the moonlight through the window.

Lifting my chin using his fingers, my husband met me in the eyes with his dark ones. "Utter the prayer," he commanded.

I gulped, not avoiding his gaze, and slowly opened my mouth to obey him. 

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy name,
Thy kingdom come, though we wonder if it already has.
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Hell," My voice lingered, a soft murmur in the air that sent a shiver down my spine.

I wanted to throw up and hurt myself as disgust and pain surged within me, but I did the opposite—I closed my eyes and leaned my face on my husband's rough hand.

"Give us this day our daily dread,
And forgive us our sins—
But do not forgive those who trespass against us," I continued to utter the prayer, until my husband stretched his back and paced slowly toward the bedside table, where he pulled the drawer and carefully took something from there.

Through the moonlight, the metal thing in his hand glistened, and I just found myself cold and hardly swallowing when I realized what it was—a crucifix.

Standing before me, his shadow engulfed every part of my body. But the darkness was no comparison when he began to slowly traced every line around my parted lips using the metal cold crucifix.

"Open your mouth," he uttered breathily, and I obeyed, but it wasn't enough for him. "Wider, Mary."

A whimper escaped from my throat when he hardly yanked my hair back, earning a low demonic chuckle from him.

"Come on, my little whore. That's it, good girl," he praised as I opened my mouth to his desire, and he unhurriedly slid the shaft of the crucifix in. It started slowly, gradually building in speed, until each thrust came faster than the last—choking me and injuring the roof of my mouth. I didn't expect him to stop, but I was subtly hoping, especially when I started to taste coppery from the mixture of my own blood and material of the crucifix.

While my husband savored every moment of this torture, I fixed my eyes on his face, refusing to blink even as tears blurred my vision because I was toughening myself up, feeding my fury by digging for more reasons to get even with him, as if his cruelty hadn't already been enough.

Sooner or later, the tables will turn. He will be in my position, and I will be in his. He will be the one who was tied up, and I will be the one who was shoving his mouth with something that will hurt more than all of the pain he caused me.

I gasped for air as soon as he pulled out the crucifix from my mouth, still dropping with thick saliva and blood.

"Turn around," he muttered, and I groaned loudly when he forced me to do it with my hands still tied, twisting my shoulders painfully.

Tears poured down from my eyes, each drop a silent scream, reminding me to endure, while the sobs I let to break free filled the entire room because I knew it was what he wanted, to hear my agony and to see my mascara run down to my tear-streaked face, which I buried into the soft cushion mattress as he entered me from behind—rough, unapologetic, and brutal. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if I woke up tomorrow covered in bruises and cuts all over my body, because that's how it always ends after he's done fucking me. But who was I fooling? I couldn't help but silently laugh at the thought. As if I could sleep tonight after being so ruthlessly degraded.